Category Archives: Poetry

“Creature Feature: Caligynachtmare: Dread the Beauty” – Poetry by Shannon Moore Shepherd

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The Angel of the home or the Triumph of Surrealism - Max Ernst, 1937
The Angel of the home or the Triumph of Surrealism – Max Ernst, 1937

Shannon Moore Shepherd‘s fiendishly fantastic poem “Creature Feature: Caligynachtmare: Dread the Beauty” is the opening spell of our Fall 2015 issue. If it adequately stokes your demonically ravenous hunger for more surreal, shadowy, sensual, & satirical lit, you could pre-order a digital copy of FLAPPERHOUSE #7 now so that it flies into your emailbox before the Autumnal Equinox. And if you’re in the NYC area, you also could come watch Shannon perform, along with some other uber-flappy writers we love, at FLAPPERHOUSE Reading #4 on September 23.

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I AM COMING FROM FAR AWAY,
and not to fold your laundry.
A bat lights on one shoulder,
a starling on the other. I am
fortified by what meets
in the middle of dark
and light. Little star, shining,
goodbye Earth and all its
years (How are we not all covered
in dust? How do you keep your
toe pointed, little star?)
But I am coming with no
history and all of it balled up and popped into
my mouth and sliding down my throat, so do not
ask how I keep myself warm.
Saturn’s belt of crushed rock around
its belly I can ride like
a thunder cat. I am a silver-skinned wonder
setting down your tea to watch you shiver.
I am Isis’ darkest vein, but as if through an
orchid, I am sick with beauty.
Continue reading “Creature Feature: Caligynachtmare: Dread the Beauty” – Poetry by Shannon Moore Shepherd →

“Dance” – Poetry by CL Bledsoe

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The Dancers - Fernando Botero
The Dancers – Fernando Botero, 1987

“Dance” is one of five wry yet poignant poems by CL Bledsoe in our Summer 2015 issue, which you can order online via Amazon and Createspace. Copies are also available at fine independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop.

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WE WERE ALL BEAUTIFUL ONCE,
some will be again if we
remember to let ourselves.

Grow your hair long to hide those
scars on your neck, your shoulders;
one day, when no one suspects,

cut it short and see that they’ve
faded. My neighbor only
smiles when she thinks no one can

see, walking her dog, alone
in her car. She’s beautiful
in a way that makes me want

to lose 50 pounds and ask
her to dance. I don’t even
have any interesting

shoes anymore; just nice ones.
The days used to mean so much.
Now, it’s all turn signals, slow

dryers. I’m not making sense;
this girl, she’s not exactly
pretty. I just want to dance.

{ X }

HeadshotCL BLEDSOE is the author of a dozen books, most recently the poetry collection Riceland and the novel Man of Clay. He lives in northern Virginia with his daughter.

“Red Hair, Red Venison, Brown Summer Sun” – Poetry by Jessie Janeshek

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Sun and Life - Frida Kahlo, 1947
Sun and Life – Frida Kahlo, 1947

Jessie Janeshek‘s magical and mischievous “Red Hair, Red Venison, Brown Summer Sun” is merely one of four poems she contributed to our Summer 2015 issue, currently orderable online via Amazon and Createspace. Copies are also on sale at independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop.

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WE’RE A FOX FOR ALL SEASONS             eat bonbons like bad pigs
      cry every rain for the bones of an idol
          the colts of an emblem
      the house-cat shaped hole in the tree.

We wake sick once a month   eat dried baby’s breath
      vomit hinges and hexes        track our black sex on money               since worms are inside.

 

All signs point to yes, unsympathetic.
      We spray piss, make it coarse
      since it’s not crime if it’s habit
            and we’re the white horse
      the slim beehived bride in the iron lung
      still watching          Dark Shadows
      in retrospect.

 

 

Author’s Acknowledgment: The phrase “the bones of an idol” is the title of a song by The New Pornographers.

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jessie janeshek headshotJESSIE JANESHEK‘s first book of poems is Invisible Mink (Iris Press, 2010). An Assistant Professor of English and the Director of Writing at Bethany College, she holds a Ph.D. from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville and an M.F.A. from Emerson College. She co-edited the literary anthology Outscape: Writings on Fences and Frontiers (KWG Press, 2008).

“When All the Trees Go Up in Flames, Only Water Puts Them Back to Sleep” – Poetry by Kailey Tedesco

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The Fire - Rene Magritte, 1943
The Fire – Rene Magritte, 1943

“When All the Trees Go Up in Flames, Only Water Puts Them Back to Sleep” is just one of three superbly flappy poems by Kailey Tedesco in our Summer 2015 issue (available here, here, here, or here).

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SHE HELD THE FOREST
like a hairbrush in
one hand, and my
grandmother’s pond
like a hand-mirror.

With her vanity set,
lifted gently from
the alabaster of earth
she spends seven days
combing through

the tangles of her fire-
streaked hair as fallen
strands puddle in the under-
growth –

A reflection ripples
over her drowsed eyelids –
the foxes wake to hunt.

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Headshot UpdateKAILEY TEDESCO is currently enrolled in Arcadia University’s MFA in Poetry program. She edits for Lehigh Valley Vanguard and Marathon Literary Magazine, while also teaching eighth grade English. A long-time flapper at heart, Kailey enjoys hanging out  in speakeasies, cemeteries, and abandoned amusement parks for all of her poetic inspiration. She is a resident poet of the aforementioned LVV, and her work has been featured in Boston Poetry Magazine and Jersey Devil Press. 

“Nice Things” – Poetry by CL Bledsoe

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Back Room - John French Sloan, 1912
Back Room – John French Sloan, 1912

“Nice Things” is one of five wry yet poignant poems by CL Bledsoe in our Summer 2015 issue, which you can order online via Amazon and Createspace. Copies are also available at fine independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop.

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MY IDOLS HAVE ALL GONE BALD OR TAKEN
day jobs. It was a question of wear-

and-tear on tire treads, the desire
to no longer wince when introduced.

Shoulders stoop under the weight
of freedom, all that designer pizza and cheap

beer, and I’ve finally run out of cool tee-shirts.
Listen: I know the real money’s in pet

psychiatry but I’ve always been allergic
to their saliva. I know there’s nothing

to be gained from an understanding
of the self, a concern for actually solving

problems, the wisdom to attempt empathy.
There are no important things in life except

the fear we might be the last ones in the room
when the bar closes.

{ X }

HeadshotCL BLEDSOE is the author of a dozen books, most recently the poetry collection Riceland and the novel Man of Clay. He lives in northern Virginia with his daughter.

“Red Planet” – Poetry by J.G. Walker

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A Glimpse of Mars - Alma Woodsey Thomas, 1969
A Glimpse of Mars – Alma Woodsey Thomas, 1969

A trek to another world is both ordinary and alienating in “Red Planet,” one of two powerful poems by J.G. Walker in our Summer 2015 issue (now available via Amazon and Createspace, or at independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop).

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YOU WILL GO WHERE NO ONE HAS GONE BEFORE
Alone, staggered by your own audacity

Attend to the mundane:
Forward your mail—except the bills
Pack all your books
Bring an extra jacket
Find out when to put out the trash
Fall back and Spring forward,
And write home (check how often the mail runs)

Also, make sure to grow green, leafy veggies,
Buy dark curtains to keep the inside from getting out

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12122014 (34)J.G. WALKER is a writer, musician, and teacher who lives with his wife in Colorado. His work has been featured in Oracle Fine Arts Review, Lullwater Review, and Aoife’s Kiss. He is currently trying to create the impression that he’s hard at work on a novel, Visitation: A Novel of Death and Inconvenience. You can find him at odd times on Twitter @jgwalkr or online at jgwalker.net. 

“Exit Interview” – Poetry by E.H. Brogan

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Franz_Von_Stuck_-_Dancers
Dancers – Franz Stuck, 1896

The questions and answers in E.H. Brogan‘s “Exit Interview” are unlike any exit interviews we’ve ever had, but that’s why we love it. It’s one of two very flappy poems E.H. contributed to our Summer 2015 issue, now available via Amazon and Createspace, or at independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop. And if you’d like to hear a recording of E.H. reading this poem, click the Soundcloud player below the text!

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Q: WHAT’S A BROWN ROUND STONE?
A joke, but all it does is cry.
It’s the distant mountains
that you hear, laughing.
Q. What is like a raisin except
too large to enter a mouth?
It is where the letter went,
and not unlike a glove.
Pluck it shriveled from the tree,
sew its long sides up.
Q. If I asked tequila once again
I’d lose it in the waterfall.
This is as it was before. I admit
I bombed the dam.
Last time I swore you not again.
You haven’t tried that pony out,
the chestnut to the race.
Q. Would you dance with me once more?
Always.

{ X }

image1E.H. BROGAN is a graduate of the University of Delaware with a B.A. in English. She has poetry in or forthcoming from Star*Line, Cider Press Review, Bop Dead City, and others. She blog-runs and co-curates for Kenning Journal. Her house is built of books. Tweet @wheresmsbrogan for more.

“Where Do We Go Post-Sex and Death” – Poetry by Jessie Janeshek

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Gypsy and Harlequin - Remedios Varo, 1947
Gypsy and Harlequin – Remedios Varo, 1947

“Where Do We Go Post-Sex and Death”  is but one of four impeccably surreal poems that Jessie Janeshek contributed to our Summer 2015 issue, now available via Amazon and Createspace, or at independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop.

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    AFTER WE FALL                 from the nuclear playground
                                  the rental car
 
after we free up
        the haul that’s our brain?

 
Today we play singles w/a black dog
                a robot, a gunshot

 
nothing political, blue uniforms chic.
                Today we get hammered
                and after the father song
         bells and toy blocks.

 

It’s like someone cries in the woods
      that bird screams so loud
      It’s like the green worm
                  of the world falls on me

 

as we walk up and down
                this harlequin town
the color of our month is tangerine.

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jessie janeshek headshotJESSIE JANESHEK‘s first book of poems is Invisible Mink (Iris Press, 2010). An Assistant Professor of English and the Director of Writing at Bethany College, she holds a Ph.D. from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville and an M.F.A. from Emerson College. She co-edited the literary anthology Outscape: Writings on Fences and Frontiers (KWG Press, 2008).

“The Fugitive” – Poetry by Kristine Ong Muslim

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Robot - Nam June Paik, 1993
Robot – Nam June Paik, 1993

A robotic refugee seeks freedom in “The Fugitive,” one of two unforgettable poems by Kristine Ong Muslim featured in our Summer 2015 issue (which you can order online via Amazon and Createspace, or at fine independent brick-and-mortar stores like Bluestockings and St. Mark’s Bookshop).

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THE ALARM SOUNDED when you wrenched your unfinished
form free of the straps, when you bolted for the door.
The gatekeeper, who forgot to close it, has been fired.

He has been delivered to the recycling complex
through the old conveyor belt near the service dock.
That door—your door—has now been sealed,

welded shut, the white edge of its black hole still
recoiling when touched. Your strings leave a trail
of oil and petroleum-based panacea for metal joints.

The factory workers imagine you in the wastelands
outside the factory, imagine you taking in the heat
rising from the red canyons of Water Snake, imagine

you before an oasis, an oasis they believe you deserve.
Soon, you will be rendered inert by static electricity.
But for now, run. Run as far as your rubber appendage

can carry you. Run until your obsolete engine coughs up
its last. Just don’t look down. Don’t look down to see
what you have become. Your eviscerated abdomen—

its walls slick, glistening clean of what used to coil inside,
what used to pulse with life. The factory workers inspect
the parts of your body that fell out during your escape.

They scavenge what can still be used in the assembly line,
what can be repackaged to match the plastic mold of legs,
the scented sconces of noses, the waterlogged tongues.

Some of them expose your discarded wires to the world—
the blue loosely clinging around the yellow, the red wires
peeking out of the bloodless foam that insulates everything.

{ X }

KristineOngMuslimKRISTINE ONG MUSLIM is the author of several books, the most recent being We Bury the Landscape (Texas: Queen’s Ferry Press, 2012) and Grim Series (Wisconsin: Popcorn Press, 2012). “Scarecrow” and “The Fugitive” will be collected in her forthcoming book Black Arcadia from the University of the Philippines Press. http://kristinemuslim.weebly.com/

“Emily Dickinson’s Dorm Room” – Poetry by Kailey Tedesco

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the-smiling-spider-1891
The Smiling Spider – Odilon Redon, 1891

Now that it’s Back-to-School season, let’s take a tour of “Emily Dickinson’s Dorm Room,” one of three very flappy poems by Kailey Tedesco in our Summer 2015 issue (available here, here,here, or here).

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MY CHAMBER IS A LITTLE CLOSET—
Neglected and boarded up,
blanketed with dust and the
veil of a Stranger’s past –

My armoire is a well-visited morgue
where spiders take formaldehyde
and bite the common flies –Death
brims within my Sunday shoes –

The washroom – a waste basin.
Ladies purge their regrets, wretches
echo in the halls. Yet – they Play
pop-songs through the hours –

I guess I wanted this after all.

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Headshot UpdateKAILEY TEDESCO is currently enrolled in Arcadia University’s MFA in Poetry program. She edits for Lehigh Valley Vanguard and Marathon Literary Magazine, while also teaching eighth grade English. A long-time flapper at heart, Kailey enjoys hanging out  in speakeasies, cemeteries, and abandoned amusement parks for all of her poetic inspiration. She is a resident poet of the aforementioned LVV, and her work has been featured in Boston Poetry Magazine and Jersey Devil Press.