144 Meadowbank Lane
It was not so much the murder
and amount of body’s there
but the scale of the mutilation
and torture that took place
before the point of death
had actually occurred. Continue reading “2 Poems by Paul Tristram”
A passionate and tender love scene between two lovers
Comma
Burnt photographs. Burning memoirs. Scattered fragments. Scattering endings.
Stay, we’ll blaze through in smoke and coke, or break away, since there’s nothing left
Nothing left to frame in wisps of her, nothing left to distill through drops of dark Continue reading “3 Poems by Siddharth Dasgupta”
What’s My Name?
Our names: our school pegs, our register entries, an ID badge, a passport, a bank account, a driving licence, how we introduce ourselves. Of course, all of our names are given to us, some a gift, others a curse, some that don’t quite sit right with the face in front of us, or for the body that the person inhabits, but it’s something we all have. Continue reading “‘What’s My Name?’ – an essay exploring identity and adoption by Anneghem Wall”
Smoke Signals
I rouse reluctantly, my home aflame,
The reek of burning stoppered by the door,
But infiltrating cracks and dreams the same,
Uneasily unconscious of our war. Continue reading “‘Smoke Signals’ by Griffin Sierra”
I can’t remember the first time I saw Sharon’s art. The more conversations we have now, the more I find out that I’ve known her works before knowing they were hers.
And I’ve not only known them, I’ve loved them from the doubled distance of outsider and audience. I remember engaging with the sculptural, interactive pieces of ‘Portable Sensors’ back in 2013, a difficult year as I was sure I would never recover from returning to a country that took the concept of ‘home’ away from me. The angry noises that screamed out of these buzz wire kits were relieving; contained electrical protests to match the claustrophobia I felt about my geographical predicament. Continue reading “Talking Stories with Sharon Chin”
secret message inside the cornbread
What is inside the cornbread that makes
it feel like sand?
I consume every granule
of cornmeal– it collects inside of me.
Kathy fashions my stomach into a zen garden.
Part 2: ‘The Treatment’
Note: This interview was written from a series of conversations between the author and her mother over several years. It has been put together to present this part of the series.
Me: Do you remember the day of your diagnosis?
My Mother: Yes. It is a day I will never forget. I remember the doctor telling me that I had a good chance of survival, that the lump they had discovered was small, that there was a fighting chance. The doctor spoke a language of hope. But all I could hear was death, disease, disaster. You know that saying about the world crashing down on you? Yes, that is what happened to me. The world as I knew it came crashing down on me. Continue reading “‘Living With Cancer’ – an essay in five parts by Arathi Devandran”
Encrypted
The code is written on my body. Just beneath the skin
Nothing so simple as the repeat sequences used in DNA profiling
More complex than measuring fluctuations in cosmic radiation
An intricate lattice with no beginning or ending, and no defined point of entry. Continue reading “‘Encrypted’ by Elissa Soave”
The Day
give name to nothing. there’s
no body to it. nothing to give
or to take form. Continue reading “‘The Day’ by Clark Chatlain”
Hot Pocket Annie Queen of Broadway
She only existed under the neon
swirl of Broadway
between 42nd and 9th – Continue reading “Hot Pocket Annie Queen of Broadway by Saira Viola”
Macro created by the artist Penny Goring from a found version of The Busman’s Prayer. Continue reading “‘The Busman’s Prayer’ macro by Penny Goring”
Untitled
…what say now/ as if unsaid/ said/ what then
now/ often/ strays what will/
beyondless fathomless not/ close door/ what
foreign gift silenced/ Continue reading “‘Untitled’ – a prose-poetic by Michael Mc Aloran”
Opiate
Little light sing me your lullaby
that I may lose myself in you Continue reading “3 Poems by Christian Downes”
New People
My story is not my own
it is ours, sung from the mouth
of first nations, through generations
it somehow survived. Continue reading “3 Poems by Karissa Lang”
NAKED CITY
Everyday crucify what you know
in the naked city Continue reading “2 Poems by Rus Khomutoff”
My question is this:
will you let yourself pray to your own body here where worship begins in the hips Continue reading “‘My Question Is This’ by Celina Dietzel”
Part 1: ‘When We Found Out’
Dear diary,
It seems silly that I am writing in my diary at this age, and yet –
Mother called earlier today. The biopsy results are in:
A malignant tumor. Breast Cancer. Continue reading “‘Living With Cancer’ – an essay in five parts by Arathi Devandran”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 
‘Five Aces’ – essay by Scott Thomas Outlar
If the Beast pushes you into a corner, do you come out swinging with haymakers? Or sit down cross-legged and meditate? Both could, conceivably, be actions that lead to salvation depending on what type of mood one might be in on any given day. Do you fight fire with fire? Or apply jiu–jitsu techniques in a way that wears down the aggressor striking out against you? Sometimes it is best to step out of the way and allow that which is evil to self-destruct from within. Sometimes, however, it is best to rear back and punch a bully square in the nose.
Continue reading “‘Five Aces’ – essay by Scott Thomas Outlar” →
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