Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Tuesday poem #237 : Michelle Detorie : PINK DOLPHIN


There is never enough time.
The moon makes a milky
slick upon the sea. We are all
mothers swollen with the hell
of being human, of being
in between. The houses
we make have all
the rooms but the one
where we can meet. That room
floats in the belly of the beast
slushing the whale-road
of alphabets and broken birds.
Still, we can feel it. Bright
fins flashing. Sometimes
pretending is enough.





Michelle Detorie is the author of numerous chapbooks including Fur Birds (Insert Press), How Hate Got Hand (eohippus labs), and Bellum Letters (Dusie). She also makes visual poems, poetry objects, time-based poetry, and curates the public art project, The Poetry Booth. Her first full-length collection, After-Cave, was released with Ahsahta Press in late 2014. In 2015 she completed The Sin in Wilderness, a book-length erasure about love, animals, and affective geography. She is currently at work on a collection of prose pieces called FERAL PLANETS.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Tuesday poem #236 : Jennifer Zilm : Devotional




My icon-bearing wall, the paint lightfast,
refusing the sun’s sleazy degradation.
Egg tempera is preferable to watercolour
because the leftover white can be used to
tighten widening pores or as scramble
for brunch after matinal devotions.
We who eat our god prefer our worship
objects with an edible sheen.
Out of the church, away from my altar, I find myself
praying to electric lights, to nostalgia,
to steam, the gentled railway tracks,
feast of freighter colour, power of
placement, oh our sweet lady of basic
bitch variations. I drink coffee only
at cafes where beans are locally roasted,
like Joan of Arc. On a bus shelter
I saw a sign: Someone took my brother
I mean—my bicycle, I must learn how
to identify an emergency.


Jennifer Zilm is the author of Waiting Room (BookThug, 2016) and the chapbooks The whole and broken yellows (Frog Hollow, 2013) and October Notebook (Dancing Girl Press, 2015). A second collection The Missing Field is forthcoming from Guernica Editions in 2018. She lives in East Vancouver where she works in libraries, archives, social housing and harm reduction.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, October 03, 2017

Tuesday poem #235 : Adam Clay : Lincoln Avenue in the Early Morning Hours



The morning sun smears the clouds
away from the color white

for the first time
like every time.

Think about anything and it won’t
make sense at first or think

so much that dust becomes

a heart beating
through the trance of existence,

through the long stretch of life
toward a single touch.

Fragments of metaphor
litter the mind, waiting for the color

of light they’ll be held up against:
blue void of bliss

or red smudged the blur of a fire truck

in the early hours
of life, forgotten over time.

Because memories need no color,
they so easily shed themselves of it.




Adam Clay is the author of Stranger (Milkweed Editions, 2016), A Hotel Lobby at the Edge of the World (Milkweed Editions, 2012), and The Wash (Parlor Press, 2006). A fourth book is forthcoming from Milkweed Editions. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Denver Quarterly, Georgia Review, Boston Review, Iowa Review, The Pinch, and elsewhere.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Tuesday poem #234 : Melissa Eleftherion : alula



little bastard winglet
                                                you are the shoulder


connective tissue
            the one that calls the shots


thumb among the digits
                                                                                                                                                                                                leader among feathers
            even primaries follow you



                                    self-possessed
                                    in foil of integument


            you lift & fold
                        lift & fold
                                                the furs no harm/ony



your flame so bright burning
your fire eliding, gathers
                        earth’s breathing
            ~cools~

            a cochlear restore
                                                            how the conch travels
                                                            wing to wing enveloping


Melissa Eleftherion grew up in Brooklyn. She is the author of huminsect, prism maps, Pigtail Duty, the leaves the leaves, green glass asterisms, and several other chapbooks. Her first full-length collection, field guide to autobiography, is out from H_NGM_N Books in summer/fall 2017. Recent work is forthcoming in inter|rupture, Glass, Italian-Americana Review, & Poet-Librarians in the Library of Babel. Founder of the Poetry Center Chapbook Exchange, Melissa lives in Mendocino County where she works as a Teen Librarian, teaches creative writing, & curates the LOBA Reading Series at the Ukiah Library. More of her work can be found @ www.apoetlibrarian.wordpress.com.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Tuesday poem #233 : natalie hanna : how meat




when your photograph is left i will remember how you banished living things from the house. waged battle with the robins. painted in pashmina, silk. how your stitch in every tapestry. how mary, virgin, first. how meat, my mouth, before in yours. my stubborn root. the peace of tea. how you held my hand.



natalie hanna is an Ottawa lawyer working with low income populations. Her writing focusses on feminist, political, and personal themes. She runs battleaxe press (small poetry press in Ottawa), is the Administrative Director of the Sawdust Reading Series, and e-newsletter editor and board member at Arc Poetry Magazine. For more information about her work, visit her site at: https://nhannawriting.wordpress.com.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan