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Poetry

Two Poems by Matt Broaddus

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Photo by Timur M on Unsplash

 

 

poem: “Socialism” is Currently the #1 Trending Word on Merriam-Webster.com

 

My brain ekes in the dark without 

a flashlight. Holding a banana to ward off 

scurvy and North Sea pirates. I live under

a wrecked ship’s hull. From the ceiling it rains 

rats. I eat them. First, we talk. In my telescope.

The Dey waves a silver hand. For the seraglio. 

For the Danes to send the goods. I will plunder.  Continue reading “Two Poems by Matt Broaddus”

A Poem by Les Epstein

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Photo by Tammy Gann on Unsplash

 

 

poem: Isolation, Part 9: Coffee Filter Salvation

 

Clowning up as suburban bandits 

We three stumble into the empty park, 

Breathing through coffee filters 

Tucked away in cotton life-preservers 

And there we conduct a baseball season

Tossing, though never catching, 

A ball between the rising Violets and Chickweed.

Continue reading “A Poem by Les Epstein”

Three Visual Poems by Shloka Shankar

 

title: Perfume

 

perfume

 

Continue reading “Three Visual Poems by Shloka Shankar”

Two Poems by Shaimaa Abdelkarim

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photo by Shaimaa Abdelkarim

 

 

poem: Days in 

 

some days

i mostly wonder

when joy knocks 

would it smell like

 

a lily and jasmine musk perhaps 

 

i often ponder 

if joy is what today brings

let it come 

Continue reading “Two Poems by Shaimaa Abdelkarim”

Three Poems by S.L. Lim

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Photo by Laurent Perren on Unsplash

 

 

poem: Bratislava 2016/ Sydney 2020

 

Where I’d like to be: a place with clean white sheets.

A hotel room, I’ve always loved them. View from the

window – not the ocean or anything, just trees

on a hill with some brutalist buildings and a pink and

orange sunset at rest behind. Luxurious.  

Continue reading “Three Poems by S.L. Lim”

Womannotated – Underneath

 

The following is a brand new poem written for The Meadow, my bdsm themed poetry collection about my time in the world of bdsm as a young woman.  I wrote this piece as well as the Reader’s Guide I published below to enhance your pleasure and understanding of the text.  Order your own Meadow at apeppublications.com.

Underneath 

Before you call yourself a womanchild,

you fly to New York City, college girl 

costumed to be defiled, pigtailed, beguiled 

before a bedtime story, too.  A whirl-

wind trip in which he will present to you 

Red, topsy-turvy, Riding Hood one night, Continue reading “Womannotated – Underneath”

Three Poems by Michele Mekel

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Photo by Oliver Roos on Unsplash

 

 

poem: The Crossroads

 

The Cailleach’s breath rattles through the barren branches of the standing talls,

as midnight’s moon casts a cold glance upon all below.

 

Bearing gifts of coin and confections, tipple and tapers, I come to the crossroads 

to petition and pray, as the witching hour draws near and the veil thin.

Continue reading “Three Poems by Michele Mekel”

Two Poems by Michaela Mayer

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Photo by Mike Von on Unsplash

 

 

poem: The Hunt

 

we flicker from pixel to pixel

the dream of this inverted world

our bodies dissolved into digits

 

the horizon flattens and winks out

into an oblate blank plane, stretched

thin between plates of strange glass 

we are reborn with ease here

free to reconstruct, to glut ourselves

 on electric subjectives 

Continue reading “Two Poems by Michaela Mayer”

Two Poems by Julie Stevens

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Photo by Christian Fregnan on Unsplash

 

 

poem: Take me to a Place

 

Take me to a place

where you feel no pain

where no one cries

where no troubles exist

 

Show me the path

that I need to follow

to find this land

where everything works

 

Can anyone hear me cry?

Because right now 

I am so very lost

so very tired and broken

Continue reading “Two Poems by Julie Stevens”

Two Poems by Ahimaz Rajessh

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Photo by Patryk Grądys on Unsplash

 

 

poem: time travel is cruel & kind

 

you’re me. i’m not

one but so many.

you do not walk.

empty and rootless i drift. i’m

you. as everyone digs out caste histories and thump their chests and thighs you drift and i turn at right angles. time’s not linear but parallel. adrift i turn left right left you turn at left angles.

 

cyclone of light or what, i say

Continue reading “Two Poems by Ahimaz Rajessh”

Three Poems by Donna Dallas

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Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash

 

poem: Building Blocks

 

Sometimes I just want to buy something

fuck like it’s the last hurrah

build an ant farm

               although I don’t like ants

I want to do a thing – some kind of thing

               (I started this when I was walking)

and then climbed into myself  Continue reading “Three Poems by Donna Dallas”

Three Poems by Mugu Ganesan

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Photo by Inja Pavlić on Unsplash

 

poem: Noise of life

 

The last autumn leaf now falling 

               And drifting towards alien lands, 

Barren boughs of the maple tree 

               Shivering in the wind’s cold clasp, 

Besotted moths still chasing flames, 

               Days seeking nights pursuing days,  Continue reading “Three Poems by Mugu Ganesan”

New Poem by Lucy Whitehead

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Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash

 

poem: The Painter

 

How do I answer 

the call of canvas

when I have no hands 

to spin light into paint

 

to sift sun and shadow

like yolk from its egg  Continue reading “New Poem by Lucy Whitehead”

Two Poems by Jon Bishop

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Photo by Makenna Entrikin on Unsplash

 

poem: Driving

 

The moan of late-night cars cruising the highway—

ghostly, but not ghosts. Call them cries at 3 a.m.,

memories bursting forth from the brain,

gasps in bed, a shout to the darkness.

 

Or call them inadequacies, pains,

breaths too quick, perpetual reveries:

that time you, sick, quit your job and fled

to anywhere, multiple places, seeing multiple

sights and multiple people, all who smiled

and looked around, seemingly happy,

but inside were bursting  Continue reading “Two Poems by Jon Bishop”

Three Poems By Joe Rathgeber

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Photo by Alekzan Powell on Unsplash

 

poem: DEAR LANDLORD

                                                                  after Bob and Boots

 

Please don’t put a price on my apartment.
It’s yours more than mine, though.                     You can’t
help                     but           exploit that.
So                   I’ll help you along.
I know your histories of arson. Your predilection
for insurance claims.           I’m no                     dummy—
I know hiphop was born from the sepulcher
of                     a burning Bronx. But let me do
the burning. Let me clear the place out and gut it.
It’s drafty as fuck in here, in there.                   Continue reading “Three Poems By Joe Rathgeber”

Two Poems by Kyla Houbolt

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Photo by Jonathan Pendleton on Unsplash

 

poem: out of the woods

 

I’ve been standing here so long the leaves have begun to pile up around my feet. In the distance I can hear sirens. Here comes the rain. The sun shines next. How did they know where to go? Maybe they didn’t, those sirens, maybe they were lost, I think they were lost, wailing like that. Maybe that’s what always happens with sirens, they can’t find where they are supposed to go and they wail in fear and sorrow. Nobody gets helped, the fire burns down the house, the ill do not get taken to the hospital but either recover or die all on their own. The suspects get clean away, they go into the basement and start counting their take. Someone has to deal with the corpse though. They have a designated corpse handler, I suspect. They laugh at all those wailing sirens. They get into fights over how to divide up the drugs and money, but there’s nobody to call. Some of them kill each other, which is probably a good thing, or at least some people would think so. Not their mothers though. Well, not most of their mothers. The mean mothers are glad. The mean mothers are the ones who made sure the instructions were wrong and the maps broken so the sirens could never get where they meant to go in the first place. So those particular mothers sigh, smile at each other, brush their hands together, go back into their several kitchens, make a gin and tonic (light on the tonic, dear) and relax. What is that? Oh! the birds have started finding my hair and I think there are leaves budding out and that’s a good thing, it will help hide me. Even though the sirens can’t find me, I am still afraid my mother will. I may stay here. Why not? I am hidden real well now, and the squirrels have started bringing me nuts. Look. A bird places a morsel in my mouth. I know I will not starve. One day I will leave the woods, but not today.
Continue reading “Two Poems by Kyla Houbolt”

SEX & DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS EDITION MARCH 2020 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY JOAN POPE

SEX & DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS EDITION MARCH 2020 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY JOAN POPE

Continue reading “SEX & DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS EDITION MARCH 2020 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY JOAN POPE”

Womannotated – The Night A Crow Must Go Away

A sample page from Crow Carriage, an annotated poetic horror novel set in a Victorian English seaside village.  This is the format of  the Crow Carriage book, a sonnet with an expansive annotation that tells a story in prose below (the same format as my book Flutter available at my website and Twist In Time).

The Night The Crow Must Go Away

You lie beneath a dozen nightmares.  Screams

careening down a crow-covered stair wake

you in the last second before the dream.

Continue reading “Womannotated – The Night A Crow Must Go Away”

MARCH 2020 Guest Editor Is JOAN POPE!!! THEME: SEX AND DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS

Burning House Press are excited to welcome JOAN POPE as our MARCH 2020 guest editor! As of today JOAN will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of MARCH.

Submissions are open from today – 1st MARCH and will remain open until 24TH MARCH.

Joan‘s theme for the month is as follows

SEX AND DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS

Continue reading “MARCH 2020 Guest Editor Is JOAN POPE!!! THEME: SEX AND DEATH IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS”

two poems by Lisa Marie Basile

saint of homeless shelters

imagine a whole room of us, braiding one another’s hair. imagine our hair, blackthick, imagine how it was braided together, by strand and by time. three girls brushing my hair at a wide dirty window, while six strangers smoke cigarettes in the garden below. at least half of them will not live. imagine us girls in the window looking down. how half of us will become our mothers. we eat a communal dinner, speak a communal prayer, sorrow spilling tang and blood water, catastrophe hands ripping wet bread and steeple prayers. dio, we say, are you here now? a church bell tolls, the summer light burns silent, doors shut, bodies writhe, and we think we are saved. imagine a whole house of women battered and bad, bodies crushed by ill and their children. waiting on god. count until forever and that is the sound I remember.

Continue reading “two poems by Lisa Marie Basile”

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