February 2022 - Featured Artist - Marian Siljeholm

From Marian -

“Hey poetry friends, my name is Marian. I'm a 27 year old Norwegian-American living and working in New England. In my life, I'm typically known in the broad way that people like to sort loved ones, formerly loved ones, and peripherally cared about ones, as the girl with the camera. And it's true that today, being alone with my camera (preferably in the middle of nowhere) is indeed the only time that I feel truly free. What most (and by most I mean every human not on this call) don't know is that poetry is the art form that I would have to thank for keeping sane enough to see today.

When I'm not writing, adventuring to find my next photo (feel free to take a peek for yourself, https://www.behance.net/mariansphotos, always open to new adventure suggestions), or working my 9-5 in communications (since that's what we are calling a covid-grounded photojournalist), I'm basically just sleeping. Preferably with my dog.”

Featured Poem - That Time I Failed Creative Writing

I committed some words to word doc.x

it was 2:26am and they didn't make sense

But it was a poetry workshop

they didn’t have to

She told me I lacked

Direction

Purpose

Voice

She thinks I don’t listen.

I do. But only hear noise tumbling from spherical rouge, chasm,

From which

apparently

others hear

direction, purpose, voice

Still, I responded

Rudeness is so undergrad

Within the hour.

Dearest professor,

Sincerest

apologies.

She told me in more words

I might try another

genre

I told her in none

she might try another

profession

Drained from too many thoughts, not enough poem

I return here

Proving nothing to any of you and everything to me

Here

I don’t have to form sentences

use semicolons

You don’t have to get it. And it doesn’t have to be my problem.

Unfortunately, it’s not for lack of effort

Scribbling, examining, reexamining, deleting, rewriting,

Every

Last

syllable

analogous rags squeezed parched

friends, I know you need an A, but I also need water

or my fabric will rip

after all,

It’s only poetry