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If you would like to be a featured writer published on Rumrazor Press then simply send one poem / story / nonfiction / gonzo piece / rant that you would like to publish and that represents you, along with your name, a very short bio and a link to your online entity if you have one (Facebook / blog / whatever) in the body of an e-mail to:
Rumrazor@yahoo.com
Any topic, any reasonable length, any form, any genre, if I like it then I will feature you. If I don't want to feature you then I will respond with a very polite no and I will reserve the right to explain why not.
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Category Archives: My Poetry
East of Hartford
Winter east of Hartford, winter east of Hartford, a four mile paved road, a four mile paved road, nothing but an abandoned power cross station abandoned to home the homeless, the homeless have a home abandoned somewhere east of Hartford, … Continue reading
Grand Guignol
The satellite truck fitted with 27 monitors drives the streets of these cities capturing moments of rigmarole. Reporters stand in front of cameras and wait for a countdown from the button pushers inside some production booth clockwatching like thieves hoping … Continue reading
Tartarus
I lack many things. I am blind. My skin is uglier than Egil’s bones. My bones horrify the good James Paget. I’m led away from stadiums through vomitoriums. I forswear my faith and from faith, virtue, and placed in my … Continue reading
The Rose and the Red
Overtures are made. Music happens. Blame Canadian Mist and Mountain Dew. Blame the mix not the brew. I sat there stretched out in cummerbund, the circular table overflowed, sweet buns, wedding cake, something thrown, bridesmaids dancing in high heels and … Continue reading
Skin Tag (an Exaggeration)
The sun filled my ears if not my eyes and I remember squinting in paradise feeling the cloying warmth. This was on the Venice Beach boardwalk, on a crisp November morn, amber and comatose; in fact so wearisome, during a … Continue reading
Our House
Only the blood in my bones keeps me warm. Wake up to this chilling breath, shrouds out of my mouth, a dirge dog fog. My down comforter filled with sunken hopes, anchored by tears that swelled there. The marriage bed, … Continue reading
Watching the Eccentrics
Red weather tigers skulk drunk sailors in dreams of the suspended men, the hopes of the men in red suspenders. The thin women in their awkward heels never received the awaited postcard from Vesuvious, their knockoff Hermes scarves in a … Continue reading
Márquez en Mississippi
Indio, inculcado surreal y peláo del demótico inquieto, arrepentido, sudando en el extranjero. These dusty roads reject you. These suited passengers reject you. The grey bus driver rejects you. This language rejects you. Faulkner rejects you along with the confederate … Continue reading
The Mansfield Bar
Not a drinking establishment, sparks strike when scraping asphalt, just twenty-two inches off the ground, a standard to annoy the truck industry since that infamous death long ago on a balmy night in June, “Kiss them for me,” she said, … Continue reading
Tsunami Wave Train
for Morgan Gibson Spring sea; Blinking turtle exposed in drawback. Silent cage cricket, bitter persimmon, await moon glare. Laughing anglerfish rises. Fallen leaves swirl, dissolve in oyster stew.
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