First, he covers the ground with tears.
All night temperatures rose and snow
poured off sloped roofs of houses
abandoned to ghosts. Every window
has a face etched onto its surface
by someone skillful with tools.
There are owl faces and faces of rats
and dogs. There are fox faces, narrow
and mean, and women’s faces that shine
like gold. There are whisky faces,
and faces flushed with wine,
faces with ragged holes instead of eyes.
Every face records a history of loss.
Windows glint in sunlight,
as if, suddenly, the world was drained
of color, blank and new. In a gully
near the park, the stone catcher creates
his cairn on ground not yet softened
by new heat. He crouches as he sets
stone above stone with slippery hands.
Snowmelt runs beneath him as he labors
in the warmth. Above loom empty
branches of tangled trees. By nightfall
he will have raised a tower to the moon,
a cold wonder, a wordless monument
to what has failed: the hollow core that left
the town to linger in this weather of regret.
by MD Marcus
Words scatter across your tongue,
clink like marbles
dropped on smooth concrete.
They are no longer
clean and insistent,
the way you read
Love finally has a name,
but only after you are taken
with the simplicity
Nevertheless, my pen
will not stop moving,
nor my mind forget
the way your smile was full,
and, though I resisted,
spilled onto me.
How my glass was never empty,
and my skin never cold.
Too ashamed to recite prayers
to a God who inhabits the heavens,
I practice making coffee
and polish my kitchen sink
to forget you.
I’ve given away everything
that could be called ours,
called yours, or mine,
yet even in darkness
your shade covers me.
The black is that much blacker,
the longing and wet mouth
of someone else only sharpens
my intoxicated mind.
Tingles then pierces,
spreads from my core –
a maudlin end indeed.
Turning over phrases
as I turn lovers,
if it can’t be love
at least let it be art.
Featured Poet: Elizabeth Smart
By Grand Central Station
I Sat Down and Wept
“On the steps of the gaol we found a white bird. O my dove that art in the clefts of the rock in the secret places of the stair. It is the bird of
liberty out in the cold, not official, not a bird with influence. Its heartbeat against his thumb and he wept also, in the telephone box.
The inspector put it all down with six carbon copies. What a cad, he said, and the girl’s a religious maniac.
When I thanked the goal woman for breakfast she said, Be quiet! It’s not for you to talk.
The pepper-tree outside my barred window drooped with green love. Did they see such flagarant proof and still not believe?
You are not allowed, said the woman, to open the window at the bottom.”
Craigslist Montreal - Missed Connections - July 3rd, 2017 - Anonymous
dragging out corbu bound cat again - m4w (st catherine)
height: 5'9" (175cm)
i love the moony eyes u giv me when u hunch ur shoulders and clasp ur hands at ur waist or press ur hands between ur thighs in a moment of agreement,
during a moment of agreement. reminds me of tanya who btw shldn't hav hit the pipe at 24.
i see ur chest heaving, that emotion swallowing.
you said two or three. do u mind if i wish i cld hav waited accross the st in the shadows those few minutes?
once u came out dripping touched ur clit.
i flex. cause i hav to and my body is collapsing. you shove ur shoulder into my mouth.i was missing your lips and toungue, but i'm rolling bac.
during that ketamine tx, u looked at the television and me and the television and myself again... a look on ur face i haven't seen since 2011. honestly
ur mood ur ability to access emotions, to hav a beautiful laugh, as i pointed out to zac the first time.
i'm fifteen, living w a russian cinema professor, working and blazing, so i'm moving slower.
bonghit after bonghit after bonghit after bonghit, pass the woven wheats bonghit bonghit bonghit ... bonghit for good measure, the wandering home and
that broken love i hav never been able to gorilla gorilla bac together.0
(N.B.: "all things are given you can’t take anything" - a note from the editor
“God gives Facist’s take” - a note from the other editor
“give ice cream” - says the cat
“give give give until it hurts” - says Machiavelli
“ICE CREAM” – says the cat)
Warmth N' GreenZ: rap poetry
Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry
Title of Book: Warmth N’ GreenZ
Author: Alexia Zakariya
Publisher: Subterranean Blue Poetry
Date of Publication: 2018
In the hood tonight"
- from All Good In the Hood by Jamiroquai
Warmth N’ GreenZ is a promising new Rap inspired work from emerging Poet Alexia Zakariya. Alexia Zakariya (Poet, wife, mother) attended
Lehigh Valley Charter Arts School, Bethlehem, PA. She is constantly creating, singing, writing, drawing; steeping in the arts soup of great
writers and songwriters.
This poetry is magic, enigmatic, the Middle Eastern goddess as wife and mother. This poetry is influenced by rap music/poetry, is experiential and protest
poetry, often in Black meme, the voice of the Poet is just forming as she is only 25 years old. This Writer experiences this Poet as a young
Gwendolyn Brooks. The themes include protest poetry against war, racism, hard times and poverty and includes love of her husband, her son and God.
The Poet harkens to the New American School with work that plays with syntax and uses symbols. The truncated thoughts are original with flashes
of brilliance and often with ryhmes, rhyming couplets and rhyme at the end of lines, the hallmark of rap poetry. Within the work are some Haiku
and longer pieces and a series of poems under 20 lines that gel exquisitely, they are like mainline rap, that bang in the dance and roll in liked
No (One) Can Look Away
Not (One) Can Say
That it Ain’t What it is
It is (That Way)
(Alone), Your Home
No Other (Way) 2 Go
U Either (Take Heed)
4Bear to (Promise)
(Land) of Green
Truth will Survive
It is, It was, It will be
"I Need a Translator
I Need a Translator –
2 Describe my Inner Most –
2 Soothe my Inner Boat –
2 Cradle my Unwanted Strain –
I Need a Translator –
2 Explain my Sighs –
2 Rub my Face –
2 Tell me of a Brighter Day –
I Need a Translator –
2 Show me my True Self –
2 Hear my Calls for Help –
2 Show me the Way –
I Need a Translator –
I Guess He Came –"
A truthtelling, the rock and roll of relationship, home life, a young adult's experiences with society all rolled into poetry. Looking for more
work from this Poet. Middle Eastern girl magic, enigmatic, girl power and magic, Warmth N GreenZ by Alexia Zakariya.
Title of Book: In My Ear Continuously Like a Stream
Author: Geoffrey Nilson
Publisher: above/ground press
Date of Publication: 2017
“And in the streets: the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed”
- from American Pie by Don McLean
In My Ear Continuously Like a Stream is a fantastical New Age Cento by Geoffrey Nilson, who is a member of Qayqayt and Musqueam First Nations.
Geoffrey Nilson (writer, musician, poetry editor, multimedia artist, father) has had 3 chapbooks published as well as being published in Canada
and internationally. He is a Poetry Editor for Arc Poetry Magazine and former Editor at The Rusty Toque. He has been shortlisted for a major award
(Far Horizons Award for Poetry (The Malahat Review)) and received an Honourable Mention for his poetry manuscript, the Alfred G. Bailey Poetry Prize
This long poem begins with the quote, "Only barbarians can write good poetry" by
Sherwin Cody, This Writer laughs quietly to herself and settles in for a great read.
A call to arms, a truth-telling and a protest of the cultural diaspora/chaos infiltration of Canada/N. A. This is a Cento, composed of lines of poetry
from On the Road by Jack Kerouac, The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger, The Outsider
by Albert Camus, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, The Old Man and The Sea by Ernest Hemingway, New Directions Selected Works
of Ezra Pound, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, Henry Miller Reader, The Bush Garden by Northrope Frye,
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, The Prince by Machiavelli, Candide by Voltaire, and 1984 by George Orwell. A Cento
poem is traditionally a form of protest against a corrupt elite. Every second page or so is a pictograph of broken writing, either lines of writing
submerged in each other or clipped words spread haphazardly across the page and decimated writing.
The disjointed thought train poetry, enigmatic and surrealistic presents a dialectic, as if an arguement within shadows. Different themes emerge,
including the state of poems, poetry, Poets and writers and “the weather” the state of Community/Society Canada. Perhaps a lament that the arts are
underfunded and possibly undercelebrated by the majority of Canadians and the lonely artist continues his craft, the perfect poem a lonely testament.
“[the Canadian poet cannot emulate
for it is written that the mere fact of being
“this is why nearly all good Canadian poets despair:
higher forms of life are so often destroyed by the lower.]”
Perhaps also a lament for the state of our personal lives, lost or misconstrued
“the pilgrims, the fresh slaughter
laid well in rows and bundles.
had you not gold enough? the place
to make a fire of lament
to find a site and build the world
on top of this.]”
A brilliant write for a long winter, In My Ear Continuously Like a Stream, by Geoffrey Nilson and above/ground press.
Rebecca Anne Banks lives in the New Age Renaissance Republique of Poetry. She is the author of over 30 books
of poetry, a guide to the Holy Spirit, a primer on marriage discernment, a family cookbook, a book of children’s
stories, a book of World Peace Newsletters, all available at www.amazon.ca
and other Amazon Stations. She has produced 3 CD`s of Folk/Rock music and has 17 CD’s of music awaiting production.
She won an IAIRA award for top 55 Internet airplays for Angel Song, 2010. She is also the
CEO/Artist at Tea at Tympani Lane Records
(www.tympanilanerecords.com), The Book Reviewer at The Book Reviewer
(www.thebookreviewer.ca) and the Quilt Artist at
Kintsugi Art Quilts (www.kintsugiartquilts.com).
Steve Klepetar lives in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. His work has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize,
including four in 2016. Recent collections include Family Reunion (Big Table), A Landscape in Hell (Flutter Press), and
How Fascism Comes to America (Locofo Chaps).
MD Marcus is a freelance writer and Poet who loves keys, the color blue, and a good nude illusion. Her work has appeared on Salon as well
as in Eunoia Review, Rat’s Ass Review, Communicators League, Calliope Magazine, The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society, In-Flight Literary Magazine,
Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, among others. Please read everything she writes and visit her on Instagram, Facebook, or
Geoffrey Nilson (Poet, writer, musician, poetry editor, multimedia artist, father) is a member of Qayqayt and Musqueam First Nations and
has been published in Canada and internationally. He has written and had published 3 Chapbooks Alchemy Machine (2015), We Have To Watch
(2016) and O (2017). He is the Poetry Editor at Arc Poetry Magazine and the former social media editor at The Rusty Toque.
Elizabeth Smart (Poet, novelist) was born in Ottawa , Ontario to an elite family. She studied music at the University of London.
She read a book of poetry by George Barker, she fell in love and they began a correspondence. They had an illicit ongoing affair that
produced 4 children. She wrote about their affair in the popular novel, By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept, her best known work.
Alexia Zakariya (Poet, student, wife and mother) who attended Lehigh Valley Charter Arts School, Bethlehem, PA. She has just published
one of her first books of poetry Warmth N' GreenZ with Subterranean Blue Poetry.