Submission Policy





Mel BrakE Press acquires first serial rights to all work published. Mel BrakE Press also reserves the right to electronically archive any content published.




All other rights revert to author upon publication.



Mel BrakE Press has a liberal submission policy, and will accept poetry manuscripts (not books) for its next publication cycle, the Winter of 2015.



We do not charge a reading fee. We DO NOT PAY TO PUBLISH YOUR WORK.



We only accept submissions via email for collection of poems. Please send no more than 3-5 pages of poetry as an email attachment using standard MS format. We do not accept epic manuscripts:10 pages or more will be rejected.



Please note in subject line: "Submission".

Manuscripts that do not follow our guidelines
will be subject to rejection. We do not publish books.



Direct submissions or questions to:

Mbrake1@msn.com



Thank you











Sunday, October 19, 2014

ANTHONY ARNOTT-POETRY

ANTHONY ARNOTT
(No Bio provided)





Hang-over cure
                                                
The pain of the                                       
morning rips through             my skull
and the taste
of your lips on            my own fails
to dull             the ache that leaves
me paralysed.

My eyes loll  
to the bedroom
floor, where the
mess remains from
the night before and clothes
with sweat and
ale stains look
too much of our times
to be moved.




Trapped?

He used to treat her like shit. Haven’t
seen them for a while.

He’s got fat and she
doesn’t wear make-up anymore.

And he still treats her like shit.



Stand clear of the doors, please

Baggy clothes walk
as if the world owes
them something, tries
to go
down the up
escalator.
Creeping back

into
the fold.
He will become
himself, Hollywood
moment.



B-sides (and rarities)

Pick up on
the faintest
clue of
what
was meant
to
be,

future echoes
of a sing-along classic.
Knowing heard  a snap-shot
of a time of transformation,

betwixt two
eras: die-hards and
band-wagoners.
We know why

they are here.
Transitions, wave into
another version, playing
on
nostalgic anticipation.
Heat

of the moment, something of
an idea records

fill space, perhaps, cover.















JASON CONSTANTINE FORD-POETRY



Jason Constantine Ford is from Perth in Australia. He works as an employee at a book shop. He has over fifteen years of experience in studying various styles of poetry. The major influences on his style of poetry are William Blake, Edgar Alan Poe and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Blake’s ability to address the social issues of his time through poetry and painting has had a lasting impact upon Jason’s early years. For correspondence, contact Jason at jasonconstantineford@gmail.com

JASON CONSTANTINE FORD

Dream Woman


I walk toward a sign which indicates
Directions to a palace and begin to see
A woman of beauty appearing at the gates
Without another person in her company.

She holds a bowl of diverse fruits in her hand
And takes a bite from an apple which is green
As she gazes at me with features grand,
A beauty greater than other faces I have seen.

She offers me a piece of fruit to eat
And I respond by extending my hand out
To only touch empty air in summer heat
In a state of mind already plagued with doubt.



Morning Hangover


Images are flashing back as sparks ignite
Delusions I suffered from the other night.

The girls I encountered at a party appear
To be here as they speak with words I endear.

They are talking about values I evoked
Within the span of sharing weed we smoked.

I leave my bed desiring to embrace
A girl until she is gone without a trace.

In that moment, all the others have left
As I devolve with emotions bereft.

The boundary separating fiction from fact
Appears obscured in a manner most exact.

I cannot even tell the difference between
Reals girls and those who have never been.
 



Flashback of Pain


Images of her return within my sleep
As a set of brittle memories entering deep
Into both conscious and unconscious thought
Until images are gone away to status nought.
One image returns with bitterness immense
From the day she cruelly chose to withdraw
Her love resulting in affliction of each sense
Of mine unto a state of me being sore.
Memory of how she pulled her hand away
Is a form of bitterness that decides to stay.

Although I attempt to remove this image,
Chambers of thought suffer from the damage
This image brings into my state of mind
As effects of bitter years which always grind.
Each year which is dissolved into the dust
Of sadness is sprinkled with the pain of knowing
How I am simply left with less than the crust
Of years of bitterness that are still blowing.
In my sleep, the wind blows against my back
With the full force of an emotional attack.




The Tower of Illusion


At imposing height so high above the ground,
Machines are impregnating each captive mind
With memories of falsity most profound
Resulting in descent unto a status blind.
Circuits that connect each mind to central command,
Prepare for stage where former names no longer stand.
The tower’s brain replaces facts with callous lies
Designed to destroy the reality it denies.
The brain controlling brittle minds decides to break
Memories of old and inject fabricated life
Into the chambers of thought which blindly partake
In ocean of virtual delusions that are rife.
The span of years from brittle minds have been replaced
With new identities as former names are effaced.



Inside the Tower of Illusion


Circuits from a machine are placed around my head
unto an infusion of passionate thoughts that spread
to a belief that I am treading in a world below.

As I search through the mist of memories weak,
I am immersed with feelings for a woman I seek
And enter the woods without knowledge of where to go.

I pass through bushes which are shaking in the breeze
And gain a glimpse of this woman among the trees
Until she starts running away from my view.

Without any sense of direction, I begin to chase
Her with desperation but I cannot see a trace
Of features captivating me unlike others I knew.

In this state of ignorance where my goal is hidden
Among other virtual images that are forbidden
To me, a tower of illusion holds me captive.

I am left seeking a woman who does not exist
As passions within me are ones which persist
Under the control of a machine that remains active.