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 We do not publish books.

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Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Poetry of Dawnell Harrison

Dawnell Harrison Bio:

Dawnell has been published in over 65 magazines and journals including The Endicott Review, Fowl Feathered Review, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Vox Poetica, Abbey, Iconoclast, Puckerbrush Review, Nerve Cowboy, Mobius, and many others.Also, he has had 3 books of poetry published through reputable publishers titled Voyager, The maverick posse, and The fire behind my eyes.

A wintry fever

I feel the chill of winter
In the white marrow of my bones –

A wintry fever.
The cold winds steers through ice

Like an ax to wood.
I lay on the bed,

My pallor as bleached as death –
No respite from the long, wide

Cold of the night.
The love’s run dry but the moon
Cradles me like a great white Madonna.


Moonlight licks the back
Doorstep eaves.

Shadows whisper
In the deep dark hole

Of the night.
Lost in a black space

The roses bleed the
Backyard red.

The night swallows me
In a quivering circle.


The reflection of garnets
Darkens in the sullen night

Of your eyes.
Once they were little crushed

Diamonds of light.
Your body is a stream

That leave me holding

Your eyes are winters
Glazed in ice.

The world whitens
Under the ashes
Of your memories.

Autumn grows cold

autumn grow cold,
water-hooded mother.

mornings diffuse
into  somnolence.

the sun fires too late
as the moor laments.

frost thickens on the grass.
the gift of plenitude
has no house here.


The yard is plump
With a plethora of petals.

White magnolias
With their opaque veneers

Cast a white shadow
In their abundance.

A turtle dove rudders down.
Sand colored feathers

Are being arranged and
Rearranged in the first

Glimpse of summertime.
Blackberries darken.

Their succulent juices
Are ready to burst forth

Into wanting mouths
With their juices staining

Your hands like purple
Colored blood.

Clean linen on the clothesline
Throw its stark white

Bleached scent
Into the flowery air.

Summer has a hearty
Home here.

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