In reply to your last message, I’m writing you from the Drowned House under the lake to your Burning House in the internet because the Gas House makes me tear and vomit upon entering and the Buried House remains unearthed. It is my understanding that you wish to send handwritten letters and postcards to fictitious persons from alternate Earths. Surely, you and your world is considered no less fictitious to them. But I will nonetheless humor this futile exchange—serving as your mercurial postman. Closely following my guidelines ensures that each letter and postcard transfers effectively. However, beware of the errors made by the techno modernist zealots. They cower at the wellsprings of decay, of terms and limits, of the tangible artifacts and palimpsests in which handwritten letters and postcards are baptized. Do not give into their weaknesses, and, moreover, do not try to stage our already counterfeit means. Continue reading “Handwritten Letters to Fictitious Persons from Alternate Earths – Elytron Frass – March 2019 Guest Editor”
THE MIND AS PRISON & ASYLUM EDITION
FEBRUARY 2019 GUEST EDITED/CURATED
All month long, the gorgeous photography has been contributed by the talented artist, stephanie roberts. Her photographs were just as integral to this month’s theme and overall aesthetic as the work of the writers we were so privileged to read. stephanie’s photos have been inspiring me for quite some time and it was an honor to have her brilliant images set the tone for The Mind As Prison & Asylum. Thank you, stephanie!
Burning House Press are excited to welcome ADRIANNA ROBERTSON as our FEBRUARY 2019 guest editor! As of today Adrianna will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of February.
Submissions for Adrianna are open from today – 1st February and will remain open until 22nd February. Continue reading “February 2019 Guest Editor Is ADRIANNA ROBERTSON!!! Theme/s: The Mind As Prison & Asylum”
BY BOLA OPALEKE
Our Photo artist for the month, Amanda Ollinik, supplied almost all the featured photos used(except for two or three). She is as prolific as our poetry/fiction contributors, and very well take her talent seriously. We are grateful to her and her partner, Lydia, for making the month as photogenic as it can be. Continue reading “Featured Photo Artist – Amanda Ollinik”
i am full of children i do not want
If every girl/daughter is a seed, what will that seed become? What plume, bloom, or vegetation?
muck-in-my-gut // ghost-white and beloved // give me a disregard for neighbors and sirens
Maybe it’s true, that “the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” That the seed of her being is a blue-bell blueprint, genesis of genes, traumatic histories and memories mapping destinies predestined, societal soldering of gender-norms, which she inherits. Continue reading “‘Daughter-Seed’ by Arielle Tipa – reviewed by Miggy Angel”
And when I say I’m void of self-belief I’m trying to say I don’t live
The answer I’m trying to say I recognize helpless nature I’m trying to say
That I write God in the alfresco mother says he is ubiquitous like air I am a daily
SOS on some other days while I await heaven’s radar I re- arrange my misery
As a response driven to a space on the ocean’s expanse reciting each pain into pebbles
Feeding pebbles to strong currents I hang my scars like petitions around my neck Continue reading “1. Requisition, and 2. God, Look At God – Goodness Olanrewaju Ayoola”
The Anger of Water
With a roar,
Forms a fist of iron
And throws itself at you.
I do not pray to see water angry.
It is mannerless;
Has respect for nothing
But its evil intentions.
Upon the blue sea, Continue reading “The Anger of Water – Kolawole Samuel Adebayo”
Inferno, Cantos I–III
In the middle of my life, I lost myself in a dark wood.
I can’t say how I got there: I was on the path, and then I wasn’t. I can hardly even describe the wood. It was dark and dense, and I was afraid.
I wandered all night, first one way, then another, then back again. Every turn led me deeper into the wood. When I stopped to rest, I heard a distant howl, and I set off, almost running. The thick branches shut out the moonlight, and I tripped on roots and skinned my wrists on the stony ground. Continue reading “Inferno, Cantos I–III – Ryan Napier”
The microwave is beeping in time to the pulse in my head.
My fingernails are splitting, one by one, leaving ragged points
that scratch my numbed face.
I wander from room to room feeling like this house
is a stranger that’s abducted me.
I go days without washing my face or brushing my hair
and I blame the moon. It’s too bright, it’s too big, Continue reading “1. Suddenly Blind, and 2. The Last Earthly Gift – Charlotte Hamrick”
In the Dark
I devise a plan:
I will take you
to places you’ve never seen.
I book my ticket
and we’re off:
jetting across the globe,
the adventure of a lifetime.
We go to New York, Libya, Malaysia,
and now here I am in Italy,
your rounded body Continue reading “1. In the Dark, and 2. Embracing Vulnerability – David Hanlon”
what is love if not
catching irrepressible canyons
in calloused hands
breathing homespun winds
what is love if not
defining impossibility Continue reading “Empyrean Swings – Ashley Bullen-Cutting”
When I was 12 I found a prayer book at a jumble sale
and bought it for the grand sum of 25p.
It had daffodils on the front – a cheery bunch of yellow flowers
and I remember thinking, yellow flowers can only be good
they always make people happy.
And I didn’t feel happy, not very often, not even at the age
of bike rides and cupcakes and sleepovers, Continue reading “Prayer Book – Victoria Richards”
A 15-year abacus, a rosary of flint faces,
and an inverted road.
St. Jonah, personal patron, pray for me.
You brother of cowards and fugitives,
welldigger who struck a bedrock
of scorpions every time.
I too have encountered
a rising tide of what could be water,
if it wasn’t paralyzing me from the feet up. Continue reading “1. Via Negativa, and 2. The Creation Of Man – Tolu Oloruntoba”
We hadn’t wanted to go out, had even considered changing our minds with a lateness sure to offend, in order to enjoy the cool inside of the house with its scent of fresh cedar, its hardworking fan. But we mustered the resources we had, slipped on our sandals and passed over the threshold. The invitation had been extended to us with such excitement that there was no choice but to attend, despite our prejudices against classical art and the theatre, here found in the same work. Continue reading “Rings – Jessica Sequeira”