Tag Archives: Writing

GUEST POST // I Live in a House of Cats by Jen Payne

I live in a house of cats:

three before that were

one – Emily
after the poet
loved blue jays
a thing with feathers

and two – CJ
namesake Joy but
arrived with grief
that lifted with love

then 3 – Crystal
so full of life and love
she sparkled!

[ There were two drifters

Moose, who lived next door but preferred to garden here

and Little Black Kitty who learned to trust slowly but enough ]

Of course Lola,
Zen master
lost then found
found me

Now: Molly
Good Golly,
is Whippersnapper
a name for a cat?

by JEN PAYNE
© All rights reserved 2023

GUEST POST // Small Provincial Station by Chris Nelson

We met when we were strangers
On platforms changing trains
Time would never be the same
No season spoke the dangers,
Our faces wore expressions
Of kindred spirit found
Our voices made no sound
No doubts and no transgressions,
We stood aside the crossroad
And looked along each way
Hoping for another day
To break the secret code,
We met when we were strangers
On platforms changing trains
But I could feel the hurt and reins
Beneath my feet the dangers,
We met when we were strangers
But I knew even then
That I was nothing more
Than a small
Provincial
Station.

by CHRIS NELSON
© All rights reserved 2023

TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Young Ukrainian Poets: Poseidon

Tati Translates Poseidon

Literary classics aren’t always created by the greying elder statesmen and women of the writing world. You know the ones. They’re all wise and wrinkly and impassive, and woe betide the scholar who dares mount an honest critique of their bodies of work.

You see, literary classics are also written by upstart youngsters. These youngsters are full of vitality and creativity. They live fully awake and fully aware during these very difficult times. Nothing escapes their notice and they’re unafraid to share what they really think. They walk among us right now, breathing, smiling and crying, loving and hating, experiencing the full range of their humanity without apology.

This series presents names that you won’t find in textbooks or on Wikipedia, but these are the very youngsters who are creating modern Ukrainian literature right now. Trust us, you will want to check them out because it’s only a matter of time before they become household names. When we go back to these writers in two hundred years, we have no doubt that they’ll be mentioned in the same breath as luminaries such as Taras Shevchenko and Lesya Ukrainka.

Untitled

When everything ends
The sirens grown numb
Loved ones will be hugged
Properly, as they should be

Following the north wind
I will reach an areal of tears
Mighty and ancient
I will bow to the ocean
And begin to cry bitterly

I will give my soul
To heal children’s wounds
I will give my blood
For the lives of veterans

I will give my heart
For the devouring of the fucking war
Ripping it out again, and again
For the memory of the deceased
For the memory of scars

I will give my body
To dissolve in a wineglass
I will give my life
For this free, unsubdued land
Lay here forever
With my happy
Bones

Без назви

Коли все закінчиться
Зніміють сирени
Близькі будуть обійняті
Як слід, як треба

За вітром північним
Дістанусь сліз ареалу
Могутньому і древньому
Вклонюсь океану
І гірко заплачу

Душу віддам
Щоб дитячі загоїти рани
Кров я віддам
Щоб жили ветерани

Серце віддам
Сучій війні на поталу
Вириватиму знову і знову
Щоб пам’ятати полеглих
Щоб не забути про шрами

Тіло віддам
Щоб розчинитись в бокали
Життя віддам
Щоб на вільній, нескореній землі
Залишитись
Щасливими
Кістками

Original poem by POSEIDON
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2023

GUEST POST // August 7, 2022 by kipventures

an ode to circus bruises

you browngreygreenpurplebluesometimesred
indication that a new skill has been unlocked
and unlocked
and unlocked again
continued practice making more marks
but eventually
in a week
or two
or month
or so
you’ll fade to skin
and the skill will be rote
and the bruises no longer pop up
because my body
now knows
that pose

and on to the next one

by KIPVENTURES
© All rights reserved 2022

GUEST POST // This Was Home by Paul! Lang

The first syllable rises from my tongue
As I twist it in a knot
Evoke
There are frogs singing in the darkness behind my house and
Today of all days, the day of my unmaking
You came in to my castle, broke the walls down and
Sent me spiraling into my own vortex
You can fall into yourself just like
A corpse can tumble headlong into the trenches under heavy gunfire
War and relationship
And endless false prayers for peace
We twist about interminably
But in the end, we always soldier on

by PAUL! LANG
© All rights reserved 2023