Forage Poetry Journal

  • Home
  • Forage Poetry Journal

Forage Poetry Journal A quarterly poetry journal publishing poems, essays, reviews, and art At Forage, we enjoy reading and discussing poetry as much as we do writing it.

Sometimes more. So, we have decided to indulge our tastes and start soliciting more to read. We are in search of writing and art that is accessible, and that reaches into that space between our heads and our hearts to open a door to something we had almost missed. We’d like to create a space that skilled and novice poetry readers can wander into and feel at home. A place with exemplary work that c

hallenges the mind and the spirit. The part of us that speaks to the poetry, and is able to make the poetry speak back. We are a group of poets looking for a way to explore our passion while promoting others who are doing the same. We will do what we can to promote work that moves us and opens up the world of poetry and thought in unexpected ways.

It was our pleasure to resurrect the journal in order to review Darren C. Demaree's collection, A Fire Without Light.
17/01/2018

It was our pleasure to resurrect the journal in order to review Darren C. Demaree's collection, A Fire Without Light.

++++Although Forage closed as a journal, we were recently offered the opportunity to review a collection of poetry from a former contributor, Darren C. Demaree. This was an opportunity we didn& #821…

For those of you interested in joining a poetry critique forum with a welcoming and supportive atmosphere, please check ...
25/09/2017

For those of you interested in joining a poetry critique forum with a welcoming and supportive atmosphere, please check out Emma and Michael's other poetry project, Forage Poetry Forum. You can find us on Facebook at Forage Poetry Forum and all of the action at the link below:

In total there is 1 user online :: 0 registered, 0 hidden and 1 guest (based on users active over the past 5 minutes)Most users ever online was 13 on 25 Aug 2017, 20:21Registered users: No registered users Legend: Global moderators, Administrators, Newly registered users

Our final share, ever:'I held you while we gazed up at ancient seas and highlands once mistaken for a man'
25/09/2017

Our final share, ever:

'I held you while we gazed up
at ancient seas and highlands once mistaken
for a man'

Do you remember last time the moon was this close? How its pull felt that night like a forgotten hum, how its light redrew the sky like a river in flood? The first rains had come and gone, awakenin…

We're going for a forage in the hills of Ohio with Emily and Darren C. Demaree.
18/09/2017

We're going for a forage in the hills of Ohio with Emily and Darren C. Demaree.

We tend to roll all the way down the hills of Ohio & we have ruined many landscapes in Ohio that way. When we try to grow anything at all, we plant the seeds far from where our bodies settle. W…

'and this is morning,the improbable lace of new leaveswhere snowy light breaks from their edgesand scatters among branch...
15/09/2017

'and this is morning,

the improbable lace of new leaves
where snowy light breaks from their edges

and scatters among branches.'

One day the darkness loosens its weft, as if in answer to our wait, and this is morning, the improbable lace of new leaves where snowy light breaks from their edges and scatters among branches. Thi…

Nine lines tell a story worth a whole lot more.
12/09/2017

Nine lines tell a story worth a whole lot more.

Silence is a fine sermon owned by this ridge cliff where our campfire fails. I’d ask the winter to preach icicles. I’d ask the last coal to sermonize a wild land. Down where we once lived, there’s …

'He will ride, and he will ride near soundlessly, like an idea, or an echo through each un-day of November'A couple of m...
07/09/2017

'He will ride, and he will ride
near soundlessly, like an idea, or an echo
through each un-day of November'

A couple of months early, but here is November.

I feel the black horse that grazed late October galloping, galloping out, galvanized from a splinter off my spinal cord, hooves tearing divots through the glommy puddles of my heart, its black ride…

I have frequently wailed at television medical dramas for feeding viewers hollow hope by presenting three medical miracl...
05/09/2017

I have frequently wailed at television medical dramas for feeding viewers hollow hope by presenting three medical miracles each episode and thus inverting odds so that every casino patron wins the jackpot. Liar, liar! I know the medical team rarely resuscitates patients; but, my father is fifty and fit.

From The Physics of Grief by Kimberly Peterson

++++As I slide my tray towards the cash, “Code Blue, Emergency” punctuates the hospital cafeteria’s clangs and chatter. How inconsiderate to interrupt my supper. “It’s your father.” ++++I have freq…

Ever felt like you've been edited out of someone's history and memories? So has Penelope. Let's meet her, thanks to Dian...
29/08/2017

Ever felt like you've been edited out of someone's history and memories? So has Penelope. Let's meet her, thanks to Diana Manole.

You edit me out. From your memories. Your wet dreams. Your mail. The income tax return of a cautiously legal bachelor. The pantry. Cans. Multivitamins. Business cards of handymen, cleaning ladies, …

'Last night the city danced with fire in her spine. Afterwards, smoke.'
26/08/2017

'Last night the city danced
with fire in her spine. Afterwards,
smoke.'

I. Mornings are a rough handgrab of sulfur and the unboxing of cold. II. Every self we have ever been is still inside us. I was told this in winter. III. The sidewalks are scarred, the air halved b…

Joe Andrews is proud to say that this is his first published poem. We're sure it'll be the first of many.
23/08/2017

Joe Andrews is proud to say that this is his first published poem. We're sure it'll be the first of many.

A month before I turn 32 and I’m paying a lot to die today. My instructor might be a priest or a fool; I adjust the seat, the mirrors, he sips his coffee and exhales his faith that I’m …

No one moves like Prymal. I watched to seehow the whistle’s sound set her going fasterthan blood from a body.From the bl...
20/08/2017

No one moves like Prymal. I watched to see
how the whistle’s sound set her going faster
than blood from a body.

From the blistering 'Why I Call Myself an Animal' by Anna Kelley

Not much about me is what you’d call wild except for a part of my right side that understands animals. I discovered it as a child during visits to the zoo, while staring at the neon parrots and cat…

Address


Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Forage Poetry Journal posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

  • Want your business to be the top-listed Media Company?

Share