The Poem, Afraid
Some dog’s ghost
glares from the
attic window.
I know the door
to a nuclear plant
with his teeth
captioned above it:
Some mammal was
here and such.
When our youngest
walked in on us
last night,
I was coming.
She was scared
because she heard
someone crying.
I kiss the bruise
a bad dream leaves
in her head
& keep an eye
on the lonely ghost.
1. Decode
Decode:
Men awe, at that heathen spindle,
to see any machine’s ode.
Cater, Enigma:
I generate codes,
inch —
many ease, to lend pins heat;
heat that we name, decode….
Contrapuntal: In Which We Swallow Insects While Contemplating Environmental Apocalypse
Continue reading “Two Poems by Beth Gordon”
Instructions for the PERFECT Lie
Continue reading “Two Sets of Instructions by Elancharan Gunasekaran”
Piranhas
He was one of those people
those who talk
purely because they can
they are everywhere
especially, but not exclusively
at petrol stations
grocery shops
banks and beaches
and school gates
they love school gates
The Taste of Rage
Laden with hungry fingers and a thirst
for Jim Beam, you skulk through
murky nightclubs looking for a dimly lit
blonde to awaken in the middle of the night.
You eat up the thrill of drunken sex and
fuck in hotel rooms paid for in cash,
twisting beneath sheets stained with indiscretion.
Their child is doing voices
‘All of us have a primitive prompter or commentator within, who from earliest years has been advising us, telling us what the real world is’ – Saul Bellow.
It is hot. Outside on the landing his parents
are in readiness, hushed for the show.
Hear him now, stirring.
The whiteness of his mind, at peace, a planet,
is studio enough
where, ice-still in echoes like a deepfreeze mariner,
he inhales to begin.
To preacher-perfect O’s mimicking the next doors.
And now the imperatives to weepy Olive Oyl,
hot talk, transmissions, dogfights and now,
waspish, with accent, lisping Daffy Duck,
scolding her charges in squeaky ’78.
Escapes
I remember
the rocks hot under
my skin, black sun-glistened
flecks in sugar-almond stone,
rush of foam-tinged
sparkling water, the pull back
of waves fizzing sand.
Traces
As slow as the breathing
of the ancient giant
long said to sleep beneath
our town’s tallest hill,
snow piled up that week
against the edge
of pine needled forest floor,
then fell back like a cold ocean tide.
The Questions
accumulated with missing relations
in photographs of his grandad’s family,
his Nana’s dropped dark hints.
Glorify
I learned to call on details that come unnoticed
brush strokes that hide in-between.
Burning House Press are excited to welcome ROBERT FREDE KENTER & ELISABETH HORAN as our JULY 2019 guest editors! As of today ROBERT & ELI (( ICE FLOE PRESS )) will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of JULY.
Submissions are open from today – 1st JULY and will remain open until 24TH JULY. Continue reading “JULY 2019 Guest Editor/s Are ROBERT FREDE KENTER & ELISABETH HORAN!!! Theme/s: SECRETS & LIES”
Continue reading “HEX EDITION JUNE 2019 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY LAURA JOYCE & JODIE KIM”
Burning House Press are excited to welcome LAURA JOYCE & JODIE KIM as our JUNE 2019 guest editors! As of today LAURA & JODIE will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of JUNE.
Submissions are open from today – 1st JUNE and will remain open until 23RD JUNE.
LAURA & JODIE’S theme/s for the month are as follows
“We see the function of the hex as a means to crystallise anger, fear, and outrage into a powerful moment of ritual. We encourage the use of forms often considered middlebrow or trashy i.e. true crime, confessional, occult, paranormal, melodrama. We also encourage spells, incantations, recipes, case studies, research notes, curses. We propose hexes to be in any language and in any form including: writing, visual art, performance transcripts, selfies, curation of found materials etc.”
Continue reading “JUNE 2019 Guest Editor/s Are Laura Joyce & Jodie Kim!!! Theme/s: HEX”
Continue reading “INCOMPLETENESS EDITION MAY 2019 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY PETERO KALULE”
I came out of this darkness, Because I needed to breathe pure air,
Inside, the thought collides, the souls clutter, the dark furniture, the dim lighting and the loud music is the place where people hide their failure and fear Continue reading “Prose // by Lamia”
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