I did submit five baseball-themed poems to Spitball, who published one of my baseball poems last year. Still waiting to hear from Lucid Rhythms (the editor hasn't even replied to my status request e-mail, and I couldn't access the website tonight via Google - that can't be a good sign) and Tilt-a-Whirl.
My friend Tammy Paolino just got an Honorable Mention in Paterson Poetry Review's Allen Ginsberg Prize competition. Way to go, Tammy!
Music: Due in part to my cranky computer, I haven't done as much downloading and music acquisition so far this year as I normally do. Still, I have some early favorites for my annual Favorite Albums of the Year list. Perhaps I'm playing it safe here, but the top two are music legends who are, incidentally, now old enough to collect their Social Security.
1. Wrecking Ball - Bruce Springsteen
2. Slipstream - Bonnie Raitt
3. Milk Famous - White Rabbits
4. Be the Void - Dr. Dog
5. Chimes of Freedom: The Songs of Bob Dylan - various artists
6. Clear Heart, Full Eyes - Craig Finn
7. Port of Morrow - The Shins
8. Bloom - Beach House
9. Little Broken Hearts - Norah Jones
10. Days - Real Estate
Also worth mentioning: Early Takes Vol. 1 - George Harrison, a short collection of outtakes and demos from around his All Things Must Pass period. It's touted as a companion soundtrack to Martin Scorsese's excellent documentary on Harrison, Living in the Material World.
Poem of the Week: This one was written during one of the Poetic Asides Poem-a-day challenges, and it appears in the anthology, Prompted: An International Collection of Poetry.
To Whom It May Concern
Don't bother looking for me.
I'm sure this island isn't on the map.
I've made a spear to snag
all the fish I can eat, and I've
developed a taste for coconut.
Dried banana leaves make
great writing paper, and
some little squid-like creature
has provided plenty of ink.
The vehicle for this missive
is courtesy of a washed-up
crate of Chianti, so I'll continue
to post via oceanic mail
from time to time, and write
as quickly as I can drain
the contents of the bottles,
brave little postmen who bob
on the tides and wash on your shore
to tell you I'll be fine,
at least until the last drop.