Tag Archives: Linguistic Experiments: Poetry

Even the Grass (The Samizdat experiment poem #2)

It’s true, I’m going to be publishing a few of The Samizdat poems out of order. If you want to always get them in order along with occasional awesome broadsides of the poems designed by Jaime Questell, you can pledge … Continue reading

Posted in Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Universe of Obligation (The Samizdat experiment poem #4)

This is the fourth poem of mine published on The Samizdat, my Patreon journal-experiment designed to promote political poetry and give to charities at the same time (the money raised divided between the poet and the charity). If you want … Continue reading

Posted in Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Song of the Grave (The Samizdat experiment poem #1)

So, I’ve started my Patreon journal experiment in political poetry/charity. If you want to know all the details re: THE MANIFESTO and THE ACTION PLAN, then direct your attention to this link: The Samizdat. For $1 a poem (up to … Continue reading

Posted in Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Samizdat

Hey! My name is Andrew Kozma, and if you are reading this blog post, you probably know who I am, or who I have been, or who I wish to be. Namely, a writer, a poet, a novelist. Apologies for … Continue reading

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

I am French! I am musical!

In my regular trolling of the internets (as in fishing, not as in purposely making enemies, though I suppose those fishing boats do make enemies of the ocean’s wildlife and one day, mark my fishy word, the finned and gilled … Continue reading

Posted in Music, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

On Complexity in Poetry

So a man walks into a bar and asks for a drink.  The bar tender drinks the bar. The man is left empty. I’ve been reading Kay Ryan because I’m writing a series of blog posts about her for Inprint.  … Continue reading

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

On Being an Angst-Ridden Thirty-Something

The sky is dark. My heart is death. All the trees have fallen on their blood-red leaves. The above, before you ask, is not a poem of mine.  Yes, I just wrote it, and yes, it is poetry, but don’t … Continue reading

Posted in Living, Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment