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 We do not publish books.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, July 31, 2013

Poetry Collection of Nathaniel S. Rounds

Imitation Salvation

Spiderman comes in a Candy stick
Healing comes in a Methadone bus
Mother comes in a memory
All of it is short-lived
With a bitter aftertaste
That kicks you in the Head
I choose to walk down Artz Street
Watch the self-aware step Into
Micro cars and melt into
Waterfront highway
Your golden necklace with Gifts from the sea
Are a cargo crate away
I just have to lift it With my boom truck
Reach through rusty holes
And feel for promise
But something bites when I grab the prize

Petunia (Red)
It has never been easy to Wear this crazy cry Called
Conceived as a terribly Elegant flower
With a need to break the Vicious circle
Before his slender stem Was broken
And when grower and grown Quarreled
It was not with the Present company
It was with their Particular betrayers
Long dead
Like the past by which They were consumed

For you see

When you outrun the Crying madness
And then become overcome By it
You can only crumple like Old paper
In the cold, wet grass
And pray for it to be Over
And to be punctuated by Silence

Valid Mover Voids Marvel

Coyly perverse hogs
Use reverse psychology
To dredge up the ideals
Of your mother and father
And serve them to you as
Photographs of important ritual
To be re-enacted
At tri-quarterly meetings
Of the mind when drenched
With dishwater
And soggy echoes of mod revival
It’s Dad’s pair of shades
Used for avoiding Blindness
From an old sun

Schemes by the Slice

I had to cut up my father Into a hundred pieces of Memory of flesh
The heart that motivated Movement was placed in a Jar
With a disconcerted jury Always present, waiting For the jar to crack
And when it did
They could not stop the Heart from falling out
And from rolling out of The room
To the cool breeze of a Spring afternoon

There were other parts of The puzzle
Hands that dealt the Blows that blinded
And that silenced cries Of protest
Feet that ran to freedom From patriarchal Responsibility
And followed the heart

What I discovered is that The cuts divided flesh But not purpose
And that the ill-Conceived will be made Manifest
Even in a bloodied puzzle Of limbs and stratagems

Bio: Nathaniel S. Rounds was born Nathan Klemperer Pirsch in Bromberg Stadt, Posen, Prussia. He immigrated to WichitaFalls, Texas to research the manufacture of steel taco trucks through its city archives. Taking up cluster ballooning, he flew to Boston, Massachusetts and landed on Mike’s City Diner, where he now washes dishes in exchange for free corned beef hash. 

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