Category Archives: Poetry

“Late Night Dance Moves” – Poetry by Juliet Cook

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Elvis - Andy Warhol, circa 1963
Elvis – Andy Warhol, circa 1963

“Late Night Dance Moves” is one of two bizarre & spooky poems by Juliet Cook in our Spring 2015 issue.

{ X }

SOMETHING SHAPED LIKE A CONJOINED TWIN ELVIS
is floating above my bed. Think of those hips
linked into two sets with two different dance moves.
I’m not going to take sides. I’ll dance with the right side
and the left side, but first I must be transported up
to the ceiling so I’m not on the bottom again.

{ X }

 

 

 

 

IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET COOK‘s poetry has appeared in many literary publications, including Arsenic Lobster,Diode, ILK, and Menacing Hedge.  She is the author of more than thirteen chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014), a collaborative chapbook with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015) and a collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down (forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in 2015). Find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.

“During a Sandstorm, in a Heat Wave, at Fort Bliss” – Poetry by Jasper Lo

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Fort Bliss, Texas Monday, April 20, 2012 – Soldiers of Apache Troop 1st Cavalry 1st Regiment prepare for air assault training during Network Integration Evaluation 12.2. Photo by Jasper Lo
Fort Bliss, Texas; Monday, April 20, 2012 – Soldiers of Apache Troop 1st Squadron 1st Cavalry Regiment prepare for air assault training during Network Integration Evaluation 12.2. Photo by Jasper Lo

“During a Sandstorm, in a Heat Wave, at Fort Bliss” is one of two haunting yet beautiful poems from our Spring 2015 issue that are inspired by Jasper Lo‘s military days.

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THERE ARE TIMES I CANNOT STAND
in my skin; it lies
on me like a visitor. Oh, it happens

without warning, creeping across
my shoulders before I wake; behind
my eyes when I scrape my tongue. 

Sometimes it drips down my back
when I drive home from Bliss. But I feel
it above me at night, when my circling fan thumps.

{ X }

Jasper ProfileJASPER LO is a Chinese-American twenty-something US Army veteran. He is recovering from the trauma of being raised Chinese in New York and is a graduate of Boston University.

“Folie á Deux” – Poetry by Kailey Tedesco

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Kneeling breast feeding mother - Paula Modersohn-Becker, circa 1900
Kneeling breast feeding mother – Paula Modersohn-Becker, circa 1900

“Folie á Deux” is one of two  wonderfully surreal poems by Kailey Tedesco featured in our Spring 2015 issue.

{ X }

A MAUVE FILM COVERS EVERYTHING save the sun’s fingers. Only the sound of water in drainpipes and Maggie and Mike laughing at the black air of the television.

“Good Morning, America” shouts a woman with an exposed breast nursing a child – or is it a pig? The audience applauds. She nurses long after the child has grown and the milk has grown black, crying to the cadence of the laugh-track. Beetles swarm a piece of cotton-candy, a remainder of the child’s youth. They crawl through it like vermin in the brain. Ooos and Aahs echo as a man of melting wax goes shoe shopping. The yellow residue molds into the insoles. He lights his wick and offers this epitaph: “Only those who die, die young.” At last, the bearded lady sings and the show is over. She cackles for six hours of credits, pulling hair strand by strand.

{ X }

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. 

“[some mornings I wake to feel as if I have lattice wings” – Poetry by Sally J. Johnson

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Butterfly - Yayoi Kusama, 1988
Butterfly – Yayoi Kusama, 1988

“[some mornings I wake to feel as if I have lattice wings” is one of two very flappy poems by Sally J. Johnson from our Spring 2015 issue.

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[SOME  MORNINGS  I  WAKE  TO  FEEL AS  IF  I  HAVE  LATTICE  WINGS
covering my mouth but come
to discover it is just the breath
of a lover pressed
tightly to my lips][a hand
stuck in a honey pot][some
mornings I find I have no feeling
in my legs because they’ve been pinned]
[put on display] [an emerald
encrusted beetle][but other days
I am swayed like a swallowtail
moth on a branch or moss
on bark][pulled through sleep
into stirring by skin on skin][kisses
that cover me completely
but do not bury me][the way

we allow ourselves to lie
down next to another
person capable of cruelty
is not a miracle][but it is
close to that][remember this
when in awe of a swath of butterflies
migrating over mountains][whole
generations][remember it
when the moon makes you gasp]

{ X }

SallyJSALLY J. JOHNSON received her MFA from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington where she served as Managing Editor for the award-winning literary journal Ecotone. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared or are forthcoming in the Collagist, Bodega, the Pinch, Weave, So to Speak, Everyday Genius and elsewhere. She is a poetry editor for Green Briar Review and works as a publicist in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Find her online: @sallyjayjohnson.

“What If I Can’t Make Myself Wake Up?” – Poetry by Juliet Cook

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Ghost of a Flea - William Blake, 1820
Ghost of a Flea – William Blake, 1820

Juliet Cook‘s poem “What If I Can’t Make Myself Wake Up?” is a lucid nightmare from the depths of our Spring 2015 issue.

{ X }

  1. MY GRANDPA CALLED ME. I didn’t hear anyone on the phone at first, but part of me knew it was him, even though he never calls me. The he started to speak in a soft and powerless voice, telling me that he was dying.
  1. My ex-husband and I got together. We seemed to be getting along well, feeling good about each other, and having fun. We started kissing. Almost as soon as I lay down on his bed, he turned exceedingly strong and purposely overpowered me. Holding me down, he whispered into my ear that he was going to crush me, make me bleed inside, slowly but surely kill me.
  1. Almost immediately after orgasm, I started itching all over the place, like my insides had been invaded by a huge batch of fleas. A whole load shot out of another sticky scumbag.
  1. I felt like I was jerking around and screaming, “oh my god oh my god oh my god!”. I was trying to scream out loud, but it was barely emerging as a tiny hiss. I was trying to scream loud enough so that someone else could hear me and help me wake up. At some point my brain realized that I was all by myself. There is nobody here to help me.
  1. I finally managed to climb myself out of bed, even though I still felt uncertain about whether or not I was really awake. The insides of my body were making weird little clicking sounds. From the inside, I heard something dripping down the walls.

{ X }

IMG_1359 - Copy (2)JULIET COOK‘s poetry has appeared in many literary publications, including Arsenic Lobster, Diode, ILK, and Menacing Hedge.  She is the author of more than thirteen chapbooks, including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014), a collaborative chapbook with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015) and a collaborative chapbook with j/j hastain, Dive Back Down (Dancing Girl Press in 2015). Find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.

“The Rockland Chateau” – Prose Poetry by Ariel Dawn

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Chateau Noir - Paul Cezanne, circa 1904
Chateau Noir – Paul Cezanne, circa 1904

An eerie kind of nostalgia haunts “The Rockland Chateau,” Ariel Dawn‘s prose poem from our Spring 2015 issue.

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ALL NIGHT RHYS PACED THE ROOMS I DYED BLUE. He watched cooking and talk shows, smoked a pipe and played guitar: this growing symphony our days fell through. We made love by glass doors where the wind was a hundred ghosts.

In the morning I broke dirty dishes and swore by the window while our baby drummed a rattle to Mother Goose in stereo. Stars, spoons, animals. Thought we’d live for ages there with the mountains and the towering trees.

There was a madwoman below. She held this broom or tangle of roots that pushed our naked feet as we leapt about with gypsies who lived beside the cemetery. She wrote to the landlord, he handed us the letter. We looked guilty in our trench coats. Rather than read her words like evil eyes, we left those blue rooms.

{ X }

GetInlineARIEL  DAWN lives in Victoria, British Columbia. Writing is featured or forthcoming in publications such as Ambit, Black & Blue, Paper Swans, minor literature(s), Ink Sweat & Tears, Litro. She spends her time reading Tarot and poetic prose and writing a novella. @ariel__dawn

“I Will Ruin You Because I Love You” – Poetry by JJ Womack

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riding-with-death
Riding With Death – Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1988

From our Spring 2015 issue comes JJ Womack‘s ravenous and fiery poem, “I Will Ruin You Because I Love You.”

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AT MIDNIGHT I WILL OPEN ONLY ONE EYE and
Stretch my arms and legs out on the bed
I will search for you in the darkness where you will not be
Half-blind now, but not for long

At 12:34 I will arise to hunt you and
Spread your carcass around silk white sheets
I will pretend you are there
Devouring your senses, what remains of your DNA

I will burn your house down with everyone in it
Gladly, leaping and skipping amidst all the cries and screams
The firemen will not come, I have
Punctured their tires and locked them inside

Between coughs and gasps for fresh air,
My skinny brown arm extends
I am your savior, you need not worry
I drag you down flights of stairs to exit

Through the back door
Away from all those rotten faces
Away from all those unremarkable bodies
Away from all those feeble minds

We run away from the smoke and flames
I am smiling and you cannot see
Out into the woods, you ask where we are going
Your confusion excites me

I whisper something you cannot hear
This plan is much better, to think
Of the many ways to take you away
This plan is much better

You grab hold of my shoulder
I need to rest, I need to rest, you say
Do you love me, I ask
You almost laugh, your face flushed pink

You are unconscious now and in my bed
I will wait for 12:34 to feel you
To feel your insides, in the dark where
I discern sloppy puddles of crimson red

I take your head and place it upon my bosom
Deep whiffs of twenty-seven years
Of vigorous shampooing
Yes, this plan was much better

{ X }

JasmyneWomackJJ WOMACK is a writer and researcher living in Maryland. You can find her on twitter @CiaoJazzy but it’s mostly retweets of everything interesting to her.

“Reset Your Heart” – Poetry by Bud Smith

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Jack of Hearts - Olga Rozanova, 1915
Jack of Hearts – Olga Rozanova, 1915

“Reset Your Heart,” Bud Smith‘s poem from our Spring 2015 issue, is thick with unforgettable imagery and indispensable life advice.

{ X }

FORGET YOUR NAME. Hold your heart in your palm till it finally
stops.
“Friends may know you better than you know yourself”

Fling silver key to City into sewer.
Deny mountain of problems: call them routine riots; daily
avalanche; plain life, ordinary fire.
“Friends may know you better than you know”

Flip a doctor’s desk.
Sip sap from a falling tree, domino’n the rest of the forest.
Circle a lost love with a chalk line on the sperm bank sidewalk.
“Friends may know better than you”

Check out of abandoned hospital.
Eat a million marshmallows, not a single soggy Cheerio.
Avoid tears any smaller than a soft ball.
Dump paint thinner on car; wolf out in red moonlight,
lurking down twitching street.
“You may know better”

Continue reading “Reset Your Heart” – Poetry by Bud Smith →

“She Used to Be on a Milk Carton” – Poetry by Kailey Tedesco

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Girls in the Surf With Moon Casting a Shadow - Joan Brown, 1962
Girls in the Surf With Moon Casting a Shadow – Joan Brown, 1962

“She Used to Be on a Milk Carton” is one of two wonderfully surreal poems by Kailey Tedesco featured in our Spring 2015 issue.

{ X }

SOMETIMES I TALK TO A GIRL WHO HAS THE MOON STUCK
between her teeth like the wedge of an orange.

This girl is all moon, I think – when she moves
the ocean is clearer in my conch shell.

There were only stars where she was and when
asked where she belongs and she says anywhere

but the sky and that she misses
her pearls: Where are they?

She was pleased when I handed her a costume
strand, but it made her look even more moony.

At night, I see her waning, and constellations
could skitter to the planet with a single tug.

{ X }

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. 

“The Burning Moon” – Poetry by Jasper Lo

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Strong Dream - Paul Klee, 1929
Strong Dream – Paul Klee, 1929

“The Burning Moon” is one of two haunting yet beautiful poems by Jasper Lo featured in our Spring 2015 issue.

{ X }

LAST NIGHT, I DREAMT
the blue moon
caught fire. Its marble

craters formed
Greek columns as fire consumed
each pillar, pulling its Ionic scrolls

into the dark carpet sky.
As it burned,
I lay pushing against the ground,

watching a patrol breathe fog
into their chemical masks.
I flipped down my night vision goggle

and watched quietly as my squad pulled
me closer to our exit; my hip sliding
and my legs shimmying

towards the entrance
of a tunnel.
The moon breathed, burning

more violently, sobbing
combustion. Touching
the door, I turned to see a figure

hoisted in a carry, illuminated
by the patrol’s lights. Then I sprinted
arriving at the stairway’s

secluded base where my body
weight became unbearable
and my stomach dived.

Last night, I dreamt
the cheesy blue moon immolated-
and I watched it burn.

{ X }

Jasper ProfileJASPER LO is a Chinese-American twenty-something US Army veteran. He is recovering from the trauma of being raised Chinese in New York and is a graduate of Boston University.