Tuesday, October 09, 2018

Tuesday poem #288 : Liz Countryman : I PROMISE TO BE HONEST

about nature and stuff
the breezes blustering bits but
sounds like fun words
elephants of words
bushes blustering elephants

bits in the air hitting us
bees banging the storm doors
give me the feeling of falsehood
just a little like
winning at something fun

winning really kicking ass
bright faces and days kicked between
dark days weekdays winter days
separate faucets busy
with the toothbrush

or reusing my magnetic mirror
in the dark blue locker’s
stickered unclean
its lock stuck never exact
and I got no pictures to hang up

these houses belong
to these blocks where bushes
lean like this in the spring when
the weather leans like this
selling itself to new tenants

I feel a little silly around
these blustering houses
I feel fearless like
feeding you in the wind
with a pit in my pocket

Liz Countryman is the author of A Forest Almost (Subito, 2017) and coeditor of Oversound. She teaches in the MFA program at the University of South Carolina. 

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, October 02, 2018

Tuesday poem #287 : Madeleine Stratford : UNDERSTANDING

To  under-
stand is to stand
not below

      Bodies touch

When I stand under
withstanding your weight
I grasp your ankles
and hold on

As you stand on my shoulders
neither of us falls or feels

But sometimes I can’t stand
I must         crouch
lie down


I need
to gather
my strength and stand
and lift you
over my shoulders
so I can stand
under and under-
stand you



Madeleine Stratford is a poet, literary translator and professor of Translation at the Université du Québec en Outaouais. Her first poetry book, Des mots dans la neige (éditions anagrammes, 2009) was awarded the 2009 Orpheus Poetry Prize in France. Her poetry has also appeared in various journals, including Corresponding Voices, carte blanche, and Pøst. Her French translation of Ce qu’il faut dire a des fissures by Uruguayan poet Tatiana Oroño (Paris, L’Oreille du Loup, 2012) was awarded the 2013 John Glassco Prize by the Literary Translators’ Association of Canada. Elle nage (La Peuplade, 2016), her French version of the novel Swim, also by Marianne Apostolides, was shortlisted in 2016 for a Governor General award (Translation into French). In 2017, Me Tall You Small, her English translation of Lilli L’Arronge’s Ich groβ, du klein (OwlKids Books, 2017), was shortlisted for the Kirkus Prize.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Tuesday poem #286 : Melanie Dennis Unrau : thumbs

Melanie Dennis Unrau is a poet and PhD candidate from Winnipeg. Her first poetry collection, Happiness Threads: The Unborn Poems (The Muses’ Company, 2013) was nominated for two Manitoba Book Awards. Melanie is co-editor of the environmental humanities journal The Goose and poetry editor of Geez magazine.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Tuesday poem #285 : Sommer Browning : I Thought it was Sunday

I smoke so rarely now
That when I light one
I feel like I’m letting Paul
Put his hand down my pants
On the train tracks.

The long corridor my house
Makes when I come home
A word
That rhymes with known.

The hammered man
Holding the trashed woman
Inarticulating love.

        Walking through a gas leak—

Into on coming traffic

I wake up sobbing
As if I were married

So fat I was skinny I was fat.

Your dick friend
Calling your other dick friend
A dick:

a Beat poem
if the Beats were men.

Sommer Browning writes poems, draws comics, and says jokes in Denver. She is the author of Everything But Sex (Low Frequency Press, 2017), You’re On My Period (Counterpath, 2016), Backup Singers (Birds, LLC; 2014), and other things. With Elisa Gabbert and Brian Foley, she curates Death Horse, a monthly reading series. In 2017 she opened GEORGIA, a popup art space in her garage. She is a librarian.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Tuesday poem #284 : M H Vanstone : [untitled]

doubt a lack
or presence

full of




none in
the open field

the paths
of air


was its
own answer

and that truly

said something

M H Vanstone is a Toronto writer with a background in film. His work has been published prior in The Puritan and (parenthetical). His debut chapbook, That Pass Between, was published by words(on)pages press in 2016.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan