A Magazine of Many Arts

I must say I’m disappointed to only have one comment for my first giveaway, but my page views are up so I will console myself with that.  I will try this again in a couple of months.

Would people prefer a different type of prize for a contest, or is there another reason we had so few people chiming in?  I would like to get some more feedback for the authors since writing can be such a solitary task.

I’ll accept comments for the rest of the week, if anyone else wants to play.

Starting next week will be a month devoted to Polu Texni favorite, Colleen Anderson, with an interview and one of her poems a week.

September 15th will be the 5th anniversary of Polu Texni.  We will have something special that day, a combination of poetry and artwork that I think will demonstrate the mixed art theme beautifully.

Remember that we have a giveaway this month for sample packs of ten samples of indie fragrance like Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs, Possets, ZOMG Smells, and Conjure Oils.  I’ve got enough to make eight gift bags of ten samples each. Many of these scents are unisex. If you would prefer one of my books instead (New Altars or Vision Quests) let me know. To win, comment on one of our posts, any of our posts.

Here are a couple of our old favorites from the (almost!) five years of Polu Texni. If you are new to the site, you might not have encountered these before.

Collapse by Michael Burstein

Very Truly Yours, by Seth Gordon

The Art of Pat Lillich

Three Poems

Monster Mash

My hero feels the putrid wind
on battle-torn fields
treads safely
between severed limbs and moist-slick blades
and the bodies of the fallen

My hero bathes in roses afterwards
and can less be held by any one woman
than the earth can hold the West Wind to her bosom

Royals feed from the sweet-sour embroidery
that garbs my hero’s tongue
they put the prizes he won
in the shadow of their own thrones
and they think that their lineage
can make his sword sleep
like a child in a cradle

My hero taught me
to read the flight of arrows
and how to kill my enemies
before they ever see my sword

My hero told me to hide my breasts beneath armor
and cut my long hair short
and make my voice sound darker than it is

He told me to forget the man my father was
before the armies came
and brought their wars
and took our lives away

Silver sheen on lampblack feathers
Turn one eye, then two,
Hiding self-sown secrets.

The handle slips from reluctant fingers
I step out, expecting
a twitch,
a crouch.
A hunting-stoop in crisp hoarfrost air.

Bright-eyed stillness.  Poised.  Mocking.

I turn my back,
My collar up against the cold croaking gossip
My feet fumbling to get ahead of themselves

All the while I can feel their attention rapt
as a gaoler’s grip in the crux of an arm;
Hard as sleet
and pinching the bone.

As one, they tear from the trees
and begin to circle.

Barry King lived in several countries around the world until settling in his spouse’s home town of Kingston, Ontario and converting to Canadianism.  He writes fiction and poetry, and moonlights as Web director for ChiZine Publications.

 

Cthulhu, Higgs-Boson, Morgan le Fay, Triangulation, Orc, Baba Yaga, Schmendrick the Magician, Kraken: These are all things you can smell like.

See the following description from one of my favorite indie perfume oil sites, www.zomgsmells.com:

Modesty Cod: The awkward thing about Renaissance Faires is– no, it’s not the people walking around in Starfleet uniforms with tricorders, and how dare you judge my parents. It’s groins. Groins in tights. You know what I’m talking about. Is that guy even wearing underwear under those? Oh god, stop staring, he’ll see you staring.

Most of us are not, ah, exposed to a plethora of foreign groins on a daily basis, and it can be a little intimidating. Luckily, the codpiece exists as an even more obvious crotch thing that it’s totally okay to look at, because that’s what they’re for. You’re supposed to admire a nice cod. They’re stuffed and exaggerated to make fashion statements, and statements about wealth, and nice fabrics, and David Bowie in Labyrinth.

Mmm. David Bowie. …What was I saying? Oh, right. Groins. Stuffing. Modesty! So anyway, we made a scent devoted to the mighty, nay, the noble codpiece.
A delicious, sensual fragrance with some green and wood and sexy in it. Look at my cod, this says. My cod is amazing.

OK, so think about that wonderful piece of writing for a moment. What are they selling? There is a brief mention of fragrance on the last paragraph, but almost no description. What does it smell like? Do you care? Hell, I didn’t. I bought it. What they are saying here is “We are your tribe. We are one of you. You want to buy our stuff because you would really like us if we were hanging out with you.” Mmmm. David Bowie…

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