Pattie Flint, Rebecca Kerr and Jenna Tameris!

Out of tons of entries, we all decided that these ladies’ poems were the best we received on the subject of “Exit.”

Below you will find the three poems posted. Voting will be open, based on “likes” tonight and all day tomorrow.

I have to say this month’s submissions blew last month’s out of the water. Judging this was very difficult. I was so inspired by these poems, and though I was hesitant on using the subject “exit”, I am so glad I did. It was amazing how many ways these poets crafted their poems from one word.

I’d like to also announce that if in the future you would like a reminder about this monthly poetry contest, please send a blank e-mail, subject “MONTHLY RANT” to rantpoetrycompetition@gmail.com.

Thank you all for your time and patience.

Please vote below.



Check out last month’s winner, Shoshana Sarah.

Also, here’s a listing of the blogs that competed in the competition. They were all amazing. Please take a minute and check them out.




















this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
they swim through the sound, they pierce their swollen skin with the needles of toxic ideology and the dance music of devils
the fires that burn in guts like drugs, like the fizzle of disease, like the acidic aftertaste of childhood but still all the red orange yellows and the green blue indigos glow on their faces racing for less sleep and more dilemma
we crave the taste of gravel, the god twisting turn tables, the agents of social murder, the proprietors of sore bodies and the come down from ecstatic heights
this is the world that we duplicate and spin on table tops in smoky lounges the size of problematic arenas, this is the kiss between morbid girls and suicidal boys
what we have on our hands is nuclear creation, to counterbalance nuclear destruction
this is windows down, hair blowing in faces, the bass blasting like super soakers into the hollow universe of three in the morning and we make birthquakes that everyone feels in their bones and veins but god, if most of us are just too numb to even want to notice

this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
‘together we can face that rock and roll’, together we can chase radioactive unicorns to our destinies as demi-gods of a new hope for a better reality and a truer love
and today our parents hate us for it, but one day our ancestors will lift us to the technicolor sky and stare in awe as we present to them our magnum opus, our thunder and lightning show




Right now, I’m sitting with Varinia and she is reading me her compilation of people’s answer’s to the question, What does God collect?

She just asked me if God has back dimples.

When I said “Does he have back dimples?” she stopped me.

“You can’t gender God.”



her words are semi-automatic rounds fired from her metal gut
do not fuck with her
this girl knows how to say “cunt”
emphasizing each consonant like a brooklynite biting his tongue
she stands like a soldier
on stage she sets herself on fire and its the audience who are left with third degree burns
leather jacket and heels
a camel hanging off her red lipstick
her red lipstick a soapbox
for the symphonic neurotic urgent purging of the psychological warfare of varinia rodriguez


I am lucky to get to be the one to tell you the psychological warfare of Varinia Rodriguez is now available online through her WordPress blog: Pack Rat’s Daughter.

(Varinia keeps interrupting me while I’m trying to write about her.)

Anyways, case-in-point, Varinia is an incredible writer. Her honesty makes my honesty look like shit. Her poetry is innovative and comes from deep deep down in the bowels of her soul. Trust me. Follow her. You won’t regret it.



Do me a huge favor – follow THIS LINK and give me a BOOST. If you have a blog listed on poetryblogs.org, leave me a comment and I’ll return the favor. Thank you all so much!



Sakina Katib, a fellow blogger and very talented poet, is hosting a poetry competition on her blog, asking competitors to write a poem using the words “dusk” and “dawn”. The best is if you win, you get a $50 Amazon gift card!

The contest is closing this Friday so get your entries in soon!


Also, coming soon – Round 2 of the Rant Poetry Competition!


A Response to Vincent Wolfram and the Comments on November, Revisited

The first thing I feel weird that I have to mention is I do not think poetry is dead. I think poetry is very much alive. We live in a time where poetry is all around us. Mostly, I think this is the acknowledgement that good writing often is poetry. The dialogue in movies, songs on the radio – I won’t patronize you anymore – the point is poetry is everywhere.

What my last article is a challenge to is writing like yourself and writing to push the envelope. I respect people who write in a classic style of poetry; there is a lot of classic poetry that I love. The last article, and this one are simply a calling. For those of you out there who want to escape the cobwebs of the basement and climb the stairs to the world around you, to being heard, I challenge you to write like yourself.

And now, we backstep. Write like yourself. “I can rhyme, and still write like myself,” “I can use a formal rhythm and write like myself,” True. But I want to hear your god damn heartbeat. I want to hear the speed at which blood flows through your veins. I want to see the soul in your eyes without a pair of Oliver People’s glasses warping my view point. I want to hear what you sound like naked.
And so do the masses. The conundrum I face, and lots of writers face, is how to write what you want to say, but also write to be heard. I spent a long time trying to write what people wanted to hear, and that failed miserably for some reason. Never write to be relevant. Never write to be outlandish. Never write to be political. Just write your heart.

I just watched a documentary on Lenny Bruce, Looking for Lenny, and this said a lot on this subject. Every good comedian today knows who Lenny Bruce is, and many of them spend their whole careers trying to be Lenny Bruce, and therein is the problem. They are not Lenny Bruce. If you are not familiar with Lenny Bruce, Reader’s Digest version, he is a God because he was completely, no-holds-barred, honest to himself. He was speaking on social issues in comedy in a time no one else was, but that’s the thing. Every comedian since has said “I’ll speak on social issues.” No. Lenny Bruce didn’t speak on social issues. He spoke what was on his mind. Gut-to-mouth. Heart-to-mouth. No filter tip.

Ginsberg didn’t write Howl trying to change the world. He simply howled. That’s the whole thing.

One user said I have a “hijacked mantra,” and that’s simply not true. Yes, I’m not saying anything that’s not been said before, but it’s no “mantra”. People speak from their hearts and sometimes someone comes along and labels it “Dadism,” labels it “The Beat Generation,” labels it “Second-Wave Feminism”. William Burroughs was adamant about not being labeled, and I don’t really think anyone ever wants to be labeled, but that seems to be the way of art. The outrageous becomes the mundane, and the original becomes the status quo. The upside of it all is we are born with a bullshit meter that allows us to see the truth; some of us just choose to use it more than others.

Part of me wants to say we’ve all become afraid to say what’s on our minds, but I think the truth is this battle is always there, and what I’m writing is my miniature battle cry to the poets to take advantage of the opportunity they have. What better chance to amplify the rust that’s grinding your gears than poetry? Another user quoted Ginsberg: “Follow your inner moonlight.” Yes. Follow your inner moonlight.
Chase the roads inside of yourself and eventually when they can no longer stand it, they will burst out of you and into the world around you.

Changing notes a bit, I’d like to say Vincent Wolfram made my day. In his article, he tears down a lot of things that I said, but it was so refreshing to hear someone doing just that, and tastefully too.
Vincent seems to be a proponent for formalism, and for poetry that you have to dig a little deeper to get into, and for that, I can only applaud him. If you want to write formally, who am I to stop you? Clearly there is a passion there. I really think it boils down to a matter of style and substance. Don’t get me wrong. That’s not to say that Vincent’s poetry is less substance and more style. It’s all just a matter of how you choose to combine the two. I don’t think I could do it. I couldn’t write the formal verses. I mean, with time and dedication, I’m sure they would come, but it’s not what drives me.

Pardon my ADD, but changing gears a bit again. Reading over Vincent’s article I just found where he says “Don’t trust poets that say they don’t read poetry.” I agree. All poets have read other poets. Bukowski said don’t read other poets. Bullshit. Read away. Just don’t try to be other poets. That’s the problem, I think. Ginsberg said “Find your inner moonlight,” not “Find someone else’s inner moonlight.” Your soul, I think, should be your ultimate inspiration, and whatever gets thrown into the machine while its processing the parts is just bonus.

It’s true when Wolfram says I’m suspicious of formal poetry. Mostly, because I don’t see it on the bookshelves. I don’t hear it in the poetry cafes. I don’t see it on the billboards. Maybe I hear it on the radio, I haven’t decided on that one yet. (Please, opinions are welcome on that one.) I want to hear poetry through a loudspeaker, because if poetry is quiet. If poetry whispers and asks you to sit down with it and hear it out, it so easily could be overshadowed; lost underneath the sound of a million more vibrant things. Poetry, whether you want to admit it or not, is in a battle against television, against movies, even music in some regards. (Music and poetry have a love hate relationship, I think.)

Ooh. Here’s a big one I need to address. In my previous article, I called haikus “small words.” I need to clarify that. The idea of any writer calling any words “small words” is a bit ridiculous, really. What I mean to say is a haiku is a form, where in its most common form , it is five syllables, then seven syllables, then five syllables. Great things have been said in haiku, but to me, it’s like writing from inside of an iron maiden. Why would you condense yourself like that? It feels almost lazy to me. I could see the appeal of the snapshot. Maybe what it boils down to, is if you’re writing haikus, I hope you’re writing other things too.

This article is called “Tips” and I apologize that it’s seemed to turn more into a rebuttal to the first article, but I think this is an important part of learning how to write poetry, maybe the only way. To question what poetry is. What makes good poetry, what makes the bad. Really, I’m just trying to figure it out like anyone else, and I think I have to say that every bad poem out there is just a prerequisite to a good poem.

You know what? This isn’t even about poetry. This is about every damn aspect of your life. I want to see the real you. Yes, “to not know what happened before your born is to remain forever a child,” but what’s more important is to learn from it, to add to it. And I think the only way we can grow as people is to listen to the ghost in our machine; to exhale more viciously than any generation before, and more importantly to open our mouths wider for the inhale.