stick your worm-like head
to the surface of muddy waters
will yourself into existence
Category: 21st century
TWO POEMS – John Kefala Kerr
I grab the deck rail,
expecting a disturbance
—a pitching and yawing—
but the ferry glides smoothly
over the sea’s fleecy crimp,
like a brush through kid fibre.
ONE POEM – Andrej Bilovsky
They don’t make
houses pink and white
like coconut ice-cream.
They’re always plain, dull colors.
It’s all so easy
when it should be exhilarating.
ONE POEM – Ben Nardolilli
The body wants to do the dropout boogie,
a way to just slowly spiral out
of reality and not include my self with its accessories
TWO POEMS – Adam Stokell
I see the cat before the cat sees me.
White with black splotches, a longhair.
Leaving the law behind it,
stealing easily as light fails
ONE POEM – Andrew Button
Everybody called her ‘a character’,
a regular in the library
in her shabby Barbour jacket
and crumpled hat perched
on hair dishevelled as a bird’s nest.
ONE POEM – Paul Brucker
When I bent down to give her a kiss,
she quacked
Then exploded with loud report
into hundreds of pieces.
A Love Letter To Twitter – Danny Bate
At time of writing, the infamous bird app, Twitter, is going through a rough patch. For those of you who are enviably unaware, the platform recently gained a new owner, whose grand designs for his acquisition are still being revealed to everyone, apparently even to the man himself. The site currently has an ‘end of…
Anti-Concretism and Architectural Atheism: In Defence of Brutalism – Tom Jones
The pro- and anti-Brutalist building camps can be defined in two words apiece. There are those who believe such buildings are ‘concrete poetry’, and there are those who believe that each one is a ‘concrete monstrosity’. Like the battlefields of WW1, there is nothing living in between. Brutalism’s tenure at the forefront of architecture was…
Favorite Recipes – Ann Levin
I can still see her today. Tall, blond, and statuesque, a platinum-haired goddess with perfect teeth and a year-round tan. She was standing in the middle of the dance floor at my parents’ annual Christmas party – except it wasn’t really a dance floor. It was the dining room of our house, but with all…
ONE POEM – Amanda Huggins
we revered those rake-limbed lads
on the slot machines
as though they were gods,
not fishermen’s lads.
ONE POEM – Srinjay Chakravarti
It will not miss
a trick—
or treat.
Its bulging eyeballs
on a roll,
it makes an advance
and then stops.
Porridge 