red solo cup

8:52:00 AM
Red solo cup - I'll fill you up - Let's have a party
                                                        Toby Keith*
red solo cup is...

Micro fiction, poetry, or anything else that can fill in the gaps left by our other features. Poets are requested to send a collection of at least three poems. You are welcome to submit a full collection in one submission but we cannot guarantee to publish every poem.


a sample...

I would gather hope like a farmer baling hay. I would bundle it with fine golden rope and give it to you to find rest upon. It would be soft beneath your hand, rich upholstery into which you may etch whatever shape might bring you happiness. It would be warm like May but crisp like autumn. It would taste of holidays and smell like my mother. It would whisper like snow and pray like poetry.  

Hope springs eternal - it wells up and pushes and pushes, approaching a latched gate every single day because somehow-sometime-someway-someday it will be open.  

And I will hand you my gift and beg of you, "Hold on to this offering - hold it tightly to your heart - may it help you in your waiting - may it lesson your burden of distress - because the moment we stop hoping, we start dying - and I want nothing but to save you." 
                                                                                                                                —Alanna Rusnak - November, 2013
      

Are you ready to submit something to our Red Solo Cup category?

Send submissions to the email provided on our contact page

Follow our submission guidelines to avoid being overlooked.


*sorry...we couldn't resist 




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red solo cup Smaller pieces to fill the gaps. Poetry, micro-fiction, etc - be creative
shameless Creative non-fiction. Personal essay that delves into your own truth and experiences
I would gather hope like a farmer baling hay. I would bundle it with fine golden rope and give it to this boy to find rest upon.  It would be soft beneath his hand, rich upholstery into which he may etch whatever shape might bring him happiness.  It would be warm like May but crisp like autumn.  It would taste of holidays and smell like my mother.  It would whisper like snow and pray like poetry.  
Hope springs eternal - it wells up and pushes and pushes and maybe he'll come to that gate every single day because somehow-sometime-someway-someday it will be open.  And I will hand him my gift and beg of him, "Hold on to this offering - hold this tightly to your heart - may it help you in your waiting - may it lesson your burden of distress - because the moment we stop hoping, we start dying - and I want nothing but to save you."
- See more at: http://www.alannarusnak.com/2013/11/the-texture-of-hope.html#sthash.nlcLTdzZ.dpuf
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