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dedicated to the art of the written word

volume 1, issue 3
"bringing it in under 150k"
August 1995

================================
POETRY INK 1.03 / ISSN 1091-0999
================================

POETRY INK
volume 1, issue 3
August 1995

**Featuring work by**

Karen Alkalay-Gut
Michael Morrow
John Freemyer
Larissa Smith
Rebecca E. Hays
Richard Epstein
Jerrold Rabushka

In This Issue
-------------
**From the Editor's Desktop**

This is the third issue of POETRY INK, and I must say that I am quite
pleased with the response we have generated on the on-line world. We
have received submissions from as far away as Israel and as close as
just across town (which happens to be St. Louis, Missouri, USA).

As many of you may know, each issue of POETRY INK is initially
uploaded to eWorld(tm), Apple Computer Corporation's on-line service.
Until recently, eWorld(tm) was the only place POETRY INK was
available.

However, I am happy to report that some kind soul has posted POETRY
INK on America On-Line(tm) in the Macintosh Desktop Publishing Forum,
and that some one else has posted our submission guidelines in the
newsgroup rec.arts.poems. May these people be eternally blessed by
their Muses!

POETRY INK strives to bring diversity into its pages, which is
tremendously hard to do when we have a limited distribution base. To
combat this possible problem, we are currently seeking volunteers to
post and promote POETRY INK on various on-line services and Internet
sites. If you are interested in lending a hand, please see the Help
Wanted section immediately following our masthead.

Each issue of POETRY INK is a challenge to produce. I originally
wanted to do all the page design in Adobe PageMaker(tm) (I bought a
copy with my Mac when it was still Aldus's flagship product) and then
produce it using Adobe's Acrobat(tm) PDF format, which would give me
the cross-platform functionality other electronic newsletters enjoy.
Then I realized how much Acrobat(tm) costs and how large the files
are; even when compressed by Aladdin's StuffIt(tm) compression
software they are 200-500k. So instead I turned to designing it all in
WordPerfect(tm) and producing it in eDOC format, which is what you are
now reading.

eDOC is a superb shareware printer driver which I wholeheartedly
recommend for anyone interested in producing electronic newsletters
and magazines such as this. It is one of only three shareware products
I have ever thought worth the shareware fee (the others being
Aladdin's StuffIt Lite(tm), a must for any Mac user, and Tiger
Technologies' Menuette 2.0.1 control panel). We enjoy the flexibility
eDOC gives us. By using fonts residing in almost everyone's Mac System
Folder, we found we can bring POETRY INK in at under 150k per issue.
Sometimes we will go over, but I think 150k is a reasonable aim--it's
less than two minute's download time at 14,400 bps.

When I started this thing, I had no idea what I was committing myself
to doing. Now I know. And I like it.

Editing POETRY INK has basically become a second job for me--one which
does not pay monetary rewards, but is a reward in itself. I am
committed to making POETRY INK the best on-line electronic magazine of
its kind, and I think it will happen. And I am asking for your
support. So pass on your copy of POETRY INK to a friend, upload it to
your local BBS, link it to your World Wide Web page, whatever.

Spill the Ink and spread the word. POETRY INK is here is to stay.

Matthew W. Schmeer, editor
<[email protected]>

POETRY INK
----------

**Editor**
Matthew W. Schmeer

**e-mail**
<[email protected]>

**snail mail**
Matthew W. Schmeer
POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS
6711-A Mitchell Avenue
St. Louis, MO 63139-3647 U.S.A.

POETRY INK is a regular, erratically published E-zine (electronic
magazine). Anyone interested in submitting poetry, short fiction, or
essays should see the last two pages of this document for submission
instructions. If writing via snail mail, please include a #10-sized
self-addressed stamped envelope so that we may respond to you.
Donations of food, money, software, and hardware are gracefully
accepted.

Legal Stuff
-----------
POETRY INK is copyrighted 1995 by POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS, a wholly
owned subsidiary of the imagination of Matthew W. Schmeer. POETRY INK
can be freely distributed, provided it is not modified in any way,
shape, or form. Specifically:

* All commercial on-line services, such as eWorld(tm), America
On-Line(tm), and CompuServe(tm), and local BBSs may distribute POETRY
INK at no charge.

* All non-profit user groups may distribute POETRY INK at no charge.

* All CD-ROM shareware collections and CD-ROM magazines may not
include POETRY INK without prior written consent.

* All redistribution companies such as Educorp may not distribute
POETRY INK without express written consent.

POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS retains one-time rights and the right to
reprint this issue, either printed or electronic. All other rights to
works appearing in POETRY INK written by authors other than Matthew W.
Schmeer revert to said authors upon publication.

POETRY INK is produced on an Apple Macintosh(tm) Color Classic(tm)
running System Software 7.1. POETRY INK is initially uploaded to
eWorld(tm), with further Internet distribution by our readers. We use
Global Village Teleport Gold(tm) II Fax/Modems. POETRY INK is produced
using MicroFrontier's ColorIt!(tm) 2.3.2, Novell Corp.'s
WordPerfect(tm) 3.1, and Michel & Francois Touchot's eDOC 1.1. We
encourage others to support these fine hardware manufacturers and
software programmers.

Help Wanted
-----------

As mentioned earlier in this issue, POETRY INK is originally released
on eWorld(tm). Unfortunately, eWorld(tm) does not offer extended
Internet services such as eMailing file attachments, uploading to ftp
sites, or a way to design individual World Wide Web pages. Until such
time as they do offer these services (and probably after as well),
POETRY INK's publishers are asking for a little help.

POETRY INK is currently seeking volunteers to Spill the Ink across the
Internet! We are looking for people to upload POETRY INK to:

* America On-Line(tm)
* CompuServe(tm)
* sumex-aim.stanford.edu (Internet Macintosh ftp software archive)
* mac.archive.umich.edu (another Internet Macintosh ftp software archive)

And to post POETRY INK's Submission Guidelines on a monthly basis to
the newsgroups:

* rec.arts.poems
* scruz.poetry
* rec.arts.prose

And finally, to:

* link POETRY INK to a Web Page for downloading
* set up an Internet e-mail subscription service

Ideally, we are looking for one individual to do the postings and link
POETRY INK to a Web Page, one individual to handle the subscription
service, and another to upload POETRY INK to the commercial on-line
services mentioned (That's a total of three for you mathematicians out
there).

If you have regular access to any of the above mentioned electronic
forums, please consider helping out!

The more POETRY INK spreads across the Internet, the better we will
get.

We regret that at this time we cannot compensate our volunteers for
their efforts. However, they will be given our undying gratitude and
many blessings from their Muses. Plus, their names will become
permanently etched into our masthead and given credit for their
support. If interested, please eMail us at <[email protected]>, and
tell us which duties you would be willing to fulfill!

Dedication
----------
Dedicated To Michelle Rene Werner
(welcome to the world!)

Featured Writer
---------------
Okay, I admit it. I blew it this month and forgot to ask somebody to
be the Featured Writer for this issue.

But rather than just leave this section empty, I thought this would be
an ideal opportunity to answer a few questions people have been asking
regarding POETRY INK. I think the two most frequently asked questions
are "Why are you publishing POETRY INK?" and "What sort of stuff are
you looking to publish?" These are both excellent questions, and they
deserve answers. As I cannot respond to each individual query, I hope
my answers in this forum will suffice those curious minds. The answer
to why I am publishing POETRY INK can be found in the first issue
which was produced; as Issue 1 was not widely distributed, I think the
story behind POETRY INK bears repeating.

I believe the electronic media will eventually replace the more
traditional forms of written communication. With the popularization of
the Internet spreading like wildfire, the millions of users tapping
into the world-wide communication database provide artists and
writers like myself a ready-and-waiting audience hungering for
entertainment, knowledge, and a feeling of focused human interest.
When this is tied to the fact that the monetary cost of electronic
publishing is only production time and connection charges, it is
amazing that big name publishing houses are not pushing their books
and authors out into cyberspace. Of course, the reason for this is
simple: they can't make a profit if anybody can freely download
Stephen King's or Jackie Collins's latest work and just give copies to
whomever wants one. So we are left with works in the public domain
whose copyright has expired, such as many of those put out by the fine
folks involved with Project Gutenberg.

But what about the rest of us? Many of us would like to see our name
in print and feel that rush when we realize someone other than
ourselves will actually read our work. But when the "Literary Littles"
are shuttering their doors and closing down, when even the big
publishing houses like Alfred A. Knopf are dropping well-known poets
such as Donald Finkle from their ranks, when poetry magazines are
backlogged for months, where should we turn? Well, the answer is
clear. Cyberspace. Perhaps we won't reap any monetary rewards (but
then, who's in this for the money anyway?), but the satisfaction of
seeing our work in print is a payoff in itself.

So that is why I decided to start this thing. After getting rejection
letter after rejection letter, I decided that if I couldn't get
published somewhere else, I'd just have to do it myself. However, I
can't just publish my stuff alone--Lord knows I write a lot, but not
enough to fill an entire magazine. Therefore, I put out a call for
submissions and you, dear readers, answered my call. I can confidently
say I have received several hundred submissions, and it has been
difficult to wade through all this text and find the real gems. Some
of you may be wondering what I mean by "real gems." Well, to be
perfectly honest, I have discovered that I have formed several
hard-edged, no-compromisable opinions about writing in general and
poetry in specific. I share these with you because I think this
"Poetry Manifesto" sums up pretty much what I look for when I talk
about quality submissions to POETRY INK.

So hopefully the following will answer the question regarding what I
am looking for:

* I'd rather read a poem which challenges me than one
which asks too little. I don't read poetry to be entertained; I read
it to make me think. I like a poem which makes me think about WHY I
feel the way the poem makes me feel.

* I like simplistic and minimalistic images in poetry--the way the
words work together to be simple when presenting complex images and
still getting that image across. William Carlos Williams and Sir
Philip Sidney come to mind.

* I like narrative forms; that's why I stick to free verse. I think
free verse is the saving grace of contemporary poetry, but I see a
trend towards using traditional forms. A mastery of form allows your
other works to flow even better. Some forms like sestinas and
villanelles do allow much room for creativity, but I always come back
to free verse.

* Grammar is the backbone of free verse; without it all you have is
junk on a page. People think grammar can just get thrown out the
window where poetry is concerned. I hate it when people don't use any
punctuation at all, as if they are above the lowly comma.

* A bad line break can throw a poem way, way, way off course. My point
is that it is the way a poet writes the lines on the page that make it
a poem. Those of you who have read e.e. cummings or Richard Wilbur
know what I mean.

* The best way to appreciate the nuance of meter is to read it aloud.

* Poetry must stand the test of being read aloud as well as silently
on the page. It must be read aloud because that is what poetry is all
about. The first poets were the keepers of wisdom and tales in tribal
times.

* Poetry makes good therapy, but therapy does not make good poetry in
most cases. Most people writing out of angst don't take the time to
re-write and re-work their poetry. They just spew it out and think
that's all there is to it. Good poetry takes work and work and
work-often months. Poems need to be worked and worked and reworked and
by that time, the original feeling is often bruised and battered and
barely even there. Poems I wrote five to ten years ago are still in a
constant state of revision.

* Love poems, suicide poems, and "gee, it's a nice sunny day" poems
have all been done better by somebody else (most notably Wild Bill
Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath, and Rod McKuen, respectively). Skip them
and move on.

* Successful poetry (or fiction for that matter) allows another person
to experience the same emotions as the writer intended. Really
successful poetry allows another person to experience the opposite
emotions which the writer intended. Anne Sexton's volume of reworked
fairy tales "Transformations" is an excellent example these
principles.

* Rhyme should not be obvious. If you use rhyme in your verse, it
should not be forced or contribute a "Dr. Suess-like" quality. Rhyme
should be subtle; even when writing traditional verse such as troilets
or sonnets, rhyme should be understated and flow or blend in with the
rest of the work.

* Heroic couplets died a nice quiet death during and immediately after
the Restoration. Let's leave it that way.

* If you want to write good poetry, read good poetry first. Start with
the classics--and I do mean the classics. Start with the Ancient
Greeks and work your way up to the contemporaries over time. And
don't forget to read the Bible, the Koran, and any other religious
text you can get your hands on. Sacred texts are the most widely
accepted poetical works read today, and if you read them cover to
cover you'll soon learn why.

* Write for at least an hour and a half everyday right after dinner,
and remember that nothing ever comes out on paper completely done.

Well, that's it. I think I covered all the bases here. Of course, all
of this is just my opinion, and is up for debate. In fact, I welcome
your letters, suggestions, and criticism; just send them to
<[email protected]>, and I will try to get back to you. I am
considering adding a Reader Feedback Section and your overall response
will help decide whether or not to do so. Also, I am thinking of
adding a writing contest or two sometime in the future. If you think
this is a good idea, please eMail me and let me know what kind of
topic or slant the contest should have and what sort of prizes should
be offered.

Anyway, I think I've run out of steam. Please enjoy this issue and
drop our contributors a line to let them know you what you thought of
their work.

And remember, Spill the Ink!

Karen Alkalay-Gut
-----------------
<[email protected]>
2 poems

_Telephone_

Do you remember me?
I remember you the way
my tongue remembers
feeling for a new tooth
sprouting in young gums
I've come out of hiding
You still
hide from me
your back against
the cold
brick wall
How are things with you?
How I needed a kind word
when you were gone
How I learned to live
with that need
When can we meet?
Anytime
never

_The Captive_

You are in the other corner of the large room,
sitting by the door, while I am engaged
in empty talking on the stage
and my heart moves in its cage --
I recognize all those eyes.
you have brought them both today --
prisoner and guard.

Sometimes I knock and the watchman says,
"No visiting -- especially not
someone like you -- perhaps you can bring
a note from the warden and then who knows."
And sometimes he says there is no one confined,
and I play gin with him and wait.
There might be a cry from the dungeon
or I may be able to circumvent him
with a circuitous route to the bathroom
and walk by the bars
and touch the hand extended in the dark
before I return for another round of cards.
"How silly you are. I don't know what
you mean," says the guard, but today
it is very clear - the prisoner
from far away screams.

Michael Morrow
--------------
<[email protected]>
short fictiom

_Under the Umbrella_

Bracing myself against the chill December wind, I push open the heavy
mahogany door to the church and step back into the world of the
living.

Behind me, the throng of friends and family mumbles and small-talks as
they, too, file out of the vestibule into the frigid evening air. I
sigh as the weather washes over me, stinging my face as pinpoint beads
of sweat freeze to my whiskers. I quicken my pace, anxious to distance
myself from the stiff-backed pews and black-wool stuffiness that
nearly smothered me during the memorial service. A few familiar voices
call my name, but I button my overcoat and continue walking. The last
thing I want is to talk to them, much less go out for drinks to
celebrate Jasmine's memory.

Jasmine and I had been lovers once, years ago, in a much less scary
time. A time before testing and red ribbons and safe-sex public
service announcements. We remained friends after the break-up; our
shared passion for animated discussions over a good cup of coffee
outlived any other passions we may have once shared, and we never
failed to meet at Edna's on Thursday nights.

Until last year, that is, when we began to get together according to
whether or not Jasmine was feeling well on a given night. I've never
quite forgiven myself for my reaction when Jasmine told me she was
Positive. My muscles tensed in unison, and all I could think about was
what that meant for me. At that stage of the game, sex was little more
than a recreational sport for me. I'd never even thought of being
tested, and for all I knew maybe I had given her the death sentence.
Or worse, given myself the death sentence. I felt as if I truly knew
fear for the first time--I couldn't speak, I couldn't move. Those
first tears were for myself.

As I looked and saw the fear welling up in Jasmine's eyes, I turned my
eyes away, angry, and even a bit ashamed, at my reaction. After that
night, it was Jasmine who would often look about distractedly --
sometimes in shame, sometimes in despair, sometimes in an emotion that
only touches those who know they may soon die.

I'm no longer in the slick part of town where Jasmine's parents live,
but closer to my own home. Realizing this, I decide that home is too
haunted a place to be right now. A glance at my watch and a brief
pause to light a cigarette slow me down just long enough to decide
against going to Edna's, and I turn the corner.

"Hey, man you gotta light for me?" From out of the street lamp
shadows, a shattered bag of bones emerges, pinching a crushed-out
cigarette butt between his fingers. His voice rattles inside his
throat, as if the skin of his neck is too loose to keep his voice box
in, as he asks me again.

"D'ja hear me, doctor? You gotta light for me?"

Wordlessly, I pull out a fresh cigarette, light it, and hand it over
to the man. His lips are blistered at the corners, and I shudder as I
move on, recalling the painful, awkward hours spent smoothing ointment
on the sores that Jasmine couldn't reach. I throw my own cigarette
into the street. The burning tip makes a long, slow arc before it hits
the pavement ahead of me and rolls into a puddle of melted slush.

Several blocks of mental small-talk later, I come across my
destination: Sid's Cafe Americana, a hole-in-the-wall diner with
coffee like motor oil and an array of always-empty tables. I pull on
the door, ringing the bell attached to the handle. A squat and
unshaven man behind the counter nods inquisitively as I enter.

"Coffee, and an order of fries." I make my way to a seat directly
across from a First Aid for Choking Victims sign, brush a straw
wrapper off the chair and sit down. The tumultuous splattering of my
dinner being dropped in the fryer mutes the clicking of my Zippo as I
light another cigarette. Again with a nod, the man brings me a
steaming mug, well-worn from the dishwasher.

The coffee nearly scalds my tongue as I sample the bitter brew. A few
minutes later, a plate of grease and french fries sits before me. I
set the cigarette in the tin ashtray and watch the ash grow longer as
I eat. We are alone in the restaurant, Sid and I, and I can hear his
congested breathing from across the room. I glance over; he is sitting
behind the counter, hunched over a magazine that holds his complete
attention. I finish my fries, and stare at the lone deco print near
the men's room for several minutes before I interrupt him. I receive
$2.47 in change and return to the cold silence outside.

The air is crisp and winter-clear as I wander back towards home. Above
is the unfriendly slate umbrella of sky, city lights and cloud cover
obscuring the stars, myriad as the memories pushing their way from the
back of my mind.

They flutter and dance around my head but do not land, kept at bay by
an occasional swatting motion with my gloved right hand. Preventing
the memories from alighting there occupies my thoughts the entire way
home; if one should find its way through my defenses, the rest will
follow. And the night is cold enough already.

John Freemyer
------------
<[email protected]>
1 poem

_Suburban Vampire_

The drug dealer down the street
here in the suburbs
of Los Angeles
is a gringo
who drives a big white pickup
with a chrome tool box
mounted in the back.

I've seen him in a blue tuxedo,
his girlfriend in a soft blue dress.
Ordinary folks.
You might mistake them for
human beings.

But I caught a glimpse of the pickup
in my rearview mirror one afternoon
as it raced up behind me to
make the green light.

No driver.

Larissa Smith
-------------
<[email protected]>
2 poems

_Requiem In Three Acts_

One_
Far too sudden, this shearing away of life,
Of breath, whole branches of Destiny's fan
Silently ceasing to be between one breath and the next.
For no apparent reason, all of these still silent dead, whether futile
Or merely improbable.
Hearing this news is like dying in childbed,
Knowing that the life torn from you in blood and agony
Will not outlive you long.

Two_
These funerals are for the living, they say. Unlikely.
Or at least for a different variety of living than I,
Who find no solace in afterlives or reincarnations.
They have not gone on, nor crossed over, nor gone ahead,
Nor any of the other euphemisms
With which we trivialize our losses.
They are there in the cold earth and will never come out,
Blank unawareness and dirt filling sightless eyes.
The person I knew has vanished
And left me behind to stand on the grass at the foot of the grave,
Carefully walled, unfeeling,
Remembering not his laughter but his face in the coffin.
My migraines smell of roses and formaldehyde.

Three_
And, for a while, there are nightmares.
Until I manage to forget this one as well,
Put out of my mind the hollow panic at a certain song,
The memory of friendship and sometimes love.
And I, who stood clear-eyed by the grave because I dared not feel,
Weep sometimes in the safety of my dreams.
Grief metastasizes like a cancer,
Eating away at the soul and the gut
Until the emptiness that remains is of a size to hold,
Small and diamond-hard,
The cold tumor of being left behind.

_Songs From The Event Horizon_

Poor doomed particles, you dance
Like acolytes of Bacchus on the
Long-ago hillsides of Greece,
Mirroring your dopplegangers
On the far side of distant reality;
With your perilously escaping
Radiation, you are small Homers,
Singing the bittersweet cantos
Of dying suns for earthbound ears
Homesick for the stars.
We watch your dance as our fathers
Watched the fires on the hillside,
Gathering with their iron swords
And uniforms of lost empires' armies
To hear the blind poets
Who sang to us of gods.

Rebecca E. Hays
---------------
<[email protected]>
1 poem

_Moonshadow_

Last night I saw you walking toward me
'cross the surface of the moon....
flickering between existences
of night darker than the universal sky
and the starkly strobing ever-daylight...
Calmly you searched the brilliant here
and the stygian gone,
smiling confidently,
thinking to find me standing,
beautiful in the glow of Sol....

A dry moonwind blew parched moondust...
Irrelevant cyclones
whirled 'round your feet
beseeching permission to guide....
....but their strength was less real
than the moonwind that gave them birth....

You probed onward....

Passing slowly through the moonshadow of my hiding place,
at my side to pause, unsure,
near enough to feel the sigh of my agony,
then pass on....
Disappearing again into the gone of nonexistence,
only becoming actual once more in striding away....
far behind where I ever-sit.

The moonwind kindly, thirstily, drank my tears.

Richard Epstein
---------------
<[email protected]>
1 poem

_Towns In Such Movies_

In the towns where they make such movies,
with white fences and moms who stay home,
bake pies, do floors, and starch their aprons,
are found aphids, not lice, not streetcrime,
and the drug of choice is sympathy,
come incarnated as soft white bread
and lunch meat--pink and white. As are all.

Dads shave, dogs fetch. The trash knows its place,
in the can or at the curb. On the coasts,
peripheral and multi-cuisined,
men lead strange lives, women know best;
even the cops menace. But from these flicks
dawn comes up on cornflakes, and bacon
scents the white day, while schoolboys cheer.

Jerrold Rabushka
----------------
<[email protected]>
1 poem

_Wireflies_
Swept across wires
Like a wind across Kansas
Like a trucker fording Highway 70
To quench unseen passion at unseen oasis

Your voice electricflows on direct current
to my heart
And wrestles me onto a rack of fantasy
Like a strong hurricane storm wind
From below

Strange beliefs that
this is it this is real
I lick up sounds from the puddle
As your voice drips strong off the wires
Into my desperate desert
Filling my swollen heart
With lies of the truth
That I can fallglide into your own life
As easy as landing a plane on a giant runway
Where you guide me into your deepest eyes
And into one kiss that says that
Years later
One of us will die
Before our love

Call For Thematic Works!
------------------------
That's right! Thematic works! We've extended the deadline another
month! We are currently seeking submissions for a special upcoming
issue of POETRY INK based upon a specific theme. We hope you answer
the call! Don't let us down!

The special issue's theme will be (drum roll please!):

NIGHT AND THE CITY

Send us your poems! Send us your fiction! Send us your essays! Send us
your money! Send us photos of your cat dressed in drag! That's right!
To repeat, our first theme issue's theme will be:

NIGHT AND THE CITY

Interpret this as you may. Submissions for the special theme issue
must be in by August 31, 1995. Regular submission guidelines apply (so
read those chapters!), except the subject of your submission must be
"SUBMIT N&C: your name" where "your name" is your actual name, and not
the name of your e-mail account. For example, it should look like
this:

SUBMIT N&C: John Q. Public

Accepted submissions will be notified by e-mail as soon as possible.
Non-accepted submissions will not. Life sucks. Deal with it.

About The Contributors
----------------------

Karen Alkalay-Gut teaches English poetry at Tel Aviv University in Tel
Aviv, Israel. Her poems _Windows And Doors_ and _Elvis_ appeared in
the second issue of POETRY INK. Her latest books are "Ignorant Armies"
(Cross-Cultural Communications, 1994) and "Recipes" (Golan, 1994).

Michael Morrow is a senior at Beloit College, in Beloit, Wisconsin,
where he is pursuing a degree in Creative Writing and Literary Studies
with a minor in Sociolinguistics. Three years ago he co-founded
"Pocket Lint", a small but nationally distributed literary journal,
and has worked as both Poetry Editor and Senior Editor. When not
writing, Michael thoroughly enjoys sleeping and playing bass guitar in
Naked, a rock band based in the Chicago area.

John Freemyer lives in Los Angeles. His earlier poetry was published
in "Coliform" and "Machine Tribe" between 1979 & 1982. He recently
began writing poetry again after emerging victoriously from a fifteen
year bout with manic-depression. _Suburban Vampire_ is his first
published poem in thirteen years.

Larissa Smith is a first-year graduate student in the Department of
Psychology at the University of California-Riverside. Her hobbies and
interests include history, the Society for Creative Anachronism,
forensic science and theoretical physics. This is her first
nontechnical publication.

Rebecca E. Hays lives in Cascade, Maryland, a place she describes as a
"tiny rural town." Due to a severe physical diability she is virtually
homebound and therefore spends much of her time writing fiction and
poetry which she shares with those friends she has met on-line. She
welomes comments and criticism of her work. This is her first
appearance in print.

Richard Epstein's poetry continues to appear in a wide assortment of
mostly obscure journals, both in the U.S.A. and in Great Britain.
Recent credits include "Staple" and "Seam" in England; "Lyric",
"10x6", and "Potpourri" here in the States. He makes his living as a
litigation paralegal. Two of his books, "Second Thoughts" and "The
Missouri Shores", are currently under consideration for publication.

Jerrold Rabushka is the associate editor of "The Paint Dealer", a
nationally distributed trade magazine for the paint industry. He also
writes for two local St. Louis magazines, "Spotlight" and "The St.
Louis Artesian". His poems _Tonya Harding_ and _Jewish Holidays_
appeared in the second issue of POETRY INK . He also plays keyboards.
Loud.

Submission Guidelines
---------------------

(You may want to print this for future reference.)

* Failure to follow these guidelines will mean automatic rejection of
your submission! Please read the following very carefully!

* By submitting works for consideration, you agree that if accepted
for publication, you grant POETRY INK, the electronic magazine
produced by POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS and Matthew W. Schmeer the right to
publish your work. This right includes initial publication and any
subsequent re-release of the issue of POETRY INK in which your work
appeared, either in the electronic or the printed medium. All other
rights to your work are released to you upon publication. If we wish
to publish your work in a different issue of POETRY INK, we will
contact you for permission to do so and acknowledge your right of
refusal.

* By submitting work for consideration, you acknowledge that the
works you are submitting are your own original works and are products
of your own design. You further agree that we have the right to
request additional information from you regarding the source(s) of
your work and any related topic thereof. You agree that if your work
is found to be a derivative of copyrighted material by another author
or artist, you, and not POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS and/or Matthew W.
Schmeer, will be liable for any physical or monetary damage assessed
under the jurisdiction of the courts of the United States of America
and the conventions of the International Copyright Law.

* By submitting works for consideration, you acknowledge that you are
not nor will ever be requesting monetary compensation for the right of
POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS to publish your work. You therefore acknowledge
the only compensation due to you by POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS is access
to a copy of the issue of POETRY INK in which your work appeared.
Acceptable access to POETRY INK is the posting of POETRY INK on
eWorld, America On-Line, the Internet at sumex-aim.stanford.edu and
mac.archive.umich.edu, and via e- mail sent directly to you; whichever
we decide is fair and cost-effective.

* Submissions should be written in the English language. We regret
that we are unable to publish work in foreign languages, but we cannot
spend time flipping through foreign language dictionaries trying to
check grammar, spelling, and meaning. Unless you can provide an
English translation to a work in a foreign language, forget about it.

* No previously published work may be submitted. Simultaneous
submissions are okay. In the case of simultaneous submissions, please
contact us if your work has been accepted by another publication so
that we may remove the work in question from consideration.

* All submissions must have your name, postal address, age, and
e-mail address included on each individual work. You may submit work
via U.S. Mail or e-mail. See below for addresses. NOTE: e-mail
submissions are highly preferred.

* No gratuitous obscenity or profanity, although erotic material is
okay. If you think it's too graphic, then it probably is and won't be
published in this forum.

* Please keep poems under 3 printed pages apiece (page size = 8" x
11" page with 1" margins printed with Times 12-point plain font).

* Please limit short stories to under 5000 words.

* No more than 5 poems or 2 short stories submitted per person per
issue.

* Submissions should be submitted as plain ASCII e-mail files or as
StuffIt compressed (.sit) attachments to e-mail messages. Compressed
files should be in plain text format (the kind produced by
SimpleText). Regardless of submission format, please use the subject
line "SUBMIT POETRY INK: your name" where "your name" is your actual
name and not the name of your e-mail account. Omit the quotation
marks. For example, it should look like this:

SUBMIT POETRY INK: John Q. Public

* Manuscripts and submissions cannot be returned, nor can we offer
any constructive criticism unless we decide to publish your work and
have serious reservations regarding content or structure. You will not
receive notification that your work was received; while we regret this
inconvenience, you must realize we have to support ourselves somehow.
Therefore, due to the amount of expected submissions, we cannot
acknowledge receipt of your work unless we decide to publish it.

* If your work is accepted for publication, you will be notified as
soon as possible via e-mail. If you prefer to be notified by U.S.
Mail, please indicate this preference on your submission. Your e-mail
address will be published when crediting your work. If you prefer us
not to do so, please indicate this on your submission as well.

* Subscribers to the PATCHWORK mailing list will be given special
consideration in the selection process. For information regarding
PATCHWORK, or to subscribe, send an e-mail message to patchwork-
[email protected], with the subject "HELP" (no quotes). It is not
necessary to include any text in the body of the message.
All submissions, inquiries, and comments should be directed to:

e-mail: <[email protected]>

snail mail:
Matthew W. Schmeer
POETRY INK PRODUCTIONS
6711-A Mitchell Avenue
St. Louis, MO 63139-3647 USA

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