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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Not For Profit/For Prophecy

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James Knight

Words and pictures.

Graceland by Voima Oy and Sean Fraser

Graceland, Graceland, I’m going to Graceland. So, this is how it ends? All my life I lived for time and money, tied to the world of things. Ellie said, you have to get a smartphone, grandpa. Too bad, I left my phone at home. Oh, I want to believe we all will be received. At least, I’m not alone.

“Loneliness?” mused the fellow who sat reclined against the wall of Kii-no-kuni-ya holding the letter sent poste restante. “We cannot be.” He listened to his thoughts as they spoke of their voyages and woes, frivolities and schemes. The fellow stood. “Hour’s come.” They went on the road merrily speaking the thoughts they had at the hour the Sun would rise. Continue reading “Graceland by Voima Oy and Sean Fraser” →

Four visual poems by Richard Biddle

Ha I Know U

——- Continue reading “Four visual poems by Richard Biddle” →

That Phone Call by Lacie Grayson

If I’m being honest, I always wanted to be a writer. The phone sex came second. The modeling came third and the mediumship? Totally unplanned. I run from that, just like my mum some would say along my journey. It’s the the things you run from, you end up needing the most. Continue reading “That Phone Call by Lacie Grayson” →

Dalí and Alice by Elodie Barnes

Inspired by Salvador Dalí’s illustrations for ‘Alice in Wonderland’.

Continue reading “Dalí and Alice by Elodie Barnes” →

Rot by Kevin Farrell

Call up your dead ones,
let ‘em know where they buried their bones,

shit isn’t meant to be,
just manifest what is into being,

muster up the strength to leave the apartment,
anxiety used to be hell without drugs,

now we’re walking clean, clean, clean and clean with meaning,

pretentious former addicts pissing off the weekend warrior drunks who want to piss the bed in peace.

All the apples of the family tree 
convinced they’re not as rotten as me,

drink yourself under the table
playing footsie with sobriety.

  Continue reading “Rot by Kevin Farrell” →

boomer by Scott Manley Hadley

I’ve been to Europe loads of times and it has a lot to offer.

I’ve been to Venice and Paris, been skiing once but it hurt and was expensive.

I’ve been down the Algarve, classier than the Spanish resorts.

There’s a lot in Europe to recommend; food, especially in Italy.

 

Only a liar would claim pizza hasn’t become a teatime staple,

And I know it’s giant cheese on toast with ketchup, but it’s better than that makes it sound.

I eat a plate of pasta most weeks, sauce out the jar, on the hob ten minutes, easy.

The Italians do food well, but it’s sad most of the world thinks they do it better than us.

Is a pizza or a pie and mash better on a wet winter’s night? 

I’d hit anyone who tried to give me salad instead of stew in the lake district, our North.

Continue reading “boomer by Scott Manley Hadley” →

Three pages from An Invention by Brian Baker

An Invention p.20, 2019, ink and pastel on paper.

Continue reading “Three pages from An Invention by Brian Baker” →

Two poems by Vik Shirley

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Continue reading “Two poems by Vik Shirley” →

Listen to the Voices: a Life in Three Spoons by Susan Omand

Artwork title: “Listen to the Voices: A Life in 3 Spoons”

Artist: Susan Omand

Date: 2019

Medium: Digital painting
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Susan Omand is a Scottish artist who paints from scratch using a digital palette. She enjoys experimenting with strong shapes and colours and is often inspired by the everyday to create something strikingly different. See more of her work on her website at https://www.omandoriginal.com/

Sapless Fortunes by Dale Brett

Chants of innocuous dreams. Juxtaposed worlds full of images. Nowhere to store these moments but vestigial ingrown pockets. Resultant miniscule sacs swollen with residual blood. Echoes of a thousand Nippon years rasping in my ears. I awake in Queen Himiko’s tomb. Continue reading “Sapless Fortunes by Dale Brett” →

The World is Ending by Joe Turrent

MARIAH CAREY

the year is 3045

the sky has been black for like 48 hours straight

when I look outside the birds are always singing

of never-ending wars

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HOMEWORK

There’s a stray cat outside meowing like

where’s this promised party

suddenly i’m so disconnected from everything

my tweets are like deleting as i tweet them

Continue reading “The World is Ending by Joe Turrent” →

Simpering by Shane Jesse Christmass

Human as alien as animal as transformative substance. My gills again. My lungs left behind. The anti-intro that discusses mutations and mutations only. New genes discovered in the side streets of North Inglewood. My personal mental fitness … a direct agency to despair. Psychedelic mathematics … the double helix … organisms occur as new species … desirous selection. Cockroach shells beneath my upper lip. A thousand times a day I vomit in the open hallways. No one sees this sign … let alone someone asking my name. I am not human. Live nude guys on Instagram … the micro-evolution of asexuality … the sticky goo of human bones … a total deterioration of feeling. Continue reading “Simpering by Shane Jesse Christmass” →

New Street, between trains by Mary Frances

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“I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further”

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There you are love, where are you off to?

Devon

A beautiful part of the world that, you have a lovely time, send us a postcard

All right I will

You do

I will

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but I did work hard very hard but there wasn’t enough time because it wasn’t the right questions I did a lot of practice questions and there was always characters but this time there wasn’t I knew a lot but none of my top questions were there and that’s what’s wrong with doing exams Continue reading “New Street, between trains by Mary Frances” →

Interview following the incident by John Porter

You say they had a thing like a drill?

Yes and pushed it into the side of my head

Like if I take my cordless model and do this?

Yes but the tone was more organic, this hurts like hell

Theirs did not?

No, could I have a towel for the blood?

Of course

It was more like a tongue flicking into my brain

So it was attached to the creature?

Continue reading “Interview following the incident by John Porter” →

Of Carbon by Andrew Wells

——- Continue reading “Of Carbon by Andrew Wells” →

“… please let him hate you too … ” by Bobbi Lurie

“So you still think you can do it?

So tell me, what did he eat today?

And how much does he weigh?

And how long will he remain a minor?

And you actually believe him?

Stop the talk about his future. We’re talking life or death here. I’ll give you a day to think about it. But that’s it. I can’t give you anymore time than that.

It hardly matters. In New Mexico kids are given most of their rights at fourteen.

Continue reading ““… please let him hate you too … ” by Bobbi Lurie” →

Saturday at the Active Shooter Drill by Margaret Koger


Continue reading “Saturday at the Active Shooter Drill by Margaret Koger” →

Post-Erotic Ritual Text by Mike Corrao

“Memories resurfacing” … “coagulating underneath the meniscus” … “slowly lifting over the crest” … “kino eye gazes down upon my apartment” … “witnesses our inadequate sex” … “the timid approach and delicate placement of your hands” … “there is no good fuck” … “the fragments will have to be assembled later” … “Blondboy” … “Deadboy” … “Oldboy” … “Tommyboy” … “another silhouette waiting over the horizon” … “sunset is green or burgundy” … “they’ve stopped firing rockets in the middle of the night” … “I delay my need for glasses” … “the eye doctor tells me that I can only see the past” … “not what is happening in front of me” … “medical time is organized into a linear model” … “it becomes difficult to project myself” … “smut-maker gives his body to people he does not know” … “he collects these encounters” … “builds an altar from cum and diorite” … “attempts to summon a new boy” … “no more boys” … “stone turns luminous and then returns to normal” Continue reading “Post-Erotic Ritual Text by Mike Corrao” →

The Lost Cowboy [A story in 24 tweets] by Mauricio Montiel Figueiras

In memory of Sam Shepard (1943-2017)

1. Under a fat summer moon the Lost Cowboy stops his horse. Stares at the scars in his hands looking for a map to guide him home.

2. Home is the place where you always long to be but which you will never find. The Lost Cowboy still hears the words of his father.

3. Come home, oh sweet baby, come home back to me. Startled, the Lost Cowboy struggles to place his mother’s lullaby in his memory. Continue reading “The Lost Cowboy [A story in 24 tweets] by Mauricio Montiel Figueiras” →

Mike Ferguson: three poems

Sweeney Todd

I can promise not a hair’s breadth betwixt life and bereft. A big something for the weekend, sir? If it ain’t kitten in the pie, it will be worse, I surmise. This precariousness of my barber’s chair. That skill of mine to really polish a string of basement pearls. I hear how hair is cut from ear to ear. In a dietary reworking: I love Mrs Lovett’s pies made from meat at MacDonald’s. The big sleep of a short back and sides is my favourite read. Demonology of ruthless styles. Once I have flipped, the tresses stand on end in more ways than can be undone. Continue reading “Mike Ferguson: three poems” →

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