Welcome to miller's pond, a poetry site that welcomes poets with a wide range of poetic styles, structures, and subjects.
As of 2009, miller's pond is no longer a print publication. The web version is published 3 times a year. The editor, Julie Damerell, only accepts electronic submissions for the web version, and there is no payment for publication. Submissions can be sent any time but are only read before the fall semester and between the spring and fall semesters.
The Fall 2015 miller's pond (Volume 18, Issue 3), with 18 poets (!) will be available soon. A review of James B. Nicola's Manhattan Plaza, by Lindsey Martin-Bowen, is newly available on our Reviews page.
Any submissions received from this point will be considered for the Winter 2016 issue and will not be read until sometime in late December. The editor, Julie, reads poems in late December (Winter issue), March/April (Spring issue), and August (Fall issue). Reading periods are determined by breaks between or within the editor's college semesters.
Please see the Guidelines for further information on how to submit to miller's pond. Poets who don't get an email either accepting or declining their submissions are the poets who didn't follow the guidelines.
Our shelves are overflowing with past issues of miller's pond and we need to make room for future book projects!
ON SALE NOW - ALL MILLER'S POND POETRY issues from 1998 through 2004
only $1 each!
Save on shipping - purchase all 7 issues - get a bonus book - Words of Wisdom - plus $3.50 s&h.
This incredible sale won't last.
Purchase via our bookstore.
Each issue of miller's pond in the on-line version is archived and accessible for your enjoyment. And most of our print copies are still available for sale.
Please help support the magazine for future publications by buying a copy of two.
Also check out the poetry chapbooks published by H&H Press, available in our bookstore.
poems by Julie Damerell
(written for the April 10, 2010 Inauguration of Dr. Anne Kress, President of Monroe Community College)
Arms wide in welcome, today we hear
the pounding of thousands of first steps.
Surrounded by the waters of lake, river, and canal
we rejoice with voices saying yes
eyes open to possibilities, hands swimming
to the surface of the day, breaking its glassy sheen.
We are called to fill this space with light
every day to shape silence
with blessing, to make our work
another name for honor. Applause
for morning, for sun sprawling
across that arched bridge from our past
to our tomorrow, for hearts open
to one more chance. Applause
for hands joining to walk
through the open door.
Applause for the light.
One Easy Answer
Before us sparrows curve into the sky
like ashes tempted by wind, flying from bones
of another fall. My children wonder
why our road is dirt, why we live so high
on this hill, why stones interrupt our walk.
I cannot deny the small deaths that brought me
here. Desires sown but untended: three loves
left on a vine, two secrets borne, one promise
to return, unkept. We are here because the way
is up, our road unpaved to atone for holes
unfilled, our path rough to remind me the journey
is long. To them I reply, here is home.
In the Heat of an October Night
Black before time, the sky spools yellow
through treetops, illuminating maple skeletons.
Thunder tumbles across sullen fields, spills fear
from chasms that spit dark, then darker.
We ignite candles, gather flashlights, rummage
for a cache of candy.
Shadows thrown by fingertip flames drop
from walls, shift left to right, lengthen to reveal
secrets normally wound tight within our frames:
we’re more alone than we thought, more afraid
than we admit, less defined by day than night.
In the absence of color, the absence of clamor, desire
assumes shapes recalled to the tune of water on glass,
the hollow of night, a flicker of light wrapping bare trees.
Green Is Not Enough
As the crow flies
is better than not at all,
and though brushed by knees in jeans
climbing to the sky is better
than never touching blue
these branches wish they were wings.
Blame it on the snake
whose coil left the tree
wanting more than green.
previously published in Melic Review