Posted on November 30, 2011
[The single country]
The single country,
[Ah, he must/have some gruel]
Ah, he must
Posted on November 24, 2011
She worked, if ever so temporarily (about two and a half months), in one of those photo booths that crop up like resilient yellow mushrooms in strip mall parking lots. The space she inhabited was five by four feet by seven feet tall. She had her own barstool, an am/fm radio which did not receive fm stations, but when switched to the band, could amplify strange fluctuations of signal that sounded something like the songs of whales or the mating cries of elk. Three of her walls were window, the forth being the film closet. It was dark and cool: the perfect place to store a bagged lunch, which she did even though it made the containers of film locked in little bags themselves smell like two day old salami. She would watch cars drive by, mainly. When people stopped at the traffic lights, she watched what they would do. What they would do fell into the categories of 1) personal hygiene 2) entertainment control (switching the radio or looking at fellow drivers) 3) food or cigarette consumption and 4) postures and looks of roadway regret. She tried to guess which style and color of car would be a probable one for quick film development, too soon to dinker into her lot with expectation painted on the drivers' faces. Those who would habitually take photos, usually too many photos, of their immediate lives or recent trips taken, and before the novelty of the journey had diminished, missed. Those people who think that their own lives are of such importance that they need to be documented quickly, replicated into images, before the memories could fade a shade lighter of remembrance. The secret: it was all styles and colors of car. It was everyone. Once, a kid rolled up on a skateboard. He needed the 24 pictures of his goldfish he'd taken. For a scrapbook. Of course the long hours and pure monotony of it all, mostly waiting, saying hello to a person locked in the coffin of his or her car, then saying goodbye, had gotten to her and she began looking at the photos in the to-be-picked-up bin. Other than the occasional kid pissing and light pornography of a lingeried “bedroom shot” some amateur had convinced his girlfriend to begrudgingly pose for, there were many many earth and city-scapes, portraits, close-ups of fingers, and shots of the ground or sky. She never thought twice about quitting until the day a role of film was processed, thirty-six shots of nothingness in different shades of black, and the old woman in plastic gold rimmed glasses complained, while holding her lunch between her legs, a ringed, gnarled hand banging on the window, forcing them through the realm of two miniature sliding glass doors, and the girl in the booth in disbelief saw, in the dark shiny gloss of postcard-sized squares, portrait after portrait of herself.
Work from philip kobylarz has appeared or is forthcoming in Connecticut Review, The Iconoclast, Visions International, New American Writing, Prairie Schooner, Poetry Salzburg Review and Best American Poetry. His book, Rues, is forthcoming from Blue Light Press of San Francisco.
Posted on November 18, 2011
The Siege of Bundanon
The miners scratch in the dark secret earth.
Often at night the sleepless rise with a start —
But you should not be fooled by their Teddy Bear
Why do you think they retreat into the night
They watch us blandly from their trenches
The wombats are mining methodically
One day this lovely village will collapse,
But already the wombats will have set out
They will march to the great cities of insult
On an autumn night like this
On an autumn night like this
Perplexing the lost angels
As lights peer myopically up
I weave past dead robots as they roll,
Out there in time past stars swell & fall,
While far below
Rae Desmond Jones was born in Broken Hill, a mining town on the edge of the Australian desert, in 1941. His father was a miner and his mother came from a farm. Jones left school at fourteen, and at sixteen went to Sydney, Australia, where he has remained except for short trips to other parts of eastern Australia . He worked at many manual jobs before taking a degree in Arts at Sydney University . He now teaches History at Dulwich high School of Visual Arts & Design. For several years he was the Mayor of the Sydney Council of Ashfield.
His latest poetry collections are Blow Out ( Island Press, 2009) and Decline and Fall (flying island books, 2011).
Posted on November 16, 2011
Living with Ezra
And this one guy lingered long after the crowd had dispersed. He bent down and inspected the remains of the fallen Humpty Dumpty.
The eggshells littered the pavement directly below the wall. The yolk, once a glistening yellow sun, was now a splotch of yellow mixed with dust.
And this one guy half-wanted to glue Humpty Dumpty back together, half-wanted to just stand back and admire the carnage.
first appeared in Bateau Vol. 4, Issue 1, November 2010
Kristine Ong Muslim's stories and poems have been published by over five hundred publications, including Boston Review, Contrary Magazine, Narrative Magazine, Potomac Review, Sou'wester, Southword, The Pedestal Magazine, and Verse Daily. Honors and awards include multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Web 2011.
She has authored several collections, most recently the chapbook Night Fish (Shoe Music Press/Elevated Books, July 2011). Forthcoming books are the full-length short fiction collection We Bury the Landscape (Queen's Ferry Press), the full-length poetry collection Grim Series (Popcorn Press), and the poetry print chapbook Insomnia (Medulla Publishing, January 2012).
Posted on November 14, 2011
A study of two invertebrates
Inga Maria Brynjarsdottir is an Icelandic artist, illustrator and designer.
Posted on November 11, 2011
Man on the Verge of a Nervous Breakfast
What do you want, Howie? What?
goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace
and all because the crowd is loud
Under various rubble, I'm broken
Bless the suicides
And bless me.
Words yell and sigh
Back from the country of the dead
and purplish bruises
Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011), as well as numerous print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently Inspired Remnants from Red Ceilings Press and The Penalty for Trying from Ten Pages Press.
Posted on November 5, 2011
from book of dreams
dickens revisited or a tale of two villages
Jürgen Smit (1972) is a Dutch artist and asemic poet.
Announcing the Winners of the MadHat Press Wild and Wyrd Poetry Chapbook Contest!
Posted on November 1, 2011 by marc
After weeks of deliberation – and not without losing a few sleepless nights – our judge, CA Conrad, has finally reached his verdict. Here in the words of the (Soma)tic bard himself:
When Carol Novack first asked me to judge this contest I hesitated. Hesitated because I'm not an enormous fan of the contest where poetry exists in our world. Poetry needs no contest. But Carol is marvelous, persuasive, and her press is terrific, how could I say no?
Having never judged a contest before I began reading as soon as the manuscripts first starting arriving. One of them would jump out at me I thought, but MANY were jumping! The truth is this was one of the hardest things I've ever been asked to do. Making a decision was incredibly difficult, and Marc Vincenz and Carol were I think wondering when I would finally give my final decisions. In fact Marc had to ask me more than once. What they didn't know was that I had about 40 of the manuscripts chosen as THE BEST, and I kept trying to figure a way of getting myself to make the choices I knew had to be made.
At what felt like the last minute I reread my favorites and pulled together what we will now call the winners. But to be honest (and I'm not just saying this to make people feel better) there were MANY winners! If I could have given 40 first places, then it would have happened!
My congratulations to the winners (who, at the time of writing this, I still don't know because the contest was blind). And my sincere apologies to the MANY OTHER POETS whose manuscripts that I read which are incredible, proving the great fortune of talent of our present time on this planet.
It's been an honor and a privilege,
Drum roll and lion roar please…
First Prize – DEAR ROBERT by Lysette Simmons ( Long Beach , CA )
Second Prize – Dear secondary umbilical by j/j hastain ( Lafayette , CO )
And our finalists:
The Posture of Contour: A Public Primer by James Belflower ( Philadelphia , PA )
WindowBoxing : a dance with saints in three acts by Kirsten Kaschock ( Albany , NY )
And a million thanks to all those fabulous poets who participated. We wish we could publish all of you!
( photo of CA Conrad by Thom Donovan [apologies to Dorothea Lasky])
One Response to Announcing the Winners of the MadHat Press Wild and Wyrd Poetry Chapbook Contest!
Tantra Bensko says:
November 18, 2011 at 10:31 pm
Congratulations all round!
Posted on November 1, 2011
EF ZERO #5
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DRAPING BANG REMAINS
draping bang remains, towels
on a fidget
no bronze silent rooms
the wish I wish
off the box
a mannered stropping face
with formal bells
skies of chemistry
own produce boots
blue bald call
walker's sock mouth pop
cobbled cabbage cats
colonies nine find
place lake passion
rising heuristic trumpet
Hugh Tribbey's poetry has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in Sugar Mule, Experiential-Experimental Literature, Eratio, and Moria. He is the author of six collections of poetry. His most recent are Mime Box and Day Book. Hugh holds a Ph.D. in English from Oklahoma State University and teaches literature and creative writing at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma.