Comment with your contest ideas! What are the coolest contests you’ve entered? Hmmm maybe we’ll give away free Welters…
Send us your work! Submit
Check out our guidelines and submit here!
Here’s a great excerpt from Welter 2014:
Smokey by Ian Mason-Smolka
There he sat,
shielded by the thick blanket of cigarette smoke rising like the steam from Grandma’s tea kettle.
Grabbing the Old Granddad
he uttered in his smoke-ridden tone, “I want you to bury me with this,”
the bourbon scent is consuming the air between us.
I laughed, not seeing the day’s rapid approach.
He enlisted at fourteen.
He fought in Korea.
“You will outlive us all,” I reminded, eyes darting from wall to wall.
Pop wrapped his hand around my forearm,
cooling the room.
Straightened and Statuesque,
“Don’t let me down.”
Originally Published in Welter 2008
Check out how to submit here!
Submissions are now officially open for WELTER [Volume 53 Fall/Winter 2018]! We are seeking your previously unpublished work* in poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, and visual art. Please be sure to check out the genre-specific guidelines below.
We want to be clear as a journal that we are not only seeking work from current university staff and students, but from the the arts community at large. A degree (or degree-seeker) holds no authority to the written word (or visual art), and as readers we welcome all perspectives. As Welter celebrates diversity: authors are not obligated, but encouraged to self-disclose identity information in a cover letter. Please do not put your name anywhere on your submission file so we can assure anonymous and fair readings.
* We will accept a piece that’s currently up at any of your personal social media sites, we just ask you to remove it before publication.
it’s ok not to know.
Later we know
Daddy was a dick
I knew. I saw.
A pure D dick
huge as my aspirations.
Huge like I never was.
Huge like the count of his chirren
(it’s what a dick do).
Huge like what the landlord say we owe.
Huge like hunger.
Touch my tummy
feel that empty crisscross ripple across your fingers.
Shorthaired women in raintime
khakied skies and other things
to see through unwound bodies
wined up minds
Follow mudruts of armies to oblivion
over things to them oblivious
Nothing is sacred
especially those that would
You come in and look around
teach us to spread the blood cape
staying close shored
Open the door yourself
and walk to the rain
forgetting the horses