The Pinwheel of Dollhouse Poetry is inspired to blow the child-like play in all God's beautiful people. Just be seated in your child chair of one place of true serenity in mind and closed eyes, to seek laying hold of your favorite child-like play innocence. World of people, begin scooping up sweet memories of imaginary playtime. Color the heart's pulse of pure life again, blue for boys embracing the soldier combat voice of GI. Joe men, to soar with one leg on Tommy's red scooter, to change the playtime to minnie zoom-zoom sounds found in match box cars. Continue the color of the heart's pulse of pure life again, pink for girls, begin to dress Barbie dolls in sparkle fashion clothes for the run-way, remembering to cuddle the faded-brown teddy bear to a sweet sleep, and daytime hours of play dress up Mommy, whom the child admires for many years to come. Beauty in adults, vanish thoughts of the hustle and bustle in world time and search to find your treasured inner beauty of self, a playful spirit. Slip off the high heels and work boots, and slide into the saddle shoes for the chalk game hop-scotch and jump into the inner tube swing of the swimming lake into your tennis shoes, to play a child once again with simple pure joy. Keep the breeze in your pinwheels, to show the color star of silver and red pinwheel of God's World.- Happy Reading Deborah L Kelley has been married to William D for 26 years, with three children; Willie T., Patsy L., and Michael D. A life of simpleness but happy being a homemaker and home schools. Her employment job consists of writing full time in the home. Deborah has a kindle spirit for writing with all expansions forms in poetry, non-fiction, fiction, future screen writing, and all others. The revelations of writing is not patted down and stuff to knock out the fluff to seal in a brown box in one place, but busting the seam lines of freshness in our world for pure life. Her invincible desire is to take pure creativity to tickle the heart of man but soothe the mind with tranquility, soaking to soar in peace. The dedicated voice of my past forefathers lay in the depth of my heart, as their grand daughter, Deborah moves to birth the true dream in writing. The lineage of gifted writing is a surge power line filled with flash lightning of God's unconditional Love to light up all men. The channel of ancestry has long for tender smiles to be staged in writing and create many stories of Life.

A book-length poem about how an American Indian writer can’t bring himself to write about nature, but is forced to reckon with colonial-white stereotypes, manifest destiny, and his own identity as an young, queer, urban-dwelling poet. A Best Book of the Year at BuzzFeed, Interview, and more. Nature Poem follows Teebs—a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet—who can’t bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He’d slap a tree across the face. He’d rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he’d rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he’s adamant—bratty, even—about his distaste for the word “natural,” over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the “natural world,” he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice.

An NPR Best Book of the Year From 2018 Whiting Award winner Tommy Pico, Junk is a book-length break-up poem that explores the experience of loss and erasure, both personal and cultural. The third book in Tommy Pico’s Teebs trilogy, Junk is a breakup poem in couplets: ice floe and hot lava, a tribute to Janet Jackson and nacho cheese. In the static that follows the loss of a job or an apartment or a boyfriend, what can you grab onto for orientation? The narrator wonders what happens to the sense of self when the illusion of security has been stripped away. And for an indigenous person, how do these lost markers of identity echo larger cultural losses and erasures in a changing political landscape? In part taking its cue from A.R. Ammons’s Garbage, Teebs names this liminal space “Junk,” in the sense that a junk shop is full of old things waiting for their next use; different items that collectively become indistinct. But can there be a comfort outside the anxiety of utility? An appreciation of “being” for the sake of being? And will there be Chili Cheese Fritos?

Natalie Shapero spars with apathy, nihilism, and mortality, while engaging the rich territory of the 30s and new motherhood

"Kasischke's verses walk that perfect Plathian line between the everyday...and the eternal." --Time Magazine

"Ten Nights' Dreams is a collection of ten short stories or dreams. Among the ten nights, the first, second, third, and fifth nights start with the same sentence, "This is the dream I dreamed." Each dream has a surrealistic atmosphere. Some are funny, and others are grotesquely weird. Did Soseki try to express what he actually dreamed? Or was his subconscious emerging spontaneously in the form of narrative dream?"--Page 4 of cover