Wilderness of soul | Sarah Reichert Author

Wilderness of Soul: The Beautiful Stuff Poetry Anthology 2020-2021 IS HERE!!!

Posted on November 8, 2021November 8, 2021 by sereichert

Great day in the morning, it’s finally time! This year’s poetry anthology “Wilderness of Soul” is now available for purchase here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09L3281ZN?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

In addition, if you are looking for a copy signed by me, you can contact me via the blog with your information. A small launch party with a few of the poets in the area will take place later this month at William Oliver’s Publick House. Bring a copy your book to have it signed by some of the authors (limited copies will be for sale at the event), enjoy a few readings, and celebrate with us. More news on that to come as details are finalized.

A percentage of the proceeds from “Wilderness of Soul” will be donated to SummitStone Health Partners, a local organization that provides help for mental health and addiction disorders. You can find out more about them here: https://www.summitstonehealth.org/

Please think about buying a copy not only as a gift to yourself and others but as a way to support the arts, poets, and the dream of sharing the common human experience. If you do get a copy, know that even a short review will help every writer in the book be recognized for their work. A few sentences and a few clicks make all the difference. Thanks in advance and Enjoy!

Guest Poetry: Elliana Byrne

Posted on August 19, 2021August 17, 2021 by sereichert

Good morning. Today’s poetry comes to us from a former and continuing contributor to The Beautiful Stuff’s Poetry Anthology. Ms. Byrne has a knack for gripping the guts with her poetry and, as an almost graduated student at the University of Boulder, she is finding her way with a powerful voice in the world.

Elliana spends her days reading (sometimes for fun…most times for class), daydreaming, and writing. She studies English Lit and dabbles in short stories and poetry when possible. She enjoys life best curled up with a good book and her cat, Gil. You can read her work in last year’s anthology “No Small Things” (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1692331558/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1

And now this:

Clean Slate

I want to wipe away 
the grievances 
of your skin
and its heated strokes against mine
and darken the unforgiving universes 
of your eyes
that know and
do not know me.

But the treasonous mind
casts wayward glances,
over shoulders turned cold
and the love and ache of wounds
that should be healed over
resound in weakening heart beats.

The disloyal heart
casts out lines and currents that have 
battled the boards of my ship
and sunk it deep, now lies 
desolate and quiet a tomb
on the ocean floor
waiting, in vain,
for a tug of interest.

My dissonant soul vibrates in time
to the sound of yours
even when the harmonic waves
shake my teeth and
dislodge my brain
and seize my nerve endings
and tell me
to clean you off
close my eyes,
turn my back to
and cut the lines
cover ears and
regain
what once was
me.

Poetry 6-10-21

Posted on June 10, 2021May 22, 2021 by sereichert

Good morning, readers. Today’s poem comes from me. And all my dark, little underbelly areas. I hope you enjoy. Remember that I’m still accepting submissions for the “Wilderness of Soul” Anthology coming out this fall. Email me your name, a short bio, and up to three poems for consideration. Thanks!

And now, this:

Maker’s Hill

We t2wo climbed Maker’s Hill
In the cold calm
Where quiet winds spoke our truth
Before we signed our names

Straight lines,
Blood ink.

We t2wo climbed Maker’s Hill
Your hand warm in mine
Nary a tremor, 
Showing the branches above

The strength of spirit
On first steps towards Home
Lightning our baggage
Before setting off.

We t2wo climbed Maker’s Hill
For to lay in a sea of damp grass
And share the sharp ticket 
First you, then I.
Then we.

Listening with fingertips
As your pulse beats into the dirt
And feeling the fading light
As flesh calmly goes cold.

We t2wo climbed Maker’s Hill
In the breaking heart of dawn
The resolution
The only thing we’ve ever 
Been sure of.

We t2wo climbed Maker’s Hill
We thre3 did not return.

Guest Poet: John Lipp

Posted on May 27, 2021May 18, 2021 by sereichert

Hello poetry lovers. I realize I’ve given you three consecutive weeks of poems to read and dwell on, but in this increasingly busy season of end-of-school activities, and my own personal work schedule, I’m pleased to be able to offer something diverse, impactful and economical (aka isn’t monopolizing anyone’s limited time). So, with that, it is a great honor to introduce this next poet to you. I didn’t realize I’d put them so closely together, so if you recognize the name from a few weeks back, you are not wrong in assuming John is one half of a dynamic duo of poets.

Ya’ll, I can’t be more excited to introduce his work here. He has a brevity and flow that feels like it needs a backbeat and could be something I’d belt out in my car when it comes on the radio. Take a minute with it, roll it round your brain. See if you feel the rhythm to his words and phrasing. It’s magical. I’m only offering one of his poems here but there are two more to be included in this Fall’s upcoming anthology.

Here’s a little bit about John:

John Lipp is firstly, a new father and lucky husband. He did what every 13 year old with a guitar would do, and played in blink-182 cover bands through adolescence, so most of his writing has been devoted to mediocre punk rock. He devoted last November to strengthening his skills in poetry, abstaining from his usual time-wasters. He is currently co-writing a book on the effects of the death of a father (funnier than it sounds), and writing a tandem novella/ concept album about a time traveling boy band from 1999. He’s sure it will work out.

Eraser
Be it the end of a stick, the keys that you click, or a bottle of white slick liquid that sticks and affixes itself to fix what is inadequate; you have a purpose, to change.
Nature grows a branch that won’t stand a chance, but the pruner’s cut offers a contrary stance. Where torrential storm was once in control, the loss of one limb has strengthened the whole.
But have you not changed what is to come? Do these mistakes constitute becoming undone? You change the words, you change what’s to pan. Once the name of the tool, now the name of the man.

Poetry Guest Blog: Lauren Newman Lipp

Posted on May 13, 2021May 13, 2021 by sereichert

Good morning, all. Today’s beautiful contribution comes to us from a tremendously talented, kind-hearted, and all-around stellar human being. I’ve known Lauren for over five years now and every single time I get to talk with her, she just makes me feel like the world is a better place to be in.

The poem below, as well as two other, equally moving pieces, will be featured in “Wilderness of Soul” later this year!

Here’s a little about her:

Lauren Newman Lipp is a typical millennial that loves Harry Potter, early 2000’s emo music, and writing passionate pieces that reflect everyday life and struggles. She’s been expressing herself through the written word since her favorite teacher, Ms. Cowdry, taught her how to write in Kindergarten. Since then, she’s explored many forms of writing and loves the mighty power a pen can hold (although she sometimes ditches the pen for a keyboard). She earned a Bachelor’s degree from CSU Fort Collins in English, and her claim to fame is writing an A paper only hours before it was due in class. She has read “Othello” more times than she can count and loves to discuss the many complexities of Iago’s character. She spent some time teaching Language Arts and trying to pass along her love for reading and writing to 6th graders. These days, Lauren spends her time trying to make her husband laugh, playing with and chasing her toddler, and working on a novel about werewolves.

And now, Ladies and Gents; the incomparable Ms. Lauren:

Glug-Glug Lullaby

Staring into my pre-portioned glass of red wine,

5 ounces exactly,

I beg for a revelation to fall over top of me.

To crumble over my shoulders and open my eyes wider.

A light to burn out the dark.

But instead,

I just feel my edges fuzz, and my insides warm

And I do realize something.

Only one thing:

That I could

Dump the rest of the bottle into my glass,

Indulging in the “glug-glug”

That plays while pouring

Too fast with no control, no remorse…

And then just sip away

Till my eyes grow heavier and my edges blur.

But the idea that I could, scares me

And brings me closer

To the mother I don’t want.

I am also brought closer

To feeling empathy for her

Understanding, and now knowing

How soothing

That “glug-glug” could sound

Inside my ringing ears.

Guest Poetry: Jennifer Lockwood George

Posted on April 22, 2021April 12, 2021 by sereichert

Ya’ll, I’m super excited to feature this next artist. Not only is she a beautiful writer, and a wonderful person, but the poetry she sent me is some of the most sensual, melodic, and moving work I’ve read in a while (AND anyone who knows my novels, knows I have a particular longing in my heart for Mainers). Please enjoy and feel free to share!

Our beloved poet, Jennifer Lockwood George comes to us from the coast of Maine, where she teaches writing to college freshmen who live in little Zoom boxes with their names in the corners. She graduated with her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Southern Maine in 2019. Her work has appeared in The Kankakee Daily Journal, Muse, Stonecoast Review, and The Ginger Collect. Her novella was published serially in The Silver Pen’s Youth Imagination online literary magazine. She has also been a guest writer on the Celebrities in Disgrace blog.

And Then Nothing Happened

You pretended your English was terrible.
You asked me to stay
to sort out your syntax,
to smooth your eager consonants
and soften the accent
that told stories you would never pronounce.

I would not correct the music that came from your lips.

You wanted me to turn grammar into an aria.
You leaned closer as I sang each conjugation.

I pretended I wouldn’t give my right arm
to hear you play the piano,
but I could have spent forever watching you
coax desire from ivory and wood.

I wanted to hear you recite Lizst
with your eyes closed,
tilting your chin upward in rapture
tightening your jaw at the climax,
rosé wine tinting your cheeks at the final decrescendo.

You taught me scales and finger positions.

We were forbidden liquor; neither of us would drink.

You called my name as I left your studio.
My coat was on.

You offered me wine.
The notes you poured flowed over the piano keys
and onto the floor, flooding the room,
rising from my feet,
to my ankles, then my knees.

My vision blurred.
My coat became a drunkard’s snare,
my purse strap a bond I could not escape.

I fought against your concerto,
fought not to sway
fought not to dive into the flow
fought not to ask you to pour more.

I could not reach the door;
Music’s brazen kiss had backed me against the wall—

Until your fingers collapsed on themselves
and you forgot how the rest of the song went.

Your cheeks were pink.
I forgot to breathe.

I almost recited the entire thesaurus for you.

Guest Poetry: Sourav Sarkar 3-25-21

Posted on March 25, 2021March 13, 2021 by sereichert

Good morning!

Today, I am pleased to feature the work of a stunning poet from India, Sourav Sakar. Sourav is a graduate of University B.T. & Evening College and received his post graduate from St. Josephs College in Darjeeling. His poems have been published in England, India, Bangladesh, America, Canada, and Trinidad. He is the author and creator of the Dead End Poetry Movement which you can follow here: https://www.facebook.com/Sourav-sarkar-poetry-794116610755710

Also, a gentle reminder that I will be reading my short story “Rinse, Reincarnate, Repeat” at CopperMuse Distillery this Sunday (March 28th) from 4-6. If you are in the Fort Collins or Northern Colorado area, I’d love to see you there. Along with a fun little story about God, Love, Stardust, Split-Aparts, and dogs, this incredible distillery will be featuring a special cocktail to go along with the story.

And now, this beautiful selection from our friend, Mr. Sakar:

Take over

Your presence is a gift to the world

You have two options here to live

Whether you be a slave of a follower of your own

Suppose you are a young bird travelling light years through time

And spreading magical sprinkles

To acquire living

Suppose yourself also to be cloud

Wallowing forest fires;

You motive will determine to move towards

Deserted roads or to a new destination

Then you will hear the sound of winds clashing together violently

You will be detached and secluded

Having no sense of organ

You may think about aesthetics

Or animism

You have to take over the state of being alive

You have to break that metallic surface that is self made

By hoax.

Faithful

Shut the doors

shouted master for a while

there were no passers by

on the road,

Indian summer had come,

thirsty water lands had been dried up

coconut sellers were showing pride

weather was clumsy and tight

and lazy boys were not there

might be sleeping in the schools

they took help of books

ice cream pedlars were looking dull

roaming about for hours

but a doggy was sitting still

his eyes were at the door

master took him and shut the door.

Poetry 3-11-21

Posted on March 11, 2021March 11, 2021 by sereichert

Good Thursday to you, Beautiful writers and readers. I’m still accepting submissions for this year’s Beautiful Stuff Poetry Anthology “Wilderness of Soul”. Please send me your work (up to 3 poems, no more than 80 lines, with a short bio) to be considered for publication in the fall of this year as well as promoted on this site.

I’m so impressed and happy at the poems and writers who’ve been sending in their work and I will begin featuring them here on this blog beginning at the end of this month. For today though, you’re stuck with me.

Enjoy, and happy writing.

 
 Things I Love, Great and Small
  
 I buried my children’s fish today
 in the frozen ground
 where I had to chip through
 the hardened clay 
 for a hole just big enough,
 a palm’s worth
 of dirt
 to lay the spine twisted body
 of a once vibrant and
 complex machine
 who flowed with grace and ease 
 for miles around his five-gallon domain.
  
 I scraped my knuckles,
 the ground was so hard 
 in late February
 while birds sung above me anxiously 
 jumping the gun on spring
 singing of life
 of rebirth
 While the cold air bit the tip of my nose
and melted frost
seeped into the knees of my pajamas
where I knelt in dead grass.
  
 Why not just the toilet? 
 one easy handle pull in the warmth
 and comfort
 of the inside?
  
 Because things I love,
 those I cared for and looked after
 lives I've nurtured
 don’t belong in the toilet
 or the sewer
 or the river of waste and unwanted.
 Things I love,
 now still and soul departed
 belong in the arms of a mother
 the nurturing life of soil beside
 highways of roots

 they belong to the body
 of life and the circle 
 of growth and decay.
 Things I love
 great or small
 deserve the care and effort
 of kneeling and toiling
 of cold knees and watering tears.
  
 Things I love
 are not waste…
 are not forgotten.
 no matter how great
 or small.

Poetry 2-25-21

Posted on February 25, 2021February 12, 2021 by sereichert

Gentle reminder that I’m still accepting submissions for “Wilderness of Soul: The Beautiful Stuff Poetry Anthology 2021”. Check out the website for details and contact me with any questions.

And now… this.

The Poet

 Write me a poem about love
 that doesn’t end 
 in the breaking of hearts
 the rending of souls
 once sewn together in trust.
  
 Write me a sonnet
 where all affection
 is requited
 a balanced scale
 love gained and returned.
  
 Write me an ending
 not wrought with cages
 and dungeons of guilt
 and sharp glass
 and bloodlines on wrists.
  
 Write me a poem about love,
 that doesn’t end.
 Where every morning 
 breaks in brilliant hues of 
 hope, patience,
 passion divine.
  
 I cannot,
 I will not 
 replies the poet
 For I only write 
 in truths.

2021 Beautiful Stuff Poetry Anthology Submissions

Posted on January 14, 2021 by sereichert

From now until September 30th I will be accepting poetry submissions to be considered for The Beautiful Stuff 2021 Poetry Anthology “Wilderness of Soul”.

This anthology will loosely follow the themes of nature, growth, transformation, self-awareness and personal resilience.

Poems may not exceed 80 lines, must be previously unpublished (unless it was on author’s website), and must be the original work of the author. Please send all submissions to: sereichert@comcast.net, or via The Beautiful Stuff website: (https://thebeautifulstuff.blog/contact/) with the subject line “Wilderness of Soul Submission”

In the body of your email, please include the title; your poetry, your name, and a short bio. You may submit up to three poems for every entry. You may submit as many times as you would like, but please ensure that each submission includes different work. If your work is a simultaneous submission please let me know.

There is no fee for submitting.

Every submission will be read and, if selected, the author will be notified by October 15th, 2021 via the contact information provided.

Winners will receive 2 free copies of the anthology, promotion through The Beautiful Stuff Blog, and a chance to have the book entered into the Colorado Book Awards for 2021. Authors will also have the option to purchase more copies at a discounted rate.

You may email me or message me via Facebook with any questions or concerns you have about the contest rules and submissions. As usual, I welcome poetry along the entire spectrum of creativity (from the traditional to the strange, from the sparkly-sunshine to the darkly macabre) but will reject any work that glorifies or promotes extreme violence, racism, sexual degradation, or harm against another human being.

That’s the long and the short of it. So send me something good. Give me guts and heart, all the dark and light of your thoughts. I look forward to reading your poems and giving you a chance to showcase your work!

Have a little poetry:

CONNECTION

Beats the rhythm

Inside my chest,

Shaking the tender bones of my ear

Arousing the eternal chorus

The human heart beat,

The womb of sound and voice

That speaks in vibrations to

The celestial mathematician

Caged inside my cells

How we dance,

Humans

How we shake our heads and hips

Filling up the empty dark

With the pulsing light-magic of sound

Pouring warm caramel voices

over triplet beat

Reaching into the inner primordial

Tying strings to our bones

Weaving stories through our

Muscle fibers,

Puppeteering our

hip locks and drops

In the same wave of motion

Connecting us

Without color or god.

Resonating with all

That is

Our divine.