https://www.lexico.com/definition/uproar

Photo by Lois Nantais

Welcome to Uproar

Uproar invites writers of all genres to submit their works written in consideration of our seasonal theme. Three times annually, moderators will select the best submissions and publish them here. Each spring, we will hold the Carmen Ziolkowski Poetry Prize (click here for details Carmen Ziolkowski Poetry Prize). See “About Us” for general submission criteria About

Read More »

Wild Weather Deadline: January 31, 2023

  From December 1, 2022 until January 31, 2023, we are looking for well-crafted poetry and prose on the theme of Wild Weather. With winter storms, forest fires, and flash floods increasing in severity, our current weather could be considered both fierce and natural—and what is its meaning for us and for our future? How

Read More...

Ceremony and Sacrifice Theme Selections

Short story: Dru Richman, “The Rite.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/the-rite/   Poetry: Terry Cox-Joseph, “Behind the Stone,” https://lawrencehouse.ca/behind-the-stone/ Renee Sgroi, “On the anniversary of your passing,” https://lawrencehouse.ca/on-the-anniversary-of-your-passing/ Jenna Scott, “transition.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/transition/ Joseph Farina, “ritual of fire.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/ritual-of-fire/ Dr. Ronja Vieth, “Mother of Pearl.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/mother-of-pearl/ Perry Wyatt,“The Path.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/the-path/ Sherre Vernon, “Late Spring Rites of the Middle-Aged Apostate.” https://lawrencehouse.ca/late-spring-rites-of-the-middle-aged-apostate/

Read More...

The Rite

The twelve-year-old boys and girls sat on the ground in a semi-circle with their fathers sitting behind them, facing the king. The king was seated on the royal throne in full regalia — leopard-skin cape, lion-tooth necklace, golden bracelets encrusted with jewels on both his wrists and ankles, his scepter was made of zebra wood

Read More...

Behind the Stone

Easter morning you pull on black hoodie, force calloused feet into red Reebocks, deny three times you’re in a rush, blow off brunch. No leg of lamb for this eighteen-year-old. I slip an oversized card into my purse. Easter, after all, is about hope. I envision you sauntering past hostess stand, late, table for four,

Read More...

on the anniversary of your passing

instead of sorrow, i will mark the day with ceremony, from the moment of waking to the feel of my body’s curl under darkening covers i will breathe ritual, so that even coffee’s steam will recognize its incense, offer grounding, so that even work will fall into quiet rhythm. instead of tears i will laugh

Read More...

transition

the moments in between time as i become two my midwife tells me this is transition but words don’t happen in the moments of birthing moments don’t happen time is but a marker on my midwife’s watch 60 seconds 10 centimetres heart rate. contraction. push. time doesn’t happen in birthing. birthing happens outside outside and

Read More...

ritual of fire

roots , flesh and grain offered up as sacrifice by ritual of fire upon white hot coals aromatic with mysterious unguents the high priest turns and gathers them with implements of sacred wood and iron prepares them with anointments of secret herbs and lotions with eyes and hands by ancient signs examines them announcing at

Read More...

Mother Of Pearl

I cut you from my thighs and birth you like I was from the lips of the shell in which I stand, swaddle you in love and tie you tight in ropes of freedom, use locks of hair to wash your face and dry your tears away before I offer you to the gods from

Read More...

The Path

It never happens at the call of the moon, The crust of dawn ever watching, Nor the blush of leaves from green to brown, This flourishing happens quietly. A peaceful pact of one-to-one, Laying plans at their feet, Collecting dreams like acorns, And planting them deep. A promise that’s sworn in blood, The marrow of

Read More...

Late Spring Rites of The Middle-Aged Apostate

I brush my teeth like there’s god in it, split my medications into morning & evening prayers. Offer a word for the ambulance drivers, another for the small squirrels & lizards that they might outrun the dog. I am learning to make & hold eye contact. To practice asking people what do you mean by

Read More...

Inscape

My nisei mother wept the moment Her mother’s soul winged In West Hiroshima from her body. Who knows the circuitry Of dream-time, Stitchery of omens, Coordinates of a dream-province, Secret topography of wishes and fears? This is the planetary skin Easily cut, easily abraded: A half-crucifixion in the dark.  

Read More...
Scroll to Top