It’s finally here! April is National Poetry Month everybody, so get your pens a-blazin’, get out there, and free the verse! The challenge is to write a poem every day this month. Great, good, bad, worse, worsest, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is laying lines. Give it a try and I won’t even make you dress all poet-y like these dudes.
And if that’s not enough to entice you, here’s the After School Special pitch: C’mon man. You know you want to. I told all my friends you were cool. Don’t make me out to be a liar.
-M.
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Published by M. Ashley
I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.
View all posts by M. Ashley
It’s finally here! April is National Poetry Month everybody, so get your pens a-blazin’, get out there, and free the verse! The challenge is to write a poem every day this month. Great, good, bad, worse, worsest, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is laying lines. Give it a try and I won’t even make you dress all poet-y like these dudes.
M. N. Ashley 