Category Archives: Poetry

“Lazuli” – Poetry by Joanna C. Valente

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Waiting - Aubrey Beardsley, 1893
Waiting – Aubrey Beardsley, 1893

“Lazuli” is one of five spellbinding poems by Joanna C. Valente in our Winter 2016 issue. This is the third of those poems that we’ve posted online; you can read the other two (“The Sun Rises Over Manhattan and Sets in Brooklyn” and “The Hierophant Builds a Bridge Between Deity and Humanity”) in FLAPPERHOUSE #8, or in Joanna’s spectacular tarot-inspired collection The Gods Are Dead.

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GOD TOLD ME he wanted to create
a lovelier girl of auburn and ivory
laying her feet in an apple orchard

near a house on the hill where bodies
float in the heart and lungs of her family

channeling lavender soaked memories
and the uterus’ of virgins who have
too many “feels” & now

i’m standing outside a restaurant
in the cold and a man comes up

to me, says i wouldn’t keep you
waiting. he has always kept me
waiting.

{ X } Continue reading “Lazuli” – Poetry by Joanna C. Valente →

“Two Torsos Don’t Make a Heart” – Poetry by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens

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Carnival Figures - Rene Portocarrero, 1952
Carnival Figures – Rene Portocarrero, 1952

Hurry hurry, step right up, folks, and marvel at the carnival of curious characters in “Two Torsos Don’t Make a Heart,” one of two stupendous poems by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens in our Winter 2016 issue.

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THE BEARDED LADY
sang in an all-girl church choir,
her demented alto,
a Bobby Darin croon
put men to sleep in funeral suits.

She commands presence on stage
while clowns, those colorful
killers, pick at ukuleles.
What midnight ritual is this?

Her vocal chords, ham hocks,
Her cheeks overflow with rosy,
the drips and drops
of doo-wop spills out over
her praying lips. This

prayer is a cake donut,
meticulously heated by a
nacreous blur glaze,
a Hallmark card of
unicorn shards.

Who could ever slay that
beast? The strong man.
One morning they awoke beside
the barn, full-bellied;
a man of great size,
he took his place in the arena.

He slept his way to the top.
Children’s shoes over size 10 are
considered large.
He is just one big child, but
possesses great heart.

He is a satellite falling toward earth,
a meteor sat down to lunch,
down, down, down, face, beard,
muscles, muscles, thigh, thigh,
muscles, big black boots.

The earth is dangerous
for someone who looks dangerous.
Gravity points in one direction.
Dawn like so many orange
and red fingers flickering across the

horizon and yet, the child sees
the dirt more clearly in the light
from the front row footlights.

She possesses astute
wisdom. Tiny, tiny insight.

{ X } Continue reading “Two Torsos Don’t Make a Heart” – Poetry by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens →

“Witch Collections” – Poetry by E.H. Brogan

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Witch - Theodor Severin Kittelsen, 1892
Witch – Theodor Severin Kittelsen, 1892

“Witch Collections” is one of four wickedly enchanting poems by E.H. Brogan in our Winter 2016 issue. (And to hear a recording of E.H. reading her poem, check out the Soundcloud file embedded below.)

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THE WITCH COLLECTS
warpaint over
the years, ancient
bottles of woad and slim
pine needles. Some spells must
be drilled into the muscle of
the heart. Some curses want
a large black dot, it’s
required – some wounds must amass
scar tissue in sleepy hoards if
they ever hope to finish
what they’re healing.

{ X } Continue reading “Witch Collections” – Poetry by E.H. Brogan →

“The Sin of a Son” – Poetry by Innas Tsuroiya

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My Son - Suzanne Valadon, 1896
My Son – Suzanne Valadon, 1896

Tenderness wrestles with taboo in “The Sin of a Son,” Innas Tsuroiya‘s  evocative poem from our Winter 2016 issue.

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SAVORING; HIS UNFLEDGED SKIN very squelchy by day

                                                                                                                            very pixilated by night

yours truly longed for soaking in there before dawn lit

and craved for an ostinato after dusk set

 

                    —we danced together as we melted

                    had the disarray sheet been plucked from our bed

he was that green and sweaty, so baby-like

could have been rakishly trapped in silky spider web

if I ever left him alone in the cruel sphere of tropical woods

in the search of a lost father and an unborn sister

 

but then he remembered my womb as the warmest place ever

so he cried in my left arm and snuggled into my right nipple

                    —whispered he, you look like a virgin, while viciously switching direction

                    to vice versa, compelling the storm to crash inside his body

he knew his innocuous eyes had tricked me into

                                                                                                            beguiling solicitation;

the coldest hell housing our sweet wrong

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Continue reading “The Sin of a Son” – Poetry by Innas Tsuroiya →

“djanitors” – Poetry by Ian Kappos

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Ganesh - M.F. Husain
Ganesh – M.F. Husain

Gods and guardians and age-old  resentments  haunt “djanitors,” one of three decidedly flappy poems by Ian Kappos in our Winter 2016 issue.

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WE CARRIED EACH OTHER’S WATER PAST THE TREES
I couldn’t name,
down toward the lake, can’t remember which, but
there was a spatula in my chest flinging oil thru my teeth,
speckling your back and on it making daytime constellations.
The pillars spooned green-gray onto our saddlebags, we could’ve been
new, or as good as

She could’ve taken us
back
Into her pantry, I thought, into her ancient loam,
named us, tongue click-clack cloud applause—she
could’ve named us
caretakers of those
untenanted archives

But you well know, those were
ancient times when
my skin was dead to stirring winds, dry lips

While
now: you follow Ganesh
up a staircase to Babylon, wide eye smile cutting walls
crumping mirror-frames, joy untold on a veranda, a beach
awaiting everywhere

And I angry-read,
starlit on the carpet, colonizing
the stucco w/ ceramic eyes,
thinking about our unborn empire, the nirvana-life
of custodians

{ X } Continue reading “djanitors” – Poetry by Ian Kappos →

“Long night on Lake Oblivion” – Poetry by Luis Galindo

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Sadak in Search of the Waters of Oblivion - John Martin, 1811
Sadak in Search of the Waters of Oblivion – John Martin, 1811

Grand romanticism collides with cerebral surrealism in “Long night on Lake Oblivion,” Luis Galindo‘s phosphorescent poem from our Winter 2016 issue.

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THE NIGHT, THE NIGHT
The long blue forever
Of the goddamned night
Flayed my heart wide open
With its hour-long blades.
It lay there butterflied down the center
Like an inside-out raven,
The bleeding love muscle
With its twisted dishrag ghosts
Galloping forth from my chest
Across the razor-fanged chasm
Of my indigo eggshell
Of a room
Clogging the silver gears
Of the moonlight’s machinery
With the bulky sinews
Of my nightmares
The cosmic clock jammed the brakes
At two twenty-three AM.
And as I waded in the murky waters
Of Lake Oblivion
Fishing for hope
With my inside-out heart
Baiting a golden hook
Crooning to lure salvation
From its platinum fortress
A headless angel hovered above me
Skywriting in phosphorescent
Green vapor

WAS IS NOT IS

I stumbled to the slippery shore
Of Lake Oblivion and drifted
Off to sleep
As the headless angel
Careened out of sight
Leaving an exclamation mark
Of Chernobyl green smoke
As it
Vanished.

{ X } Continue reading “Long night on Lake Oblivion” – Poetry by Luis Galindo →

“Patahistorian Seeks” – Poetry by Ahimaaz Rajesh

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The Rooster - Ivan Generalić, 1966
The Rooster – Ivan Generalić, 1966

 The first of our readers who can find & collect all the items listed in “Patahistorian Seeks,” Ahimaaz Rajesh‘s poem from our Winter 2016 issue, will win a free 1-year subscription to FLAPPERHOUSE! Happy hunting…

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ALE,
Eggs,
Darts,
Tacit lies,
Subshrubs,
Tesla Tower,
Bills ignored,
Karmic waves,
Bamboo straws,
X-rays of digits,
Opulent beggars,
Immunoglobulins.
Underwater desert,
Abandoned umbrellas,
Gamma rays in a bottle,
Cash-consuming termites,
Squirrel atop a broken tile,
Raindrop at the tip of my little toe, rust. Rooster flying to a treetop,
Lovers doing it in the graveyard, dandruff at the tip of a ponytail, False
asoka trees in a churchyard, volumes of Kathāsaritsāgara in a library, plastic
lips, page of a zine stuck in a tree branch, paper planes made of manifestos,
Ashwagandha washed ashore, mist. Dandelion caught in a cobweb,
Questionable good deeds,
Plant reflected in water,
Puppies in the rooftop,
Bursting soap bubbles,
Dust inside a keyhole,
Dislocated kneecap,
Birthmarks in a cat,
Handmade soap,
Yawning snake,
Welded fabrics,
Stained eyelids,
Chipped tooth,
Jellyfish dish,
Band-Aid,
Neti pots,
Toy gun,
Petals.
Clips,
Zip.

{ X } Continue reading “Patahistorian Seeks” – Poetry by Ahimaaz Rajesh →

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word” – Poetry by Ally Covino

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Susan Comforting the Baby (no. 2) - Mary Cassatt, circa 1881
Susan Comforting the Baby (no. 2) – Mary Cassatt, circa 1881

We kinda wish the lullabies our parents sang to us in our youth were more like “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” Ally Covino‘s sweetly offbeat poem from our Winter 2016 issue.

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DOTTY’S GONNA BUY YOU a mockingbird that guts with song.
And if that mockingbird don’t sing, my furnitures
Are bleeding. Dotty’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,
But I am in need of new fingers famished for something more
Than slothing. And if that Diamond ring turns brass, all too
Green, Dotty’s gonna buy you a looking glass. I am sick
Of bartering and sideshows, and if that looking glass
Gets broke, Dotty’s gonna buy you a billy goat. But, I am allergic
To Bovidae and melancholia and if that billy goat won’t pull,
I am fucked. Dotty’s gonna buy you a cart and bull, gonna buy
You a dog named Boozer, and if that dog named Boozer
Won’t stop barking, Dotty’s gonna impound him, buy you
A horse and cart and if that horse and cart fall down,
You’ll still be the sweetest little bastard in town.

{ X } Continue reading “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word” – Poetry by Ally Covino →

“P.J. Harvey Says She is Going to Take Her Problems to the United Nations” – Poetry by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens

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Anxiety and diplomacy  tango in “P.J. Harvey Says She is Going to Take Her Problems to the United Nations,” one of two utterly flappulous poems by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens in our Winter 2016 issue.

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I WILL MEET YOU THERE P.J.
Who will kill the weeds in my back yard?
Who will stop my son from scratching kids at recess?
Will there be a panel discussion
on just the scratching
or just the weeds?
How many people will be on the panel?
Will I get to vet these people?
Will my mother-in-law be on the panel?
What if all the solutions are bad ones?
Does that make that word, “solution” not a solution?
But a “problem solution?” like a “problem play?”
What if I think the solutions are bad but the panel does not?
What if a lunch break comes too soon?
Like right when they are in the middle of some good solution talking?
What if a break comes too late and people’s blood sugar drops?
Like really drops, hard, so that women in pearls pass out?
Like right when we are reaching some good compromise?
What if the men get angry because they are hungry?
What if I pass out from hunger?
What if there is no one to get home to my children because I’ve passed out?
What if I have been taken to a quiet office space to recover?
What if no solutions are reached because I am not in the room to
announce, “yes, I  agree to that.”
What if the solutions are reached because I am not there;
a proxy appoints herself to be my proxy and
she says, “yes, I think Jennifer will agree to that.”
Or conversely, what if she says, “no, Jennifer will never agree to any of this?”
What if I never agree?
What if I agree?
What if time stands still like in The Twilight Zone?
It’s all pant suits and gavels now.

{ X } Continue reading “P.J. Harvey Says She is Going to Take Her Problems to the United Nations” – Poetry by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens →

“Spell for the One Whom You Desire Who Doesn’t Desire You” – Poetry by E.H. Brogan

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Cocktail Drinker - Max Ernst, 1945
Cocktail Drinker – Max Ernst, 1945

We hope you enjoy “Spell for the One Whom You Desire Who Doesn’t Desire You,” one of four wonderfully witchy poems by E.H. Brogan in our Winter 2016 issue. While we can neither confirm nor deny whether the recipe in this poem makes for an effective love potion, we can attest that it does make for a rather tasty potent potable– and of course, we beseech you to drink responsibly.

(And to hear E.H. read her poem, check out the Soundcloud file embedded below~)

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THIS IS A DRINK WITH BITTERS.
Not a Negroni, precisely, but how
close to it in form – instead of gin add citrus
vodka. Then a shot of Van Gogh
espresso, you know, caffeine to keep you
way up later than
you wanted. A drop of absinthe to color
dreams, one yellow hair plucked from
a false friend’s scalp.
A teaspoon squeezed
of toads’ warts. Throw a tablespoon
of coarse salt on, what your cat spilled
last Thursday, that afternoon you weren’t
looking. Add all to a shaker, mix
together and pour on ice, this drink
is generous, it will take a pint.
Swallow every drop, and then see
what happens.

{ X } Continue reading “Spell for the One Whom You Desire Who Doesn’t Desire You” – Poetry by E.H. Brogan →