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 Spring of 2018.

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 We do not publish books.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:

Thank you

Thursday, June 30, 2011


Mel BrakE Press is very proud to present the poetry
of Clinton Van Inman


I am a high school teacher in Hillsborough County, Florida. I am 65 and a graduate of San Diego State University. I was born in England. I consider myself the last of the beat generation and my collection of poetry will be called “the Last Beat,” as I still fight for the cause.


I double humped round in roses

charm some vision in a paper cup.

Old Orestes from a diamond moon

rises from stained glass and finds

no meaning beyond my movement.

But only when worlds collide

will the silence of my Trojan Seas

protect me from his desert sands.

I am now an o-as-is only

but dare drink my deeper waters

you last king in a sandman’s dust.


Drag your white skull beyond blind seas

that tumble dazed to you mono-eyed magic.

Go tell Neptune when the night is through.

Charm him, too, with your waxing and waning.

But you can’t catch me with those half veiled smiles.

Your borrowed brilliance exposes you.

I know your darker side.

Go charm some other star struck rhapsodist.


Each year the light is less.

We can barely see it now,

the faint necklace of

the Milky Way.

The old ones were wrong,

you know with their waxed fingers

pointing up like abandoned adobe.

Yet you know better in your cubical gardens

and half moth-eaten moons,

you have arrived in



I bet you never knew

How lucky you’d become

As they chopped your paws off

And painted them blue

To make a nice little

Key ring out of you,

You lucky charm, you.

Don’t think we’re really mad

But just the same

Our eyes are now fixed on

Some bigger game

Than your little paws,

Like ivory tusks and tiger teeth,

Alligator skins and eagle claws

Perhaps someone will do this to us one day

When they reach out from outer space

Perhaps we too will be their lucky race?


I’d rather be a handful of ashes

than a truckload of dust.

I’d rather be unknown

Than be a big bronze bust.

I’d rather be a blazing comet

Than a chilly moon.

I’d rather be a mountain lake

Than a city lagoon.

I’d rather be summer shower

Than a mighty monsoon.

I’d rather be too late

Than too soon.

I’d rather be a spermatozoon

Than a spittoon.

I’d rather be a knife

Than a spoon.

I’d rather be a sleep

Than a swoon.

But of all the things I’d rather be

I’d rather be with you.

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