Tuesday, September 27, 2022

Tuesday poem #495 : Ben Jahn : GRAPHITE




all that’s required for social life now is to repeat something heard or read or seen* / in the last twenty-four years I’ve seen vija celmins’ oceans and deserts reproduced in print / on screens / that is / mediated / reduced // after so many tv talk therapy scenes / I think my first-ever session might be like meeting an actor in real life // boxy appliances / heavy as safes / tipped off the bridge in ridding fits / jut from the mud instead of choppy water to no horizon // celmins said of her galaxy drawings / you may think they came from lying under the stars / for me / they came out of loving the blackness of the pencil // the sight of waste normally submerged exposed by low tide makes me open my mouth and issue a sound / a long conglomerate vowel / I’m not sure what the noise is for / what it means / it’s like a test pattern / static / a tune-up / plaintive and mundane / a hum or moan / to other motorists I’m sure I seem to sing




Ben Jahn’s work has appeared in Fence, Tin House online, ZYZZYVA, McSweeney’s, and The Santa Monica Review. He received a National Endowment for the Arts grant in fiction, and his story, “Reborn,” appeared in The Paris Review as the winner of NPR’s Three Minute Fiction contest. He lives in Richmond, CA, not far (but usually upwind) from the Chevron refinery. He teaches English at Contra Costa College, and spends his summers traveling with his longtime partner and her kids. For infrequent updates, go to benjahn.com 

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

* Brian Fawcett, Cambodia

Tuesday, September 20, 2022

Tuesday poem #494 : Matthew Hanick : Interlude



Some songs are
for people, others
are for birds

in my dreams, there
are words spoken,

no letters, like
a plum from

its pit, the self
decenters, drops into

a body wading
in a river where

consciousness forms
and music is just

beyond the corner.




Matthew Hanick is a queer poet living in Toronto, Ontario. He is currently a student at Toronto Metropolitan University, where he is studying English Literature and writing reviews for The White Wall ReviewHis poems have appeared in The White Wall Review’s online journal and 51st print edition, Block Party Magazine, and periodicities.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, September 13, 2022

Tuesday poem #493 : Olive Andrews : love-hate poem



in my dream last night I said
I am allowed to acknowledge my thought before passing a judgement
I thought “I am petty and I’m being weird”

this felt right and I was warm

most things are different but
in the morning I still pull open the curtain and see light
hunch over the sink pressing bubbles into smaller bubbles

and obsess over dusty rose kitchenware

you can love-hate everything like your job
and the carpet from ikea that’s too dark, and email
just exist in the love-hate not really teetering

more just pressed too tightly to lean one way or the other

you told me gently olive,
I love you but it’s not normal to be this nauseous
or to always think you have appendicitis

I agree and don’t pass judgement on the agreement




Olive Andrews is a poet and student living in Tiohtià:ke/Montréal. Their work has been published in a number of magazines, including PRISM International, Canthius, and ARC Poetry Magazine. Their debut chapbook, rock salt, was published with Baseline Press in 2020. They are currently completing an MA in Creative Writing from Concordia University.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan