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Judith Taylor: Cinderella upon Remembering Bruno

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Cinderella upon Remembering Bruno

 

Her hands

down by her sides

 

Also her drink of choice

and how she speaks to

the bartender

 

Her subtle, slow

I’ve got all day

burn

Continue reading “Judith Taylor: Cinderella upon Remembering Bruno”

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Loretta Oleck: Over the Threshold

lady with cane

Over the Threshold

 

We laugh like newlyweds

as you carry me over the threshold

into a house rife with the spirits

of former tenants-

 

a lonely caretaker, a childless couple,

a single mother-

 

their DNA peeling off the walls

like chipped paint.

Continue reading “Loretta Oleck: Over the Threshold”

Josh Myers: Proper Entry and Exit

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Proper Entry and Exit

 

After Listening to “Canvas”

 

One must know what it is to be in and out. How to properly enter and exit. “Properly,” not in the sense of the bourgeoisie or uppity, but in the sense in which Robert Farris Thompson wrote about. Writing as he did about the ways we be.

 

There are ways of being in and out.

 

But how to enter and where to be once inside and how to decide when to no longer remain—what makes those decisions, those moments?

 

Can we ever reach the inside without entering?

 

And can we reach the outside without exiting?

Continue reading “Josh Myers: Proper Entry and Exit”

Susan E. Gunter: Composition: Mixed Media

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Composition: Mixed Media

 

I paint to learn what my eyes barely see,

things hidden to me: cast shadows, a latch,

my mother’s ghost floating behind the drapes.

 

I study the image I shot, its hues and patterns:

copper door, stained windows, the stone of walls

and sun faded stone, the blur of a doorway’s curve.

Continue reading “Susan E. Gunter: Composition: Mixed Media”

Daniel P Callanan: Thresholds

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I was thinking about Brutalism, cattle and passage tombs. Form, currency and death.

Walking the fields of North Cork and the headlands of Galway, casting cow-sheds as signs.

Homes for people, now homes for animals. Cycled forward by occupation, migration and forecasts. Radio broadcasts. Concrete and local stone piled into walls, supporting cold tin rooves. Corrugated steel. Cheap and functional, galvanised wave forms. Tin, iron and zinc combined and beaten thin. Weather resistant not weather proof.

Continue reading “Daniel P Callanan: Thresholds”

Saudades de Rio by Eva Rosenn

Does it haunt your dreams, or become like a pebble in your shoe?
The dark glossy leaves of the jeniparana,
The bright pink flowers of the bougainvillea,
The explosion of sugar of the banana ouro hacked from the tree?

Remember hiding in hammocks pretending to nap,
Chasing sandcrabs and stepping in pitch,
Visiting your sister’s pet monkey at the animal hospital—
An extended veranda filled with macaws screaming?

My pearl-crusted tutu for Carnival, the drumbeat of the sambas,
The pelting of the rain against the windshield with no wipers,
The salt of the ocean and the syrup of grape Fanta?

Explain choking on Cornflakes and powdered milk
Or taking the bus to the favela to pick out a live chicken
To our kids with American grocery stores.

Continue reading “Saudades de Rio by Eva Rosenn”

Three poems by Mark Goodwin

February 29th 1933

The saddest thing for the English to bear, is not what they have lost, but instead
what they know has not yet been found, but is nevertheless enduring in the shadows.
– Derrick Adderage

The house has slid here
to this wide street-middle; it floats
like a dark ship on smooth wet tarmac; it splits
the road that seems to flow slowly

either side of it.

The houses lining the street shrink
as this one house inflates
with where it came from.

And him. Continue reading “Three poems by Mark Goodwin”

Reunion by V.C. McCabe

The sickly stomach heat
of inescapable guilt
pushes me through the door,

brick in belly, heart on sleeve,
succulent hors d’oeuvres for
ravenous vultures waiting

to cannibalise with freshly
sharpened fangs and claws. Continue reading “Reunion by V.C. McCabe”

Softness as a cosmology by Rishi Dastidar

1. There is nothing soft in the universes.

2. There wasn’t at the start, certainly, unless you count the unexpected wobble that got us going to be some sort of expression of care from a creator we will never see nor hear from ever again.

3. All the energy unleashed becoming skids of hot gas becoming swirls of hot rock having what we will later describe as celestial pub fights, no there is no softness there. Continue reading “Softness as a cosmology by Rishi Dastidar”

Fifty Years Later by Kate Wooddell

Whiteness.
Walls gleaming stark with
fresh paint against dusty old tiger murals
while white hairs stroll the halls.  Artificially
whitened
smiles, untanned
skin, some hospital pallid, all
sans melanin.  The most distinguishing characteristic
we share. The pallor
of our segregated shame. Continue reading “Fifty Years Later by Kate Wooddell”

Three poems by Jude Marr

Dispatch From an Altered State

this place is a contagion: I can’t
read here: only
despair: no time remains for new words: only old
obscenities: only enemies
are recognizable: their animus flares: their crabbed
hands pluck at my dis-ease: I lie
under heavy blankets, red raw railing—
Continue reading “Three poems by Jude Marr”

Peach On The Beach by Kate Feld

Isn’t every fruit soft, if you wait? In small bodies the time is softly passing. Peach had a twilight air. It wore a yellow curling-up sticker that read ‘gog de magog’ in black print (something from The Bible I think) with a picture of a purple desert tree and ‘the fruit of paradise’ in tiny print across the top and ‘paradiesisches obst’ along the bottom. Continue reading “Peach On The Beach by Kate Feld”

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