Katharyn Howd Machan
McCann bio art
murphy joseph poet bio
Louise portrait (2)
glancy, diane photo
bonnell, paula bio photo
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Tomanio-Elizabeth-faceshot-Deep Poetry Contest
Vojta agnes with eden
Night Forest: Folk Poems and Stories is the 2021 anthology from Flying Ketchup Press's imprint Salt & Fig Books. Illustrated by Parisian artist, Elka Trittel and featuring poets Katharyn Howd Machan and Gary Baumier, this collection of fractured tales and lyrical verse fights for forgotten wonder and reaches into colorful truths with new bite. Reading this collection will make you want to take up the dark path and find the heart of your inner hero. The collection contains works by over 45 international poets as well as five short stories by short stories: Fomka by Katie Sakanai, Briefest Use by Hayden Moore, Swan Song by Courtney Stogsdill, Into the Woods by Kevin Callahan, and Eleventh Night by Lauren Tunnell.
KATHARYN HOWD MACHAN is one of two featured poets in this collection. She inspired our anthology topic with her poem "Clouds" a free verse poem from the perspective of the Giant's wife in the folk tale Jack and the Beanstalk (Jack the Gaint Killer). She is the author of 39 published poetry collections, most recently A Slow Bottle of Wine, winner of the 2019 Jessie Bryce Niles Chapbook Competition, and many magazines, anthologies, and textbooks, most recently What the Piper Promised (winner of the 2018 Alexandria Quarterly Press Chapbook Competition). She is a professor in the Department of Writing at Ithaca College, specializing in fairy tales in Ithaca NY a small city in central New York State resplendent with gorges and waterfalls and a long lake. She says that for three and a half decades her work has been picking up where Rod Serling left off. Her specialty courses, besides poetry, are Writing Science Fiction and Fantasy, Women and Fairy Tales, and first-year seminars called Fairy Tales: The Hero’s Journey. Read her poem below.
ELKE TRITTEL ART
Her mixed media originals from her studio in Paris, France provide her fans with a colorful journey into the wonderful inner world of the interior imagination. Her dreamscapes and characters evolved from her fifteen years of traveling around the world. Primarily selling her originals from Instagram and to collectors, she works in acrylic painting to collages and mixed media works with a zest of humor to enjoy...
GARY BEAUMIER His winning entry for our Love Poetry Contest, "Night Forest," was selected to receive our 2020 Vision Award by our staff which means it's the title poem of this year's anthology. Beaumier is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee in English Literature, he has been a long-time poet. His work has been a finalist for the Luminaire Award, and he was a finalist for the Joy Bale Boone Award for his poem, “The Migratory Habits of Dreams in Late Autumn.”Find his book of poetry "From My Family to Yours" published 2019 by Finishing Line Press and his second book to be released by early next year with Uncollected Press. Gary says, "I have been a teacher, a book store manager, and a gandy dancer (for one summer a long time ago). I used to build wooden sailboats, and I once taught poetry in a woman's prison. He says he is often found walking by Lake Michigan.
by Katharyn Machan Howd
is the word I like to use.
Then I smile.
I’ve written the story 56 times
and burned every version. With glee.
That boy was like a golden harp himself
and I knew I could play him.
I’d wanted my husband dead so long
I’d forgotten when I first wished it.
Maybe I could have just melted gold
to pour down his snoring gullet.
Maybe I could have plucked the goose
and forced feathers into his throat.
But if he’d woken? Another fist
to my face, kick to my aging ribs.
No, the boy was best.
Him and his hunger, his greed.
Once, twice, thrice he came.
I helped him feel confident, safe.
I was the one who whispered darkly
to the unplucked strings:
That bellow, that roar as the big oaf woke,
that fumbling long run to the stalk:
I hid my laughter, waiting, watching
for the gleam of that axe far below.
Once there was a woman in the night forest
who could hear above the register of most.
She would listen to mice sing in chorus
or coyotes comfort their young
over the flash and rumble of coming weather.
There was the night when I stayed in the garden
late into the hours and you called for me
and together we watched the gods
toss stars across the sky and later
we returned to our bed and I watched you
over the vastness of our pillows
as your breathing fell into a rhythm
and you separated from me.
Have your dreams returned you to a wooded place,
dusted in moonlight, where you keen your ears
to other selves, selves beyond the register of my knowing?