Tuesday, August 27, 2019


"COULD YOU COO?" by Steven Fortune
A revelatory pop
and the needle ushers in
the night's aural escapades
in a homemade renaissance
All the jitterbugs have worked
their flutters into sleep
and the foxes have all trotted
off the matrices of festively
exhausted ballrooms
Now I've got you in my flat
and I can hush the big band
to sleep with Lady Ella's lullaby
The golden brown gleam
of the gramophone horn
grants a wavering assessment
of the atmosphere behind me
I see you've settled in
with book in hand tilted
vertically to meet your
horizontal field of sight
and bear your naked upper body
to the incense as it unfurls
smoky swirls on your soft
embedded flesh
I free my imprisoned arms
of the confines of black suspenders
and ask what you are reading
like a child asking for a lollipop
To His Coy Mistress
you reply in an accent that rips
the connotative bounds of
Lady Ella cradles me in playful whimsy
as I lift the book daintily
from your grip and interrupt
the hydroplane of incense
with the blanket of my unbuttoned chest

BIOA resident of Sydney, Nova Scotia, and graduate of Acadia University, Steven Fortune has appeared on CBC radio, and his poetry has been recited on several online shows, as well as appearing in a number of literary journals, both print and online. His fifth book will be released in January 

Cry Somewhere Else

"Cry Somewhere Else" by Brian Turner

She served with eyes 
darker than shadows
and healing bruises.
I asked the question.
She shrugged and said,
"Life ain't easy,"
then caught my look
as I was leaving ...
lowered eyes told me
she didn't need my
instant sympathy.


BIOI'm a deeply serious man who just can't take much seriously. Life passes in a dream mostly and I hardly remember any of it. Don't think I was ever meant to be here really. God's little joke probably ...but I'll get even when I see him

Friday, August 16, 2019


"REINFORCEMENT" by Syreeta Muir

Some love is serrated;
Love that lays a body down, gently,
With, “shh, baby...”“...hold still.”
Applying balm to its own cuts.
Words, so sterile,
Drip from arid lips,
Deserts blown from fingertips,
Banking around fleshy succulents,
Proud love,
Happy to have tricked by reinforcement,
Cultivating whorls,
Standing back, perennially; self-wonder,
Pruning petals -
Pendulus corolla,
Never to be picked.

BIO: Syreeta Muir writes poetry, short, and flash fiction with a focus on folklore, nature and trauma. Read her poetry in TL;DR Press, her flash piece 'The Go-between' at horrortree.com and her poem 'Cutting Teeth' in Fearless Femme throughout November. Find her on Twitter as @hungryghostpoet.