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Creativity

Poetry as Experience

by Amee Nassrene Broumand

 

Note:  Creators, would you like to be interviewed for one of my Burning House Press blog posts? See the details at the end of this post.  

Continue reading “Poetry as Experience”

The Arsonist Magazine Editon 01 Now Available For Purchase!!!

The Arsonist Magazine Edition 01 – available to purchase here

Image of The Arsonist Magazine Edition 01
Flammable materials from 32 incandescent international poets writers artists and photographers.

Featuring the best poetry, flash fiction, photography, art, interviews and features from around the world, including the UK, Japan, Canada, USA, Malaysia, India, Philippines, Sweden:

stephanie roberts – Saquina Karla C. Guiam – Penny Goring – Adrianna Robertson – Anneghem Wall – Dawn Fredericks – badpoem – Dean Lilleyman – Antony Owen – Aina Izzah – Bruno Neiva – Paul Hawkins – Keith Ford – Joseph Ridgwell – Dhiyanah Hassan – C. R. Resetarits – Rob True – Sophie Pitchford – Jamie Thrasivoulou – Martin Appleby – Liz Zumin – Siddharth Dasgupta – Ben Williams – Caitlin Meredith – Adam Steiner – Jim Gibson – V.M. – Fredric Nord – Mark Goodwin – Hiromi Suzuki – Trevor Wright – Howie Good

The Arsonist Magazine Edition 01 is a 92 page full colour/b&w matt/gloss perfect-bound A5 magazine (this is a limited edition and, being the inaugural print publication from Burning House Press, is sure to be a collectible item)

 

The Arsonist Magazine Edition 01 – available to purchase here

 

Arsonist Contents Page

The Best Of A Bad Situation – Jamie Thrasivoulou

The Best Of A Bad Situation – by Jamie Thrasivoulou

– poetry collection published by Silhouette Press

Jamie Thrasivoulou has seen the zeitgeist and, to be honest, he’s disgusted. These poems are translators of tarmac, asphalt whisperers, mediators of a sonic correspondence between broken hearts and broken promises, busted causeways and lost causes, high hopes fallen down and low-roads taken up. One of the greatest sights in contemporary poetry is to witness Jamie Thrasivoulou explode these poems on an unsuspecting audience. Let’s call it the truth, let’s call it word and testimony, let’s call it the salvo and the salve, let’s call it what it is. ‘The Best Of A Bad Situation’ is the most urgent, vital collection of poetry you will read all year. This is gonna hurt you much more than it will Jamie, but it’s a word-surgery that the body and mind require. Don’t thank the man, he doesn’t want nor need it. Just buy this book, read it, imbibe it’s blood-spirit and turn your life over to the justice and insistences of its restorative frequencies.

– Miggy Angel, author of ‘Grime Kerbstone Psalms’

Continue reading “The Best Of A Bad Situation – Jamie Thrasivoulou”

‘DST’ by Rebecca Parker

Screenshot_20170424-223337

 

 

Continue reading “‘DST’ by Rebecca Parker”

‘Year 1’ by Shae Davies

I woke up thinking of you,

and the word, Komorebi

Japanese, for the light

that filters through the trees

 

I woke up and thought of the sunshine I found

in your arms

in your eyes

 

Year 1.1

Continue reading “‘Year 1’ by Shae Davies”

4 Poems by Joseph Ridgwell

Britain’s Most Wanted

 

It was while opening a package from the States

That it happened

The package contained the artwork to my latest novel

Burrito Deluxe

By Calif’s finest

Jose Arroyo

Holed up and rolling with the punches

East of East LA

The artwork was perfect for

The novel and nobody but Arroyo could’ve come up with it

Unique

But as I stood there admiring the creation

Britain’s Most Wanted

Came on the television

A list and faces of UK’s most wanted criminals

And the shock when I heard the name

And looked up

And there on my television

In High Definition

Was the hero of my novel

The inspiration and catalyst to

Everything that had happened

On our great Mexican adventure

The man who once said the creation of a myth

Was the only thing he was interested in

And that if you join them, you will always be at odds with them

And everything they stand for

And there he was on the run

Still running free

And laughing at the sun

Long may he run. Continue reading “4 Poems by Joseph Ridgwell”

‘my body is not my body’ by Nadia Gerassimenko

my body is not my body

 

when i’m held mouth wide open, blood oozing, dreading your extraction of part of my body. i’m only six. i’m not asleep. i never forgot.

i’m eighteen. adult, or so they say. part of my body breaks so more space is filled with you & all you carry. it hurts. in retrospect, it always hurt. it always will. Continue reading “‘my body is not my body’ by Nadia Gerassimenko”

2 Poems by Christopher Iacono

Iconic

 

The half-suns laid in brick —

tan curves on a red face —

close in on each other

but never touch.

 

They will not come together

to brighten the sky.

They will not kiss your face

with rays of light.

 

Continue reading “2 Poems by Christopher Iacono”

The Arsonist Magazine – Coming Soon

The Arsonist Magazine edition 01 – featuring flammable materials from 30 international writers artists photographers – Coming Soon

‘Halfway Up The Street’ – an extract from the novel ‘Billy and The Devil’ by Dean Lilleyman

Halfway Up The Street

 

She stops to light a fag, watches some sparrows fight over batter-bits, left by a slow-blown chip-paper that tumbleweeds across the Courthouse grass.

From the pavement she squints to make out the headline exclaiming Sandie Shaw a winner.

She drags deep on her fag, exhales, puts both hands back on the pram and starts walking, steering around a curled mound of dog muck.

Jean and her sisters watched the Eurovision on their new second-hand black and white TV on Saturday night, bought by her mam the weekend before from a woman at work.

Jean and her sisters gasped when Sandie’s microphone didn’t work at first, and then moved as one to the edge of the new second-hand settee when Sandie’s voice came through loud and clear.

Jean would like her hair cut like Sandie’s, but for now she wears it in a beehive.

She stoops by the cenotaph to pull the backs of her sandals up, and to stop her heart beating fast she sings the first line of Sandie’s chorus, almost breathing it into the mouth of the pram.

Say you love me madly, I’ll gladly, be there.

She frowns, drags on her fag, then starts reading the blackened names on the cenotaph.

For those who fell.

She gets as far as Evans G, then understands these names mean nothing to her, and placing one hand on the pram, she moves on in slow measured steps, fag in mouth, using her free hand to check her hair.

In the mirror this morning she thought she looked older. This is something she wants, and has been practising an older face. The older face doesn’t smile.

She takes her fag out and glances down to her belly and legs as she walks. In her brown suede miniskirt her belly has lost its little pudding, and she thinks her legs have gained nothing after the birth.

In the distance, the Post Office clock looks like it reads a quarter to one, but she can’t be sure without her glasses.

Jean puts the brake on the big old pram and moves around to the side of it, peering into the flaky chrome struts that hold the hood up. Her black eyeliner is thick today, and her slate-grey eyes stare back between curls of peeling silver.

She rubs the loose flakes off and wishes she had a new pram.

When the woman from the Social came to tell her someone had donated a used pram and did she want it, Jean felt happy. She walked all the way across town to a big old house to collect it. The woman who was donating the pram smiled at Jean, but she could tell the woman was judging her.

Jean’s mam warned her people would be like this when she came home with the baby.

Jean knew this anyway.

Lifting the brake with the toe of her sandal, Jean and the pram move off slowly. She still has quarter of an hour until she meets Mick, and Mick is always late.

Her heart starts beating faster again when she thinks of him, and she hates herself for not being strong and calm like an older woman would.

She parks the pram by the bench and sits down, pulling her skirt down lower.

Stamping her fag out, she remembers Mick’s face when she told him she was pregnant. She remembers the flicker of shock in his eyes, the blink, then the grin, the Oh well I suppose we’d best get married then.

Continue reading “‘Halfway Up The Street’ – an extract from the novel ‘Billy and The Devil’ by Dean Lilleyman”

5th Weekend – TJ Corless

5th Weekend

 

We’re in this old converted fire station and Sean is on stage doing a speech about how he draws inspiration from nostalgia and the working class and his mates and how his art means everything to him and how he’s so happy that we all came out to support him. He finishes and the hall full of a good few hundred people erupts with applause and cheers. He jumps off the stage and these four skinny lads get on the instruments and start thrashing out this punky song. Continue reading “5th Weekend – TJ Corless”

‘Safety Pin’ by Frank McMahon

Safety Pin

 

Will a safety pin be enough

To quell the din of racism

And help those on the sharp end of abuse

Loosen xenophobia’s noose?

Are you pinning your hopes on too little?

Continue reading “‘Safety Pin’ by Frank McMahon”

Submissions open – 1st Edition of The Arsonist Magazine

SUBMISSIONS FOR THE 1ST EDITION OF THE ARSONIST MAGAZINE NOW OPEN – SEND US YOUR BEST – CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU MADE X

‘The Man I’ve Never Met’ by Ally Schulte

The Man I’ve Never Met

 

Today I went to a funeral for the man I’ve never met

Oceans of relatives washed around the body

Drowning the figure in remembrance

Old memories and photographs of a life now forgotten

Continue reading “‘The Man I’ve Never Met’ by Ally Schulte”

5 Poems by Holly Holt

The Heat

 

when we were young

and time was free,

our skin danced in bronze

crafted by sunlight’s constancy

 

our footsteps whispered

in fields of green and the distance

between us was a heartbeat,

caught in the hum of laughter

about something silly, I’m sure,

but now the reason is gone

as much as who we were,

once—when summer knew us best

 

for all I know now is heat,

how to harness it by air conditioning,

while seconds rise like goosebumps

to steal the rest of youth away

Continue reading “5 Poems by Holly Holt”

‘Variations of Presence’ – an interview with photographer Alexis Vasilikos

Thank you, Alexis, for submitting your works to be featured on Burning House Press! You mentioned in our email exchange that you don’t work in themes or projects, rather that the images arise in their own time – the same goes for the works’ titles. Is chance a huge factor in your photographic process?

Thank you, it’s my pleasure!

It depends what you mean by “chance”, if you mean events that happen by forces that are beyond the control of the individual consciousness then yes, chance is very important. My practice is deeply connected with this surrendering to the flow of life; this is why I mostly conceive photographs as happenings rather than doings. Today I wrote this small note which feels relevant to this question: Creativity is not a doing, it is an alignment with the cosmic unfolding, in which there is no separate doer. Continue reading “‘Variations of Presence’ – an interview with photographer Alexis Vasilikos”

‘Coach House’ series – by Paul Hawkins

Coach House Series by Paul Hawkins

cut-up text

medium: mixed media on found card

dimensions: various

date: 2016

 

 

CH02

 

Continue reading “‘Coach House’ series – by Paul Hawkins”

Five Visual Poems By Hiromi Suzuki

 

asigh_asorrow_asuspicious_mind1. ‘a sigh, a sorrow, a suspicious mind’

Continue reading “Five Visual Poems By Hiromi Suzuki”

‘A Woman Learns’ by Arathi Devandran

A Woman Learns 

 

A woman learns when she is young

That all of her is a weapon

Against a world that is determined

To mould her softness into something

Convenient, hard, eventually,

a disappearance.

Continue reading “‘A Woman Learns’ by Arathi Devandran”

Talking Stories with Sharon Chin

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”

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