Two Poems by Lisa Kelly

Window on the Garden

Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about with us.
– Oscar Wilde

The coal tit is being purposefully
epigrammatic,
its terse flight from hedge
to bike handlebar,
and seemingly off
only to be back on the bike briefly.

So many false promises
of departure, playing
with finality like a conifer seed
in its nippy beak, it revels
in its mastery of reprieve
with flippant swerves,

in a black bow tie and wing collar,
it deflects
each drawn-out ending,
a sunflower seed
raided from a forgotten hoard.
Passerine bird
with three toes facing forward,
and one backward –

able to cling to the vertical
without falling out
of the picture,
you are impossible to frame. This urge
to cup you like a soft bollock and squeeze,
is wrong, in a nutshell

but your pithy nature;
the impossibility of boiling down
spirit into sweetmeat
makes a play of thwarted possession:
agog to count
the freckles on your eggs
in their nest in a mouse hole,
to pop one in my mouth
and keep it forever, far from teeth.

 

 

Mammogram

This sky ceiling has been kindly donated
by Patricia Madden Cancer Trust

Look up sister! Six blue squares,
but only one is clear, as cirrus clouds
permanently gather in the other five.
Look at the poster sister! A man
manages colour-coded strings,
so his gown doesn’t gape.
Look down sister! Flip
through a torn magazine.
See the ads: Breast Feeding is Best;
How to Enhance a Small Cleavage.
Look this nurse straight in the eye sister!
Smile. What are the odds you’re next?
Attention sister! All mammography patients
please remove deodorant or talcum powder
from the upper half of your body.
Look sister! If you have sensitive
breasts, this may hurt. Look up sister!
Outside, a black sky hangs open,
the moon impersonates a breast.

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Four Prose Poems by Keith Moul

Bolts and Woodgrain

Look out from the observation platform at Washington Pass.  The view’s the thing!  Mountains ranged before the glowing light, mountains before the wind; mountains after all that wind, that to the eye, resist encroaching trees.  Yet for some the weathering wood, sturdy retainer, and bolted steel at close perspective, assuring notice to the orange and black stain, graying from snow and rain, growth rings insistent as annual pleas, draw our focus, demand our first consideration now, during light, during clarity, during rare peace among those rocks seemingly indifferent to ice.

moul 1

Restraint

Ferry car deck serves as temporary road, dumping dark waves of Puget Sound aside, waves that spray the sturdy car-trap, with yellow rope reminding careless passengers that danger in a lurch, catastrophe in a lunge, eternity at depths with fishes for company.  So the highway waddles through whitecaps; fights light that escapes enveloping clouds; cherishes sun serving as spotlight for an audience of trees on the dark shore, danger and entertainment both; jilts passengers’ eyes straining for known landmarks, signs of the journey’s continuance; relieves those bobbing in desperation for deposit at the dock where the boat will shudder after coupling, revving its anticipation for return to Keystone.

moul 2

Schoolbus

The search (which I shouldn’t have to explain) never ceases.  In this case, partially obscured beneath lacey cedars, light haloes its past usefulness; light surrenders to closing darkness children no longer served in remote Marblemount.  The search exposes epiphany: raw transformation of weeds and invading mosses compel display of the human condition, while behind this point of timely view, out of sight, but detectable by the ear, the Skagit River surges, propelling hurried rocks in their slow conversion from a Cascade peak into silt proceeding in perfect accord with natural law toward future compactions.

Moul 3

Driftwood

The whole point of such objects is mystery: a tree survives peculiarly from its own time, its own space, no known context, no comradeship in wood, no causes before gods, no election to elite membership, only sad credibility that buoyancy prevails, currents and tides obliged to the moon arbitrate.  Then to persist here on a shore, a fireless dragon guarding time, like a white bone completing a duty with dignity as though in a palace arbor.

Moul 4

Christmas Photographs: A New Poem by Lesley Burt

Family history told through
various sofas, hairstyles,
decorated pine trees;

children changing heights
to stand beside Santa in
different stores and towns;

one where, laughing, we all
strum inflatable guitars
brought home from Memphis.

One where, on the day,
I could not see that my mother
already looked like a ghost.

Rocks and Water by Heather Wheat

My son stands before me, facing away,
his shirt back straight, his posture
perfect.
I am afraid that when he turns to
face me, after dropping his rock in a
bucket half-full of water,
he will be
10,
20,
30,
and I will regret those
millennia in between.
A drop of water strikes a rock;
I see just how quickly the
surface changes,
but the substance beneath stays
the same.
And I am grateful for love.

Begin Again: Father to Son by Len Kuntz

Maybe now you can see the stars
leaning bright-tipped above your head.
And perhaps you notice how,
if you stitch them together,
they become glowing jump ropes,
the clouds as children
leaping and yodeling over arc shadows in a twilit park.
Sometimes we have to learn to love other things
and nature is what sutures,
what heals,
placing a palm on the middle of our back,
a bit like a demanding nurse
gently prodding, pushing and pulling us up on our feet
so that we might begin again.
Sometimes we have to choose others
which really just means loving ourselves first and foremost.
This is no rebuke, no judgment. There’s enough of that in the world.
But, Dear Son,
the noose and the blade are no one’s friend,
so please
please give them up for once.
If you can’t do it alone,
at least take my hand.
Here.
Good. Thank you.
Up we go now, off this bed and out that door
and into the night,
cool air on our skins,
crickets and stars and smell of weed grass everywhere.
Ah, through a cloud scarf
the moon has just this second peeked out,
perfectly pale and round.
Do you see it? Yes?
Won’t you take a step and stand where I’m standing?
Why don’t you get a really good look
and, if you think you can,
raise your voice and tell her
how beautiful she is.

Real Realism: An Art Manifesto for the Disenchanted by Mark Blickley and Frie J. Jacobs

Real Realism

Real Realism – An Art Manifesto for the Disenchanted

Mark Blickley is a widely published author of fiction, non-fiction, drama and poetry. His most recent book is ‘Sacred Misfits” (Red Hen Press) and his latest play, “Beauty Knows No Pain,” opens in November at NYC’s 13th Street Rep Theater. He is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild and PEN American Center.

Frie J. Jacobs is a Belgian visual artist, poet and composer. His 2015 credits include exhibiting at the international Art Festival Watou in Belgium, and the Brussels International Underground Poetry Festival at WIELS (one of the leading institutions for contemporary art in Europe).  Along with participation in numerous group and solo art shows, he co-curated Project O, a roofless independent art project.  Jacobs also composes music and soundscapes for video, and is a member of the international artist collective, Urban Dialogues.

Two Poems by Dairena Ní Chinnéide

Green Rockpool

Photography by Dairena Ní Chinnéide

Departure

Like shedding skin
fragments are packed up
shards of sanctuary disappear
the cottage dishes are washed
bags negotiate themselves
in a form of farewell.

I sit in this artists retreat
observing beauty peeking out of a Lidil’s bag
almost completed paintings
of a desire
as transitory as the brushstroke
the intentional randomness
of a splattered and empty easel.

Colours echo more than sound
or the potential of memory
from the artistry within us
swallowed gulps of gaiety
a whole moon on a shoulder
the palette of parting
still wet in cracks of stone.

Flying the Coop

flown coop,
a wall
between emptiness.

space expands
in this narrow
house

I do not inhabit,
just resting,
conjuring my nest.

aloneness
blares,
digitally enhanced,

oneness
breathes personality,
comet risen;

I blossom
by dim light
in my bed,

loverless,
ecstatically naked,
like water.

purified silence
delves in, I live alone,
alive.

The Death of My Wife (After Mei Yaochen)

MeiYaoChen

The year is like a snake,
crawling through a field
tortuously toward its end.
Clouds like trucks roll
across the sky.
Stars burn in the void
of a black night, only to die.
My toenails are as long
as sabers. My hair
falls into my eyes.
Writing a poem is harder
than climbing a mountain,
or drinking from a dry fountain.
My face looks as old
as the Yellow River.
Only two months ago,
I felt like I was twenty-five,
when you were still alive.

Long Exposure Magazine: Front Cover Opportunity

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For our next issue, Long Exposure Magazine is seeking photography or visual art based on the theme of ‘Movement’. The representation of movement, such as the play of light, the movement of animals or the actions of figures, have been a long standing preoccupation for the techniques of creative writing and the visual arts. The theme is open to new possibilities and can be interpreted in any way you choose.

A selected image or art work will then be chosen to feature as the front cover of Long Exposure Issue 3. Submissions to: editor@longexposuremagazine.com
As always, we look forward to viewing your work!

To view the type of work we have featured to date, read our previous issues here.

For the latest updates on the progress of the magazine and to view new content, support Long Exposure on social media:

Twitter: @longexposuremag
Facebook: Long Exposure Magazine

Poetry Tutoring Opportunity

T.S.-Eliot-and-Ezra-Pound

For Ezra Pound
il miglior fabbro.

(The better crasftsman.)

– T.S Eliot’s dedication, The Wasteland, 1922.

For some, the act of writing can be seen as highly individual, even solitary in nature.
However, with the amount of participation in creative writing courses of various types over the past several years, there is a definite engagement with the craft of writing, and the social element a course entails. Courses of this type cannot generate publishable work from scratch, but provide a space to present it, nurture interest and confidence, and sharpen talent and direction. We as writers can benefit greatly from this type of creative collaboration, a way of seeing our work from a fresh perspective and pushing its best qualities on to their full potential, much as Eliot and Pound displayed in the dynamics of their relationship.
Long Exposure Magazine’s team is offering rigorous one-on-one support online to provide guidance for poets at any stage of their careers, who are looking for constructive feedback and engaging ways to make further progress with their work.
Tutoring sessions and pricing are highly flexible. If you would like to be involved please send a small sample of your work to: editor@longexposuremagazine.com. Any further enquiries can be made to the same address. We look forward to hearing from you!

Review: Insatiable Carrot by Judy Kendall

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Insatiable Carrot by Judy Kendall (Cinnamon Press, 2015)

For many writers, the garden, as a natural environment partly shaped by the individual’s personality, has maintained a considerable attraction. W.H Auden writes in his poem ‘Moon Landing’, ‘…give me a watered, lively garden, remote from blatherers/about the New’, asserting a preference for the tangible, domestic space in place of man’s progress into new territory. Composed in the latter part of the poet’s life, the simplicity of looking out on a stretch of tended land he could call his own represented a retreat from the accelerated intensity of the modern world. It also provided a security Auden had rarely been afforded, a sense of belonging.
Judy Kendall, in turn, employs her poetry to articulate a connection with the land, how the tactile and physical work of maintaining a garden, and the attention this requires, can be channelled into poetry, and may in fact embody the same characteristics.
The poems form observations of the continuous processes of life happening outside ourselves, from the slow progress of growing vegetables to the shriek of an owl at night. Subsequently, many examples draw from features of the Haiku form, with a focus on individual moments of action or stillness. Movement and a sense of the dynamic are key throughout, with the text moving fluidly over the page, resisting constraints or predictability. Through this, Kendall communicates elements both of her gardening and writing processes, and the essential relationship between them. The division between human activity and the natural world, and the poet’s resistance to this, is succinctly but strikingly probed in the line:

‘garden house divide
civilization –
as thin as that?’

-From ‘V
erge’

Throughout there are experiments which offer new challenges to the reader in this immensely varied collection, displaying Kendall’s exploration into the use of visual poetry and typography, and increasing the reader’s engagement, as they become involved in bringing its nuances to the surface. There is a huge creative energy and vibrancy behind the work, and its range is broad, spanning lyric poems, such as traditional sonnets, one or two-line fragments, arrangements with a variety of fonts, and examples where the text is effectively double exposed in appearance, as in ‘A little hedge-cutting?’, where this innovation potentially mimics the vibration of operating an electric hedge trimmer.
As a result, the poems are ambitious in their desire not only to represent experience in language, but to communicate some of the fundamental elements of the activity or object observed through maximising the poems potential, and what can be achieved with the written word on the page. The text works to provide more immediate and multi-sensory data of the experience than a simple re-telling.
In this way the poems, through their innovation, suggest a return to the source, a quest to assist us in remembering our place in the interconnected and co-dependent environments we inhabit.

Daniel Williams

A selection of Judy Kendall’s work is included in Long Exposure Issue 2, you can access it here.

Purchase a copy of ‘Insatiable Carrot’ here.

Come and See: A New Poem by Marcus Jones

 

you don’t have to be extreme
to be content,
other forces feed
this show-
they build on what has been
and mingle with consent,
then roam the rivers we invent-
using nature and nurture’s seed
to make it grow.

unshade your grey, reclusive hours
and play your made, profusive flowers
all the way:
don’t let regret upset your dream-
it’s all it’s light has been
and make what it empowers
from today.

but hark at me!
not knowing
what i’m sowing
day to day
deliberately-
and yet, i know it’s coming,
comes from going
out of me-

what i don’t make, i borrow-
come and see.

 

Bio: Strider Marcus Jones is a poet, law graduate and ex civil servant from Salford/Hinckley, England, with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry are modern, traditional, mythical, sometimes erotic, surreal and metaphysical http//www.lulu.com/spotlight/stridermarcusjones1. He is a maverick, moving between forests, mountains and cities, playing his saxophone and clarinet in warm solitude. His poetry has been published in numerous journals and anthologies to date.

Zen Stories: A Sequence by Daniel Williams

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What is the answer
To that ancient problem?
Rain against glass,

The gutter’s low-
throated street song;
listen.

*
Every evening, he could measure progress
by the packed snow collected
under his boot-soles.

Finally, he unlaced them, loosening
stiff leather to stark flesh,
accepting the cold.

*
Razor slip- the water clouding red
like a prophecy; he traces the torn skin,
recognising himself in the mirror.

Conclusion follows question, indistinctly;
at the door, she shares the wound
like an old master.

*

In the house of words
he had assembled,
he wrote the sign

for ‘permanence’
as the house
trembled.

*

Starlings clustered
against the pier’s taut
skeleton,

the sea grinding shoreward,
its salt-tang resumed like a vow;
all one movement.

Bio: Daniel Williams is a poet and writer, and founding editor of Long Exposure Magazine.

Four Tanka-Art Pieces, by Andja Petrovic

TTR1

TTR3

TTR6

TTR5

Bio: an’ya is the haigo (haiku nom de plume) of Andja Petrovic. an’ya loosely translates to “a peaceful light in the moonless night.”

an’ya is cattails Principal editor for the United Haiku and Tanka Society (UHTS), and was voted one of the top ten haiku poets in the world by her peers in 2011.

She has won world-class awards and honors for her haiku and other verse forms from Japan, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Germany, India, the UK, Brazil, and the Balkans.

Her work has been published in numerous international publications and anthologies. She and has been editor-in-chief of haigaonline, Moonset, the Tanka Society of America newsletter and the Haiku Society of America (HSA) 2011 anthology and is a winner of the HSA Merit Book Award. She is a founder and President of the Oregon Haiku and Tanka Society.

Long Exposure Magazine, Issue 3: Call for Submissions

Long Exposure Logo

Submissions are now open for our third issue!
So far, the magazine has been fortunate enough to engage with and publish fascinating collaborations between creative writing and the visual arts, and we continue our interest in this type of project, whatever media is involved. We are always open to new projects being brought to our attention, and if you feel your work may be suitable for publication in the magazine or would like to enquire further then don’t hesitate to contact the main e-mail address at: editor@longexposuremagazine.com.
Alongside direct collaboration between art forms, the magazine continues to publish striking and innovative contemporary poetry, photography and other visual art in its own right, from practitioners at any stage of their careers. You can view our general submissions guidelines here: https://longexposuremagazine.com/submissions/
Both previous issues can be accessed online and free of charge, so if you have an interest in this field and would like to see the style and range of previously published work, we would greatly appreciate your support in reading Long Exposure’s output to date.
We look forward to receiving your work, and to continuing to explore the possibilities for contemporary arts.

To keep up to date with the progress of the magazine and our activities, follow Long Exposure on social media:

Facebook: Long Exposure Magazine

Twitter: @longexposuremag

Boudhanath: A New Poem by Abhay K

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The great wheel of Dharma
spins incessantly
drums rend the earth and heavens
mendicants pray for alms
pigeons feed on scattered corn
visitors click endless images
Cosmic mandalas adorn windows
handicrafts, Bodhisatvas in all avatars
Monks meditate in maroon robes.
Wearing a gleaming white robe
I sit at the centre
safeguarding Buddha’s relics
My eyes —
    benevolent and wise
bless the cosmos
     heal the diseased
ease the suffering.

Bio: Abhay K. is an Indian poet-diplomat. He is the author of two memoirs and five collections of poems. He has been awarded the SAARC Literary Award 2013 and nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2013. His poems have appeared in leading literary journals in India, Russia, UK, and USA and have been translated into Irish, Russian, Italian, Nepali, Hindi and Chinese. His most recent collection of poems The Seduction of Delhi was published by Bloomsbury India. He is the editor of CAPITALS — an anthology on the national capital cities of the world. The SAARC Song penned by him has paved way towards an official SAARC Anthem. His call for an official Earth Anthem has been lauded by UNESCO and supported by the Habitat for Humanity. http://www.abhayk.com.

This poem forms part of a larger sequence about various heritage sites in Kathmandu, Nepal.

Image Credit: Boudhanath Stupa – Kathmandu, Nepal. Source: http://www.mysticxpressions.com

Long Exposure Magazine, Issue 2: Digital Release

The new edition of Long Exposure Magazine is ready! Featuring an internationally diverse range of creative work in a variety of forms. Access it here: http://joom.ag/g6Ob

Long Exposure Cover 2

Please enjoy the issue and share!

Support Long Exposure on social media:

Facebook: Long Exposure Magazine

Twitter: @longexposuremagazine

Long Exposure Magazine, Issue 2, Upcoming Release

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The second issue of Long Exposure Magazine will be made available online from this Friday, 19th June.

The edition is focused on a variety of eastern poetic and artistic forms, and features the collaborative work of Ron Rosenstock and Gabriel Rosenstock, combining haiku and photography, a sequence based on the art of Hiroshige, several examples of Haiga art work, visual poetry and more.

Keep updated here at the Long Exposure website, or follow the project on social media:

Facebook: Long Exposure Magazine

Twitter: @longexposuremagazine

Two Poems by Marianne Szlyk

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At the Water’s Edge

after Cezanne, “At the Water’s Edge” (c. 1890)

Resisting the hot wind, this house at the water’s edge
retreats beneath the whir of trees.

Their dry brushstrokes are blue like water or sky
and green as the end of spring.

But mostly they are the colors
of canvas, earth, and parched leaves.

The sky is a haze of brushstrokes, a wash of turpentine,
smoke to the water’s edge.

Hills loom behind the house;
they are mirages made of thinned paint.

More buildings appear, shimmers in the haze,
reflections in the water.

No swimmer, no boat breaks the surface,
more mirror for land and sky than home for fish and weeds.

But the house’s heart is dark and sweet
with sage and lavender, with the scent of grass and lake

protecting its guests from the hot wind, the drought,
and the smoke to the water’s edge.

Birch Trees in North Carolina

Seen from the window of the slow train south,
the needle-thin trunks glint
the way the odd, white threads do
in a quilt of blues, browns, and greens.

I do not recognize all of these trees,
but I know the birch.
Its peeled bark is snow clinging to spring.
Its leaves are wind chimes.
Its roots clutch at the stone wall
between long-gone pasture and forest.

I see this birch in Carolina,
not where I expected it,
but here among the rows
of oak and pine, beside
pools of water, part of
this quilt of sky, earth, and vine.

Bio: Marianne Szlyk is a professor at Montgomery College and the editor of The Song Is… Recently, she published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking at Trees of Heaven, with Kind of a Hurricane Press: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html Her poems have appeared in a variety of online and print venues, including ken*again, Of/with, bird’s thumb, and several anthologies by Kind of a Hurricane Press. She hopes that you will consider sending work to her magazine. For more information about the spring/summer contests, see this link: http://thesongis.blogspot.com/2015/04/contests-for-springsummer.html

Renoir at Les Collettes: A New Poem by Byron Beynon

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The cicadas already
conduct the sound of the day.
Early conversation in a garden
with olive trees and a view
towards the Mediterranean.

The optimism you had –
being an old man
with crippling arthritis –
for life, health,
the beauty and vigour it could afford.

Inside the house your studio
with armchair, easel,
brushes and frames,
the quiet edges of the room.

The hushed strokes of passing
time, the depth of eye
as figures walk by
flooded in red-golden light,
the sensuality touching
a disclosure of heat.

Bio: Byron Beynon lives in Swansea. His work has appeared in several publications including Kentucky Review, Planet, The Independent, Poetry Wales, The Blue Moon Literary and Art Review (California) and the human rights anthology In Protest (University of London and Keats House Poets).  He has given talks about “Poetry and the Mirror of Art”, how paintings have been used to inspire writers. Collections include Cuffs (Rack Press), Human Shores (Lapwing Publications, Belfast) and The Echoing Coastline (Agenda Editions).

Image: ‘The Farm at Les Collettes’, by Auguste Renoir. Date: 1908-1914. Oil on canvas. Property of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Haiku in Translation, by Gabriel Rosenstock and Mariko Sumikura

lantern

foirfe amach is amach –
ciúnas an laindéir
ar a chrúca

utterly perfect –
the silence of a lantern
on its hook

Gabriel Rosenstock
(Composition in Irish Gaelic and English)

まこと見事な―
フックにかかった
ランプの沈黙

Mariko Sumikura
(Japanese Translation)

Negro Quarter, Tupelo, Mississippi, March 1936: A New Poem by William Doreski

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Negro Quarter, Tupelo, Mississippi, March 1936

The barn-slab of board and batten
must be a house: tin roof propped
above the porch, four over four
window, wood shingles clumsy
as a mouthful of store-bought teeth.
The whole thing slants to the left,

toward a courthouse white against white sky.
The slim black man in neat black suit
leaning against the building’s tilt
holds the entire scene together.
Beyond him, a small clapboard shack,
a few twists of wire, and the long wall

well beyond which the courthouse looms.
But where is the black man looking?
What’s around the corner and why
doesn’t he acknowledge the camera,
an eight by ten Deardorff, pointed
squarely between his shoulder blades?

You’d think anyone in Tupelo
in 1936 would sense
the threat, the long lens piercing
otherwise impassable distance
to center this man in a city
he may have little cause to love.

Bio: William Doreski’s work has appeared in various online and print journals as well as in several collections, most recentlyThe Suburbs of Atlantis (AA Press, 2013). This poem is part of a larger sequence based on the photography of Walker Evans. To read more of William Doreski’s work keep updated on the progress of the forthcoming issue:

Facebook: Long Exposure Magazine

Twitter: @longexposuremag

Long Exposure Cover

Provisional cover for the upcoming issue, featuring Haiga art work by Gabriel Rosenstock and Ion Codrescu. Submissions for our Eastern poetic forms specialism as well as other textual and visual work remain open. See our submissions guidelines for further details.

Parental Love: A New Poem by Julia Putzke

Parental Love

My mother has two
monikers for her firstborn.
Some days, she will call out:
“Oh, my dots?” My Daughts.
Most days, it’s “my somping!”
My something.

Please don’t ask where
these names came.
We fall, or should I say I fall
into laughter every time
I hear the second one.

My father is the same,
except the names repeat
the same word: twink.
The first is Twink. Shine.
Twinkle. Shine bright.

Twinklepants.
This last one
I’ve taken to mean
she shines bright enough
to take the blues out
of her worn jeans.
Or, she makes him smile
without second thought.

Regardless the hilarity,
no one would think
to look for a star
wearing pants,
happening to be the daughts
of somping parents,
burning the night sky
alive.

Bio: Julia Putzke lives in Georgia. Her work has previously appeared in The Refection and The Larcenist.

Long Exposure Magazine, Issue 2: Call For Submissions

The Haiku Edition

The Haiku has become a widely used daily exercise to keep us working with language, its syllabics offering the challenge of condensing and paring back an observation or train of thought to its essentials.
It is also a form which connects with common place or spontaneous observations, such as those on a daily commute, and lends itself to capturing them sharply and without superfluous description.
It is this ability to capture that Long Exposure wishes to explore for the next edition.
We will be looking for submissions of traditional Japanese forms such as Haiku, Haibun, Haiga, and Tanka, and other textual or visual work which shares its philosophy.

Alongside this the magazine will also include the usual range of new writing, photography and visual art across a broad range of styles and themes; submissions of all are welcome.

View our submissions guidelines for further details.

All submissions to: editor@longexposuremagazine.com