Cremation by Nicole Nicholson

someone's dream or
obligation just died before the
eyes of commuters

blazing car belches
cotton explosions of gray smoke
into the air

a sacrifice to
the ghosts – I silently hope
the inferno grows

our car floats
in a sea of moving
masses of pain

which crunch to
a slow, hesitating, rubbernecking halt
burn, baby, burn

roadside funeral pyre
she'll wear a burned shoulder
news at eleven


Nicole Nicholson is a 32 year-old writer and performance poet who draws inspiration from history, legends and folklore, people, nature, and the voices in her head. She blogs frequently at ravenswingpoetry and in July 2008, self-published a poetry chapbook, Raven Feathers. Her work has recently appeared in Young American Poets and she was featured as a Poet of the Week on Poetry Super Highway as well as a favorite writer in June 2008 on Poetry Dances, a web site featuring online poetry by emerging writers. She lives in Columbus, OH with her fiance.

A Call for Submissions/Featured Writers Updated

Beginning December 12, we will feature a writer throughout the entire weekend.

Featured Writer Line Up:

December 12 - Scot Young
December 19 - Tim Morris
December 26 - David Mclean
January 2 - Matt Finney
January 9 - Audrey Victoria
January 16 - Alan King
January 23 - Christopher Ward

New posts Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

If you want to see this blog updated everyday with a new piece of writing, submit and tell your friends. I want more, more, more!

Thanks for helping me out and keep that work coming.

The Guild of Outsider Writers

I love this group of fine people. Please stop by to have a look and meet fellow writers, some of whom you'll recognize from Shoots and Vines. Lots of things get done here and everyone works hard to spread the word and encourage other writers. OW was the inspiration behind my zine because of the quality of work I saw there everyday.

Outsider Writers

If you have trouble with the format or questions, send an email my way and I'll do what I can to help you out.

Scroll down Shoots and Vines and on the bottom of the right sidebar is a link to my profile. Leave me a message and let me know you found Outsider Writers from Shoots and Vines.

Hope you all enjoy the group as much as I do.

Notice: Regular Contributors

Regular Contributors will begin in February. Every Monday, there will be posts scheduled throughout the day written by the regular contributors.

Tom Sullivan
Audrey Victoria
Scot Young

If you have already been published in Shoots and Vines and would like to be a regular contributor, please send an email with regular contributor listed in the subject.

If your name is on the list, which I will update in this post throughout January, and you do not wish to be a regular contributor, let me know.

If we discussed this in the past and you agreed but don't see your name, that is because the email has drifted off somewhere. Please shoot me an email.

Thanks. I love the work you all have been sending me. I haven't read a book in almost a month.

Crystal

Featured Writer: Tim Morris Day 3

it's happening


somewhere,
in a sedated florescent glow,
rows and rows of pornography
are being molested
by curious hands...

somewhere,
between guilt-ridden tiles,
a boy fondles himself
in the mirror over a sink...

somewhere,
in the aromatic light of dawn,
a woman fingers the delicate labia
of her entranced lover...

somewhere,
in the drone of tomorrow,
a man on his knees sweats
at an altar, asking for his wife's
quick and painless demise...

somewhere,
in the overwhelming shadow of a cross,
a woman sucks at a bottle of gin
while spinning a razor blade
between her teeth...

all the while
carousel horses dance
to their happy, happy song.

Featured Writer: Tim Morris Day 2

The Prisoner


twilight.

in the rain.

twelve rupees sit heavily
in my pocket
and i can finally
walk the garden
with my head held high,

but still...
i find it necessary
to peel flesh
from around my fingernails
and suck at the blood.

the moon...
ah, the moon,
her virgin hole not yet
pricked by indiscretion,
stretches lazily from
around the corner,
uncertain of her true conviction.

the air,
anesthetized,
lays like lead on my skin
and a hunger swells
in my veins.

fingering the coins in my pocket,
one for each of the twelve pairs
of blood-stained lips,
i find myself at a table,
twisted and tired,
eager to be of use,

but i see the chains,
rusted and sanguinary,
and am afraid,
because the promise
has proven to be fraud...

in the shadows,
soothed by night's lithe fingers,
children dance to kalimba music,
the beauty of their laughter
an atrocity.

Featured Writer: Tim Morris Day 1

It's That Time


the time has come to roll the bones.

nero's ghost is perched on the hill
sawing at an archaic smile.

morphine drips from the moon.

go on ahead and roll them bones,
let's just see what the future's got
before jesus laughs himself silly
watching the preachers play drag-ass
to the grave.

roll the bones and watch them grow
important in the public eye.

we find ourselves wanting to eat the stars.

machiavelli's prince takes center stage
illuminated in a glow of our desire;
a man-beast twisted in a maelstrom
of poetry and lies.

roll the bones...
roll the bones...
place your bets and roll them bones,
dance on the devil's grave.

the war machine grows fond of your face.

the sad old sage plucks his komun'go
in the belly of this gluttonous day.

so roll the bones.
see what you get.
the sun is about to lose its race.