Renee/ the p.r.

Villa Pisani Maze

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 13:10:25 -0400

Villa Pisani Maze by North Sullivan

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Maze: a submission to The PR

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 13:17:10 -0400

Maze by James Jean

Source: James Jean

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The Hole in the World by Erik Anderson

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 17:47:19 -0400

singularity

The Hole in the World

Who is there to whom

the cadence of the news

isn’t the funereal young

man with nothing special to say

an average bulk beneath the scum

of skin he’s no talker

always panting in the tremble

& lull he lives to bleed holds his head like a moth.

Ah, to die

in the morning, cradling a picture

of a young Viking in the tart air

overhead everything turning to pathos

the sky’s perpetual milk glaring at sun-up

long spokes of light stab

the prone sinews

so much throb

flitting through the body, but

no concert between the bones

their brawling shadows.

--Erik Anderson

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Photo submission for The PR/ poem

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 18:54:07 -0400

Megan Saltzman and Eva Megias

Electric spiralling seashells meet funny paper lotus this summer

mesmerizing as we are:

one hook-legged Dali one whispersweet Monet.

Yes, this is happening, yes, we are crazy.

And don't you love it when their mouths hang agape?

Can I translate this into another language for you can I

tear this one piece or other

so nobody knows where it started. Mellifluous yellow

curvaciousness appointed you keeper no crossover

hip hopper queen of riveting unravelling I mean

no tangential being no inroading the secrets of seeing.

You know? I go and I go and my little pet follows me.

Can I smoke this without becoming covertly sensuous can I

change the song, Sunshine. And listen as the wind blows

and you speak to me in rhymes.

Now I remember what it means to freestyle

graffiti my memory across what it is

what it is. Your thing I love you do. All of you.

(shh if they discover your precarious voodoo

that floats on a wire at the level of idea...)

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I Ching Poem: a submission to The P.R.

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 10:57:55 -0400

Ken

I CHING POEM

things go back and forth
relations are not always happy
even with oneself

love does not live alone
fog lifts and sun follows rain
man and woman unite again

--Ken Mikolowski

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The Pulchritudinous Review

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 22:50:16 -0400

The PR

Hello Everyone!

Now is the time to send in your poetry, prose, songs, cross-genre writing, photography, or other digital art to The Pulchritudinous Review. Send up to 2 pages of whatever you want. Send your submissions to: ReneeZepeda@gmail.com as attached Word documents and/or jpgs. Feel free to email me with any questions. I look forward to reading your work!

Cheers,

Renee Zepeda
Editor

PS. The next issue will go on sale in September. Send me an email at the address above with your address and I will send you a copy for $10. Unfortunately, the first issue is sold out, but if I get enough requests I may print more.

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sunshine & smiles

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 14:51:02 -0400

Kater

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this is a dream (Dear Baby,)

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 15:42:30 -0400

This is a dream

Dear Baby,

I imagine it is hot in Paris now. the way it is hot here, though I'm in the mountains.
I was once in Paris for an hour on the way to Amsterdam.
I saw the metro and a McDonalds. I saw graffiti that reminded me of Barcelona.
the graffiti I saw yesterday was art in comparison. Red juice

I am drinking like a hummingbird. the juice has ice that clinks when I
pick it up. in Paris the ice clinks in strangers' drinks. it is simultaneous.
I imagine Paris because that is where dreams occur.
there is a jardin where hummingbirds flit about with miraculous haste. there is
a cafe where a couple sits smoking beedis.
they are deciding whether or not to marry. to continue the charade.
the woman pulls slowly on her cigarette and sizes up the man. hums

                                you would if I would
                                but you never did.

what does the man want? he wants to do his thing and let no one bother him.
he wants her when he wants her and only then and not sooner.
I imagine everything the woman in Paris wants to do to make the man care.
she wants to get on stage and perform. once others adore her he will as well.
once she becomes cultural currency. and not just a poem.

she decides she wants him when she wants him and only then.
I imagine him on a stage performing his trade. it isn't sexy it's work.
it isn't contrived yet it is aesthetically pleasing. sweat beads on his brow.
his hands shake.

Love,

Renee

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Congratulations

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 13:13:14 -0400

Color codes

Congratulations

16 line collaboration composed one line each at a time

In the whole wide world no one makes love like love

but now you get what you deserve he smirked lugubriously

I love love so much that love loves to make love to me

Why hello, love, have we met somewhere before?

Why yes my dear, somewhere somehow in a poem

Oh yes please let's do ~ be the poem

but only if the poem be not mean

Let's have a line of good writing here okay?

But it's my turn and that's not very likely

so far our poem, I mean we, us, have/has lots of love

Thank you love call again, somewhere somehow

and that's not all; we've got something that's damn hard (to come by)

by and by we all come by this way but once or twice (if lucky)

Oh honey it's times like these when I think more than this there is nothing

and nothing is what we have plenty of--if love is nothing

Fortunately love is everything and refreshment has arrived!

Why Baby Loves Margaritas

2 two-line collaborations composed one word each at a time

he licks all salt

-tiness from the rim

Why I Do It

I do what I want

so what (so let's!)

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waiting for samuel beckett

nobody@vox.com(Renee/ the p.r.) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 23:52:12 -0400

Brigitte Bardot

waiting for samuel beckett: a verse play in 10 acts

Act I.

She walks into a stifling room and takes her clothes off. She removes her blouse, then her tank top, then her bra. She sits down in her underwear to write to him.

Act II.

Before she can begin he calls her on the phone. "Hello, can I talk to Renee?" "This is Renee." They talk.

Act III.

Something unusual happens. The action is off-stage. Only sounds like moaning come from somewhere in the darkness.

Act IV.

There are some women wet with a decent harmony.
Terrible: to leave their signal.

Act V.

How long did they remain like that, entwined--a second, a lifetime?

Act VI.

There are soft places in the forest where deer lay down gently. The people dream of those places. It is an idyll, a dream within a dream, a wish.

Act VII.

He feels good. He feels unburdened. He wants to talk to her again.

Act VIII.

They lay together under the breeze of a whirring fan. Delicate caresses of coolness from above.

Act IX.

Water tastes delicious.

Act X.

Blessed sleep.

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