A Concrete Cinematography Primer
Rob Stuart is a media studies lecturer, filmmaker and light verse enthusiast living in Surrey. In addition to Ink, Sweat and Tears he has contributed poems to Light (USA), Lighten Up Online, Magma, New Statesman, The Oldie, The Spectator and SnakeskinRead More
The pond darkens
to its evening
of gold koi
on black silk
the raked white
Stephen Bone‘s work has appeared in magazines in the U.K.and U.S. First collection In The Cinema, published by Playdead Press 2014.Read More
Every morning in the cathedral the man
who might be a monk plays the organ,
sound streaming through stained glass
on dark angel wings. The music is like
the earth—ancient, scattered, metal sharp.
He must drink wine from old flasks,
red wine, burgundy as god’s beard—fingers
like nails driving each key as a note for
asphalt covering dirt, single arias for
the damned, unrequited love for those
who walk by and never hear.
In the evening he still plays, music less mad:
softer tones, twilight butter, crimson leaves
burnt clef notes that swirl like candle smoke.
Noises seeking salvation’s window,
he twists stories from the keys, light and dark,
black, white, narratives for the lost, forgotten,
for those soon to be absent, disremembered—
fingers sure as a ticking clock, wound backwards—
spring that cannot uncoil, he plays and plays
for those who do not listen.
Ralph Monday is an Associate Professor of English at Roane State Community College in Harriman, TN., where he teaches composition, literature, and creative writing courses. He has been published widely in over 50 journals including Agenda, The New Plains Review, New Liberties Review, Fiction Week Literary Review and many others. His poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Houghton Mifflin’s “Best of” Anthologies, as well as other awards. A chapbook, All American Girl and Other Poems, was published in July 2014. A book Lost Houses and American Renditions is scheduled for publication in May 2015 by Aldrich Press.
There is perfume on the table Federica,
Flowers, pressed and in the letter
There is an offer of marriage – the letter is red.
There is only the fountain, Federica,
Only water, gushing out hymns; it remits
The babies I hold in my mittens, their moons – the letter is red
There are Archangels in October leaves, Federica
In Eugene gardens, softer than the soft of softness
There is an offer of marriage – from me – the letter is red
Listen Federica, spring is pealing the leaflets – the juniper’s blue
Shadow in kisses of peace. The gusts shut out gusts
Over wuthering heights, the matchstick strikes – the letter is red
Our honey feet collide, each age an infant
Say yes – Federica – the letter is red – say yes.
Charlie Baylis lives and works in Nottingham. He reviews poetry for Stride. His own creative writing has most recently appeared in Stride, Agave and Litro, he has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize (UK) and nominated for a Pushcart Prizes (US)Read More
The café radio coughs another tune,
all static and yeah-yeah,
as I brush salt from the table.
A woolly hat with greasy whiskers
clangs his fork against a plate,
tugging at the creases in my brow.
Your eyes land on my pursed lips
and I realise they’re green,
not blue, and have been all along.
A drip of condensation thumps the windowsill
as I mutter something about tomorrow—
and your bus is coming soon.
Michael Rush is a hidden poet. He strives to preserve his secrecy as he is most comfortable in the margins of life, and finds his muse most active when he remains there. Michael was recently published on Snakeskin and Napalm and Novocain. Twitter: @mrushpoetryRead More