Interview with poet Maggie Mae

Maggie Mae:

An interview with Nostrovia Poetry

Originally posted on Nostrovia! Tavern:

Maggie Mae is a talented poet running the blog “Maggie Mae I Just Say This“.  She has a good-sized online following.  If your a poet just starting out, I recommend checking her blog out or asking her for advice (though she does give some in the interview below).  She has been published in The Vein, Requiem Magazine, Record Magazine, and a number of other literary establishments.  Check our her first chapbook from Writing Knights Press.

1)  Tell us a little about yourself.  What are you up to?

Right now I’m in school studying for a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics degree and I’ve just completed my first chapbook, Some Things Ache In The Dark, that will be out in May 2013 with Writing Knights Press. I’m excited for that. That is a goal that I have been working toward for several years. I am in the process of…

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Jack The Ripper

Summer has changed. Shadows walk loudly
through the forest.
I never thought I could multiply this way, but
you help me heat the sun. Now I’m locked
in the middle of a road
that I don’t know,
your feet planted in front of my knees.

A door falls asleep. I meant it for life.
Poisoned fruit for useless tongues. Then your
taste proved me wrong.
I lay on my back
and watch the morning cry. I made the forest
lie, but you’ve been lucky.

Jack the Ripper crossed the river and hung
up my soul. Now I chase the dark for you.

How To Sleep In A Gutter When You’re Not Dead

Curl up raw, stranger. Where is your
husband’s thick pockets?
You must be one of those different
colours.

I’m dead on my feet, you’re
sleeping in the gutter. Five days
in February – we both struggle.

Half a dozen snowflakes
ring the city, one man
hangs high above the river
two blocks down –

I can’t get my gown down
when I hear the secrets –
you shiver under the ice
and I like it,

biting my bottom lip, I’m nervous
for the next move.
Who’s it to be? Me or You?
All is well and dead on this side
but you look alive –
try to get a grip around your neck, but
you slump over
the cold.

Where did he go with his large gloves?
Are you beating like a cat fish or more
like drums?
Your colour is looking frozen.
Don’t pull those tears off too early or
you won’t recognize me.

I’m sorry for you, sister, losing
in this land, but when I see your secrets,
I tremble from a cursed realm
and I am ready to fade into the big city,
9 o’clock,
locked up with something like a vacuum cleaner
and let you go.

Paper

Today I have a theme. I am cardboard, Earth truly is flat.
We lay, either way, recycled by
the Sun.
If you met him, you would know how he melts rocks
in one gaze. His superpower
is ignited –
and we all will lose.

I eat paper waiting for the fat.
I don’t know if I exist,
and does it matter?

To some, maybe. But then I hear the voices
rushing by something
imaginary.
I guess it’s all about being a pretty rock

on the way to the Sun? Forgive me. I am ignorant.
That’s just not enough.

Little Golden Girl

Sounds like you are lost
right behind where you are almost are
What are you doing here?
Swiping what I have to say about that?
It is I,
making sure that no thieves take the golden honey
from the hives.

We all are natural friends to befriend
the bees, but you have lost your way.
On the way, your treasure melts
away into a way to let go.
You’re almost there, save me!

Honey for everybody!
I hope I never see another world
covered in seagulls.
The bees are enough for me.
Little golden girl
you are perfect
in your comb
waiting for the right time to
find your way to where you almost
can be.

When The Fire Burns

I haven’t drank you for an hour,
or swallowed the sharks
swimming in your pale
manhood.
The road gobbled me up and
I do not miss your cancerous tongue,
all I smell is rubber
and all I want is the moon
to take me to bed
where I know what lives under
the sheets.

I know the blank ceiling page
and the rotation of the clouds,
I know how I cycle down,
a tornado scripture
burning my steeple to ash.

I translate you into languages unknown,
too complex for me to read,
the devil’s tongue,
a serpents spit,
a good muse when the fire rumbles
me to numbness.

Am I New

Flapping tongue, to change your name, to change yourself,
to change,
to change,
you say it’s smoking time, maybe if the zone changed,
but we run on desert time,
at devil lake
I wish I was, a reservoir, I wish I was a dog,
rolling in the dirt, a tumble weed,
collecting time and breeze,
in the hustle
rolling,
changing,
flapping in my sleep to change position, to change disposition,
to change,
I meditate, a trumpet sounds,
an angel sings, is it me?
Did I work? Did the clock split my tongue
and now I am two?
Am I new?

Mosquito

Where does this come from, this sand in my head? Turn me upside down, let me start over. Or no! Fill me with water. Let me mix into mud. A grown sculpture standing still forever.
The baby sleeps on his knees, a peaceful meeting place for angels, while I shake over sounds buzzing around. The devil is here. He flies on tiny wings, hovering over my head. Do you smell him? He is clustered with dust. The baby just turned. He struggles for breath. The balance is off today. Its all in my head.

Mosquito

Where does this come from, this sand in my head? Turn me upside down, let me start over. Or no! Fill me with water. Let me mix into mud. A grown sculpture standing still forever.
The baby sleeps on his knees, a peaceful meeting place for angels, while I shake over sounds buzzing around. The devil is here. He flies on tiny wings, hovering over my head. Do you smell him? He is clustered with dust. The baby just turned. He struggles for breath. The balance is off today. Its all in my head.

Center Of Time

Welcome home, a strawberry plant
grows out back
for you, but it
has twisted to fingernails
to scratch away the bugs.

It has a heart, ready for transplant.
I promised to die,
I admit, I’m in the habit,
but it just sat in one spot,
sucking on water cells

reminding me what it
would feel like to overheat.
Now you are here, hiding in
the desert, my fruit not fertile
enough for you
to eat.

So, you say it’s the center of time,
one hand holds it,
the other says good-bye.

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