#ruth foley

[mortalpractice]

Tonight, I sleep with salt in my hair‑‑ if you would put your mouth to my throat you could breathe a taste of my sea.

—Ruth Foley, from "Scylla," published in Up the Staircase Quarterly

[darkrolex]

A little something I made for one of my favorite artists, @gastrictank Shoot! I forgot the spoon!

[violettesiren]

Show me the earth, the scrap of black, some ground free of squalid snow. Show me the place to sink and I will drop there, my knees wet through to bone. Show me the path that leads to water that will not hold me up or crack or numb, show the sunfish and the minnow, the pearl mussel-edged and subdued.

I am waiting to give myself to the melt. I am flesh around a pillar of ice. I radiate to the underside of my skin, no farther. What I would not do for you. What I would not ask you for. This afternoon, I slept a while and the sun ended unnoticed around me.

January Thaw by Ruth Foley

[violettesiren]

Would you follow me to vapor? It seems a lot to ask—perhaps a haze has risen over my judgment. Once I submerge, I tend to crave ascension—I seldom stay anchored long. If we ran underground, found a bed to fill, and flowed past a half-owned stolen bride, maybe she could teach us to crest bisected, or resign ourselves to being

only partly sanctuary. Face it: the more we linger, the more we threaten flood. The trickle of your fingers on my skin was like a rumor, but I would break the ground if you would tumble, if you would find a crevice or a passage, one that leads to me.

Arethusa by Ruth Foley

[tlhopkinson]

NO FEE Submission call + editor interview - Cider Press Review, DEADLINE: May 31, 2018

NO FEE Submission call + editor interview – Cider Press Review, DEADLINE: May 31, 2018

Cider Press Review is quarterly online poetry journal originally founded in 1999. They also publish the manuscript winners of the annual Cider Press Review Book Award and the Editors’ Prize for first or second book.

I wondered how and why this poetry journal came to be, so I asked Managing Editor Ruth Foley a few questions to find out. See the interview and a link to submission guidelines below.

View On WordPress

[seaanimalonland]

Supplication | Ruth Foley

Pity the crickets—the exuberant lifting outside this window right now, sawing into a Saturday night. Pity their serrated wings. Pity this pair, his courting song drowning in the stridulation of four dozen other suitors, her silent admiration, her knee-bent listening. The crickets made mute in the webs of spiders and in the salamander mouths. And the frogs who go hungry tonight, and the uneaten leaf fall and duff. The woods, the houses, the destinations and the origins, the cars on the distant highway, the lights approaching and receding. The Perseids falling unnoticed through the unwatched sky. And this faltering light which comes from nowhere and everywhere, the small way in which I see you. Everything but the hand I use to limn you against the air, everything but your mouth and where it finds me, my knee bending attentive and suspended, yes and, God, yes, everything but this singing.

via fluttering-slips

[tlhopkinson]

NO FEE Submission call + editor interview - Cider Press Review, DEADLINE: May 31, 2017

NO FEE Submission call + editor interview – Cider Press Review, DEADLINE: May 31, 2017

Cider Press Review is quarterly online poetry journal, along with an annual ‘Best of‘ print compilation. They also publish the manuscript winners of the annual Cider Press Review Book Award and the Editors’ Prize for first or second book.

I wondered how and why this poetry journal came to be, so I asked Managing Editor Ruth Foley a few questions to find out. See the interview and a link to…

View On WordPress

[motherground]

Supplication

Pity the crickets—the exuberant lifting outside this window right now, sawing into a Saturday night. Pity their serrated wings. Pity this pair, his courting song drowning in the stridulation of four dozen other suitors, her silent admiration, her knee-bent listening. The crickets made mute in the webs of spiders and in the salamander mouths. And the frogs who go hungry tonight, and the uneaten leaf fall and duff. The woods, the houses, the destinations and the origins, the cars on the distant highway, the lights approaching and receding. The Perseids falling unnoticed through the unwatched sky. And this faltering light which comes from nowhere and everywhere, the small way in which I see you. Everything but the hand I use to limn you against the air, everything but your mouth and where it finds me, my knee bending attentive and suspended, yes and, God, yes, everything but this singing.

-- ruth foley