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Caine Tully: Anthropocene #1

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Sick Secret

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One Existence

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When the future was now

“Injustices are everywhere. We live in a world that is beautiful and yet there is so much oppression and destruction upon it. The anthropocene is upon us and humanity has a long way to go before equality exists in every sense. My artwork has the intention to make the viewer aware of this and sometimes feel complicit in the various destructive actions of humanity and thereby, hopefully lead my audience to enact positive change through feeling some what responsible to take action themselves. I hope the least I can do is provoke thought in to an individual that had previously not cared for the world around them.”

Caine Tully

Ali Whitelock: kmart sells out of cheap fans made in china

Continue reading “Ali Whitelock: kmart sells out of cheap fans made in china”

Mark Goodwin: Beneath Space // Coil Evolver

Beneath Space

Beneath Space (Numerous LEDs in a Republic) Continue reading “Mark Goodwin: Beneath Space // Coil Evolver”

Konstantinos Papacharalampos: Hi, Passenger

Konstantinos Papacharalampos page oneKonstantinos Papacharalampos page two

Based in London, Konstantinos Papacharalampos (Greece, 1988) works in poetry, performance, installation and regeneration. After releasing K – On (ed. Entefktirio, 2011) his poems appeared in leading magazines in Greek and Russian and installed in situ in contemporary art festival Action Field Kodra. He then performed his second book Είναι/ Íne (ed. FRMK, 2015) in English (Velorose Gallery, London) and Greece (Lola Nikolaou Gallery, i.a.). Selected work was translated in German for Dichtung mit Biss (Freie Universität Berlin: ed. Romiosini/ CeMoG, 2018) and English for Futures: Poetry of the Greek Crisis (Penned in the Margins, UK, 2015). He holds a Diploma in Rural and Surveying Engineering from Aristotle University of Thessaloniki and an MSc Real Estate from CASS Business School (London). In 2018 he released his new poetry book, 3: Ανθρώπων Ιστορία/ 3: Anthrópon Istoría (ed. Koukounari), the hybrid pop project about repetition of ego in social media. See more from Konstantinos in his website or contact him via email. Twitter: @Kon_Papach  Continue reading “Konstantinos Papacharalampos: Hi, Passenger”

SJ Fowler: The Gush & more . . .

an excerpt from The Gush by SJ Fowler

from the Gush for Paul

Continue reading “SJ Fowler: The Gush & more . . .”

Astra Papachristodoulou: Astropolis

beyond the border 01

Continue reading “Astra Papachristodoulou: Astropolis”

SPLIT – Elanacharan Gunasekaran

Continue reading “SPLIT – Elanacharan Gunasekaran”

Sculpted: Richard Biddle

Bid_Sculpted_BHPBid_Sculpted_BHP

Continue reading “Sculpted: Richard Biddle”

SJ Fowler: the future-facing, the avant-garde & more via the Scaffold Podcast

SJ Fowler was interviewed by Matthew Blunderfield  for Episode 12 of the Scaffold Podcast. In this interview Steven talks about many things, but of particular relevance to my guest editorship are his thoughts on the avant-garde, and future-facing poetry. I hope you may find this interview useful. With thanks to the Scaffold Podcast, Matthew Blunderfield & SJ Fowler.

“After trying for a couple of years to write smooth poems about wild animals or foxes or whatever poets do in the countryside I realised actually I can’t control anything, I’m going to die, and that language, before that death, will not comfort me […] The first note of understanding language before you re-displace it as an art form is to understand that it will always fail to communicate what you want to communicate.”

(image: your own double-entry by SJ Fowler)

 

Flash Fiction & Two Poems by C. L. Ayre 

Between your [social] legs

Sometime in the past, B was born..

B breathes, welcoming the air external to the host person.

A: ‘What is between your legs, little one?’

B cries.

A: ‘Congratulations, it’s a.. >insert binary pronoun here< .’

B cries, again.

A: ‘What are you going to call >insert corresponding binary pronoun, here< ?’

Sometime later, after B has spent years experiencing on earth..

B: ‘I still breathe, and cry. The questioning human at my birth got the pronoun wrong. It was a mistake to think that my anatomy somehow directly corresponded to a distinctive set of social behaviours. Or, knowingly or unknowingly, any attempts to make that the case. Other determining factors which continue to make me me, were quite underestimated, overlooked or ignorantly bypassed. As were possibility and actuality.’

B Pauses.

B: ‘Yes, I have something between my legs, and person/human/homo sapien is my name’

A: ‘What is between your.. social.. legs, big one?’

B: ‘A variety of focal points for questioning. And I may not be one, but many. And why the assumption of ‘I’, anyway? But that’s for another time.’

Continue reading “Flash Fiction & Two Poems by C. L. Ayre “

Carnival and Lent by Laurence Thompson

A jar of paint-thick blood and mire

To wet an oxen’s head

A finger blackened by the fire

And pressed against the red.

 

A mask of white upon the fool

Who stares up from the feast

A couple fleeing with their mule

But cannot move the beast.

Continue reading “Carnival and Lent by Laurence Thompson”

Girls are Silver by Olga

girls are silver

 

                                          I was taught that

girls are silver       smiles to be polished

laughter the sound of a fingerflickedagainst

a     trophy     ringing  with emptiness.

 

                                              I knew that I wasn’t

silver   knew I was drinking from the depth

of starving wells     knew that girls

                                                        like me

                                                          would

rust Continue reading “Girls are Silver by Olga”

Monstrous Woman by Leanne Moden

I want to be a Monstrous Woman

To speak out of turn

To take up space

To scandalise tabloid newspapers

 

I want to question authority

To win more fights than I lose

To take my fair share

And allow you to take yours too

 

I want never to apologise for myself again

Continue reading “Monstrous Woman by Leanne Moden”

Poem, Writing & Art by Alix Hyde

Yellow Flower

Are you a girl

or a boy?

 

my nephew would ask me,

puzzled.

I’d smile and try not to answer

for as long as I could.

 

But he was so persistent, so

needy for reassurance.

My nephew is secure in his boyhood;

no questions, no blurriness

in his mind. He, him,

boy things, boy clothes

and books.

 

But me? An enigma, Continue reading “Poem, Writing & Art by Alix Hyde”

3 Poems and 1 Haibun by Robin Anna Smith

Shapeshifter

 

I exist somewhere between `

            a match and a flame,

                          a tear and the sea,

a handful of clay and a sculpted vase.

No other being determines or

             influences which form I take,

                          which direction I follow,

which air I choose to breathe into my lungs.

Those who fear my state of being

              fear the unknown,

                         the unsubscribed,

                                the undeclared.

And that which causes their unease is my strength.

 

disrobing

gender is the seam of ill-fitting pants

that, no matter how they are altered,

continue to give me a painful wedgie.

 

it is a pair of support tights,

that I’m required to wear beneath a skirt,

which gives me a miserable yeast infection.

 

the only relief is to remove the constraints

of gender entirely and allow myself

to breathe freely…

 

droplets of revolution

ideas require darkness and a steady drizzle to germinate. letters and syllables mingle. seeping layer by layer into the ground. entwine and thrive deep in the earth. forming stories which push their way up. they present themselves without shame. basking in sunlight. continuing to grow. shouting the brightness of their names. for as long as we tend to them…

 

rainseed I feed words to the cloud

 

The way we communicate, specifically with stories, is part of what makes us human. It’s how we know about our past, how we investigate and work through our present, and how we can contribute to the future. By writing our own narratives, we take control instead of allowing them to be written for us. As with growing plants, timing is important in the process of culminating and sharing our stories. This process is a way we can work through conflict and maintain the power of our identities—our resolution for revolution.

 


biopicrsmithRobin Anna Smith (she/her) is a non-binary, disabled writer and visual artist, currently residing in Wilmington, Delaware. She primarily writes about personal experiences with trauma, loss, disability, mental health, and gender identity. She is a regular contributor at Rhythm & Bones Lit. Her work appears or is forthcoming in a variety of online and print journals internationally, and in Unsealing Our Secrets: A Short Poem Anthology About Sexual Abuse and You Are Not Your Rape Anthology.

More of her work can be found at her website robinannasmith.com and Twitter @robinannasmith.

 

For Lydia by Becky Deans

Good golly miss Molly

Did you marry a man with a miner’s lamp and

No brolly?

 

Didn’t you know that the marriage bed came sprinkled with

Soot? Did he blind you

With a title, then tempt you with a butty?

 

How long did you keep that aspidistra flying?

Through the childbirth and the child death

And the end of the piano music

Continue reading “For Lydia by Becky Deans”

Battle of the Sexes by Lauren Winson

Pink is pretty and bravery blue (or so we’ve been told)

forgetting that once upon a time

Victorians held the opposite view-

so when will we stop

teaching young children

that pink, make up, Barbie dolls and dresses are for girls

whilst boys have blue, guns and action heroes?

 

When will it end?

 

Women raised to believe they need saving,

their short skirts sexualised from infancy,

infants expected to be raised by their mothers,

not fathers, these men taught to save everyone:

except for themselves.

Continue reading “Battle of the Sexes by Lauren Winson”

Gender Lines by Jennifer Moore

Two sides, no in-between, began I don’t know when

No, no, you can’t confuse the ladies with the men

Each day the frame repeats

We’re told the story again

In silence and in actions, signs and words

 

These are the questions thou shalt not ask

These are the persons thou shalt not see

And these commandments are all we need

It’s dangerous

Beyond the gender lines

Continue reading “Gender Lines by Jennifer Moore”

Someone Else and Harry by Jason Jackson

It all started when Harry had to move into the apartment.

The walls were white, and there were marks where the previous tenant had hung pictures. Harry went around the place, measuring these spaces. In a notepad, he wrote down numbers. He drew little diagrams.

Then he spent the next day in town. It was more difficult than he’d imagined, but he finally got everything he needed: seventeen pictures, each one corresponding to a white space on his walls. Harry didn’t care about the pictures – one was of a grinning cat in the rain, and Harry disliked cats – he just cared that they fitted the spaces.

He spent that evening drinking coffee and hanging the pictures, and eventually he lay down in bed.

The previous tenant had left the mattress, and although Harry was used to sleeping on the left, this mattress had an indentation on the right. Harry lay down in this exact spot. It was too small for him, but it felt safe, and in the morning when he woke he found he hadn’t moved. Continue reading “Someone Else and Harry by Jason Jackson”

The Wolves Ripen: A Gothic Halloween Interview with Poet Kate Dlugosz

During my tenure as BHP’s Guest Editor in March 2018, I was lucky enough to publish many gifted writers. One of these was Kate Dlugosz, whose mythic poetry stayed with me long after my editorship was over. Earlier this month I invited her back onto Burning House Press for a gothic Halloween special. She agreed. Take note, this interview is merely masquerading as an interview. What follows is a gorgeous helping of dark prose poetry for those of us who have October in our bones.  Enjoy!  —Amee Nassrene Broumand

In your poem “Springtime,” you write: “If nothing else, I know owls come from flowers.” Tell us some more origin stories. Where do bats come from?

Bats come from song, as the shape of music from the cords formed of autumn constellations played by the wind upon the harp of the waning crescent moon. It is from the stars and the moon that the bat took flight from the night sky, the space between the stars where they learned to see by shape. And released by moonlight, through the darkened canopies of wine-red treetops they fly as hordes of poppy seeds, scattering over the moon as grey clouds, and the world below them becomes strange and wild and unknown in the dark. The bats echolocate the moths and the beetles in the night, and in the blindness of their own vision seeing with clarity the worlds of ghosts and spirits that pass over our own. You feel the first chill of autumn is the hiss of the bat as it grazes your neck. At times the bats hang down from the banisters of old barns, the wooden planks slicing the moon to shreds like a white moth between their fangs. And sometimes they sleep hanging from the limbs of oak trees by their claws before taking flight into purple dusk in search of blood, the moths and monsters prowling under moonlight. Bats suck the red from apples and rosehips and would consume the sun if they could sink their teeth into flame. Should you stare into the vast night sky on a clear autumn night, you are stargazing through the blackness of their wings. Continue reading “The Wolves Ripen: A Gothic Halloween Interview with Poet Kate Dlugosz”

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