Open Heart Forgery is a lovely free journal that “aims to energize Halifax writers from the grass roots up.” It does exactly that, giving poets a chance to see their words in print. I miss it greatly now that I’ve decamped to Ontario.
Before I left, they graciously accepted some of my doggerel. I’ve attached them below. Enjoy…
Gloomily Ruminating On the Day Ahead, or
waking to an email saying I have been rejected
by Dorothyanne Brown June 2014
Sleep tastes like cat hair in my mouth
I peer at my iPad, one eye,
The good one for reading,
Barely open, the other shut
So as not to confuse
“Thank you, but no,” the message says
My utter failure as a writer
My uselessness as a conveyor of emotion
My uncounted wasted hours
Cheer up, my friend says
You’ll do better, later
Think of Stephen King!
(He does not write, my friend)
I pull in my eviscerated organs
And plod on, blinking.
On receiving an unwelcome package in the mail
Dorothyanne Brown February 2015
Oh frabjous day, callooh callay
Said Carroll long ago
I rather imagine his joyous day
Was not like mine, oh no.
For on this day I smiled wide
To see a letter lie so
Against my lonely mailbox side
Where only bills seem to go
I clasped it in my sweaty hands
Excited as a child
Only to read on the return address
That it was THAT test inside
A fingertip of Death’s cool hand
Poked in my quivering belly
“It’s time to screen your poo,” he said
“A task most awfully smelly.”
It is a shabby life I lead
When the post is so unexciting
That even a test you smear and return
Seems ALMOST quite inviting.
Sonnet by Dorothyanne Brown April 2013
When I was just a tiny girl
I used to want to find my boy
But now that my whole life’s awhirl
I find that men, they do annoy.
They want a gal to fill their tum
And keep them warm and often touched
Unless I cheer them, they are glum
And lay about and scratch and such.
But as I age I feel the ache
Of living lone and sans a mate
It seems I must a big step take
And find a chum before too late
To learn to care again is tough
I only hope to love enough.