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”
“The Fundamental Poetry Of Presence”
Submissions to Burning House press are still open – keep sending us your poems stories art non-fiction photography etc upon the wild wild wing xx https://burninghousepress.com/submissions/
The Bridal Suite
After eleven years she wondered suddenly at the silence. Once there were so many words to fit into the hour before sleep and now barely a syllable was uttered. The silken pull of the eiderdown over the blanket whispered: You are lost to me, lost to me. Continue reading “2 Poems by Kathryn Hummel”
Traveller’s Stones
Now I am a lake,
opaque in depth and silence
the ground unreachable
toes dip in my legends
and recoil at the truth of my temperature.
Tell Me More Lies, The List Is Growing
In tribute to Adrian Mitchell (Based on his poem ‘Tell Me Lies About Vietnam)
As a child, I was always kept safe,
Though I thought I understood pain.
So hold my hand across the road,
Tell me lies
About Libya.
Continue reading “‘Tell Me More Lies, The List Is Growing’ by Kirstin Maguire”
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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