A poem called “blizzed” by Barney Ashton-Bullock

this poem is inspired by this Rockwell Kent painting ‘The Trapper’ (1921)

blizzed

your remnant shred of cleaved sentience,
its integral winnowing downforce; whorling 
from pioneer skittish flakes to full-sketch sophomore, 
from freeze-dried petrichor to bombrush, snowfield fuzz
eddying in fleeting, fitful plenitudes ‘midst our want for more - 

your intercession; awed exfoliant of tepid vacuities - 
your tufting micro-ministrations mush sombre vastnesses;
your crystalline emboss/deboss of serene, splayed splenetics,
your fluffy flux of fractious loads that witter down 
the last winsome aspects of icicle throtted flora - 

we await our snow-capped causeway’s re-emergence,
we approximate the wherefores of the tufted tracks 
we trekked the day before within these subsumption
frontiers of distal, mulched horizons you’ve presently 
so presciently blurred; you, slawing radiant as 

a brilliance of moonbeam, as distill, as a manifest
granularity smunched, in desiccate compact of frenzied 
flurries seemingly cemental and yet, so soon, so sunlit, 
flailing, expiring, revealing that now’s all is muchly more than 
the fallow-followed, drear furore of bored, workaday before -

renewed point and purpose to that watchful, lapping shore,
your selfless blanch to meltwater and our hallowed eyesmeet;
its ice-break whip-crack of quench and thaw and that’s when, 
dear friend, we’ll go rafting again, our buoyant brusque laughter 
in spindrift skim on those much missed lakes of deep azure.

Bio: Barney Ashton-Bullock, is the poet/librettist in the ‘Andy Bell is Torsten’ music-theatre-poetry collective and he narrates his own verse on the Downes Braide Association albums. He is the founder of Soho Poetry Nights. He has poetry published, or pending publication, in a wide range of cult poetry journals**, in the ‘Avalanches In Poetry’ tribute anthology to Leonard Cohen, in the Dreich pamphlet ‘Famous’, in the Pilot Press ‘Queer Anthology Of Healing’ and in the 'Soho Nights' anthologies published by The Society Club Press who also published his first collection ‘Schema/Stasis’ in 2017. His latest poetry pamphlet ‘Café Kaput!’ was published by Broken Sleep Books in 2020.(**the Wellington Street Review, the New River Press Yearbook, SPAMzine, Re-Side Magazine, -algia Press, Scab Mag, Pink Plastic House Journal, Lucky Pierre Zine, Poetry Bus, Neuro Logical Magazine and the Babel Tower Notice Board)

3 Poems by Andrew Cyril MacDonald : Vegas chapel, A quick forbiddance, In part disjoiner

Andrew Cyril Macdonald (@AndrewCyrilMac1) | Twitter
The three poems attached showcase the radical nature of meaningful if possibly fleeting relationships. They glimpse the impetuosity of passion in the manner of an impromptu wedding night, a difficult embrace and the frustrations of encounter and its aftermath.  Questions of censure and reprobation and the faltering of courage inhere in these along the themes of loss and regret.
 
Please note that these pieces find their theoretical root in such once fringe but now seminal texts as Roland Barthes', A Lover's Discourse, Remy de Gourmont's, The Natural Philosophy of Love, and Jacques Derrida's, On Touch.

As to the cadence and rhythm of these pieces, play is clearly made at times with enjambment but chiefly there is attempt at stretching out the voice all while only toying with rhyme.  They revel in a language that hopes abstraction.

Vegas chapel

The hot clip fades the memory shame let loose on our world.
In it you seem more decent proposal 
due process entailed

when favour for favour minute to next 
offered what wanted we pay deeply our fees.

To recall them each the one as then the other 
(reasons that pulled us our fears and hopes 
knotted together)

is to go into that shod room where forces bartered 
cheek to cheek the hardwired compunction 

monsters haggle. Its grumbled performance fastened 
insecurity not gone but here proposing wipe clean 
the pain of dejection (our story 

its sordid worth) under the gaunt nose of some 
flogged priest assigned 

the inner sanctum of dreams 
shivering along that mile of wait desire contrives of.

Now the gathered momentum leads 
to circumstances encumbered 
what daunts us ageing together:

this love of pretence 
there made official.



A quick forbiddance

Thrill shapes to ravish.
It bills unheard of 

in kindness exhibited
between

preceptors of sheltered cause
and promised libations

niceties aroused
of a yearning to bother.

The day after pleads our case
and feels for a clause 

they would dismiss us
our seven notes appending.

But prohibitions against
signal them outlasted

the enforcement far gone

as morality assures
of debauchery undone

in jostled truths
long held

and climbed down from
these pikes impaling.

Now they stoke as heaven insures
a victory or death

the loss pertaining 
if pitched grief and broke will

unevened hearts remand in.



In part disjoiner

The calm night and its bothered kiss presents in 
delicacies that let linger.

It hangs next in the compunction of a mind that fastens.

But why he did it is furrowed in her brain
the kind cannot understand of.

One day will reveal in the loaded prime that confuses

so that what was there in the throes of passion 
will be her memory’s jest

as the gully of thoughts portrays what only peace envisions.

Now it collects an opportunity missed 
to ache through and between

the heart he shaped and the hope it formed of a flight construed 

out of freedom chance pools when we serve under
ruinous terms courage refuses.


Andrew Cyril Macdonald considers the role of inter-subjectivity in the poetics of encounter. He celebrates the confrontations between self and other and the challenge that occurs in the fomenting of identity and independence in the context of relationship. You can find his work in such places as A Long Story Short, Blaze VOX, Cavity Magazine, Down in the Dirt, Green Ink Poetry, Mineral Lit Mag, ODD Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, Thorn, Unique Poetry Journal and others. When not writing he is busy caring for seven rescued cats and teaching a next generation of poets.  

Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Andrea Lambert

Twitter Bio: Author of Neon-Hysteric, Jet Set Desolate and other books. Queer Artist. Schizoaffective. Witch. Widow. Divorcee. Long COVID slowed me down, but. She/Her

Q1: When did you start writing and first influences?

Andrea: I don’t remember beginning to write, my first memory is writing a flower part name on a workshop in a Montessori preschool. I learned how to read at age 3. In elementary school I made up stories and wrote them in composition notebooks. Early influences are Anne Rice and V.C. Andrews (tween reading material)

Q2: Who is your biggest influence today?

Andrea: My biggest influence today is William Gibson.

Q3: Where did you grow up and how did that influence your writing/art?

Andrea: I grew up in San Diego, so the ocean, being of Mexican ancestry and the proximity of Mexico were early influences. My first and only high school boyfriend taught me how to classically oil paint from the human figure.

Q4: Have any travels away from home influenced you work/describe?

Andrea: I don’t travel much due to disabilities, but trips with an L.A. boyfriend to Palm Springs appear repeatedly in my ebook romance novel “Hollywood Hedgewitch” That was a lot of fun.

Q5: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be an artist/poet/writer?

Andrea: I feel like I’ve always wanted to be a writer and an artist. That pivotal moment must have happened before my childhood memories go.

Q6: Favorite activities to relax?

Andrea: When i’m not writing, I enjoy Horror television and video games. Also cat appreciation and witchcraft.

Q7: Any recent or forthcoming projects you’d like to promote?

Andrea: Just this month I released a new kindle ebook called “Dining with a Cursed Bloodline”, which is a collection of the essays I wrote during that columns 4 years at Entropy magazine. It’s 0.99 cents, check it out!

Q8: What is one of your favorite lines in your poetry, writing? Favorite artist or art pieces?

Andrea: Favorite lines from my work? “I accept what is, because I must, “Boredom is the luxury of no longer being in pain, “I am only electrified meat travelling through time.” My favorite painter is Gustave Moreau esp his work with Salome.

Gustave Moreau Paintings, Bio, Ideas | TheArtStory

Q9: Who has helped you most with your writing/art?

Andrea: The CalArts MFA writing program has helped in most of my writing.

Links to find Andrea’s work:

https://andreaklambert.com/





www.lostangelenebooks.com

Poems by David L O’Nan : A Prince Was Born on Chartreuse Street & short poems

A Prince Was Born on Chartreuse Street

I was pretty and I was weak
I was the brawn and your father's strength
I was four walls, water and bread
My body a quivering bull on Chartreuse Street.

And they are like flames on the Mississippi
The beauty of petrified smoke
To us all we become the incisions and stitches
To rivers we can never compare.

You're cradled in a womb, but restless
Felt lonely from the quiet calmness of a Flora escape
A prince in the blessing stage
A phase when the chains still hang loose.

They lay the sick all around you
As your pan of gold grows in power
And your mind dances with needlepoint
Until luxury and meadow sobbings create your crown.

So does the poor cajuns admire -
The beauty or the clutch of your hand?
Will you be a razor, or live in neutral sands?
Power mad oceans usually fall
And their destruction comes faster
And what is left, is the sin.

All that is dear in these binding stars
That wants you to make a dying man's wish just
boredom in the mornings.
They will begin to sweep the streets
from your last parade.

Or was it a charade?
Never knowing you were playing the game.

You always will be hers
From the clouds down
You will rest in tears, baby boy.

King of the tapering hurricane
The vortex carried your throne
To the pines, off Chartreuse
And into the mud of voodoo.

A prince whispering to the epidemic,
To the hungered,
And the drowning,
To the peeling paint of his castle
At a mission,
With diadems flushing through 
the drains of your street.

The Tiger's Tongue

In the night
heat exchanged over an expressway
Love is leaky, sweaty
Twigs break apart
blow across our arms, past the veins
The dark eyes peeking through evening shuttles.
Cold, winter bones chilled to stone
We live without our poison.
No hazy drum to beat upon
Left,
dangling in the night,
hanging like a bat
As blind as the wind.
Hesitation from the peek-a-boo headcases
Leaves the wounded lifeless,
the lively ones, weightless
They won't infringe over our last rites
Or kiss our climate dried cheeks
We will be venomous,
as sweat
Meandering as serpents,
crawl into the truth
Spit out as wet lies
Taste our flesh
As we dry into the dirt
the passion meets blood
on the tip of the tiger's tongue.

Our Former Life

Between you and I
Let's manifest this fire
Inside, it's been burning for years
I can't clearly comprehend your rebuttal
I feel trapped by your beauty
The outer door
inevitably the inner door.
Like it was in another life -
that we shared together.
If it is the same
I will feel only love
That can be certain
My angels have told me that
You are finding yourself
Which ones should I believe?
I will continue pondering this
As I fall asleep
and dream of you once more.

The Impossible

Love is the impossible
You just allow me to be slime
Step over me
Never looking back
Maybe you'll see the reflection
but ignore it
The possibility is never engaged.

Winter hands you have
Shaking, cold, always a muted void
But,
Love is the impossible
Warmth is not programmed in your heart
So,
I'm dreaming as a kid watching clouds mate,
They are so loving
Such a gripping hug together
Articulating the sunlight
Love is the impossible?

Old Moments

With thought to thought
Kindling closer to the shadow weaver
We meshed in shadows for a moment
We touched hands and glow for a moment
Yes, a dark glow
But a glow anyhow
That is all it was
And that is all it needs to be.
So, now i'm skin and you're the salt
So, now i'm burning
and you're oil.
In broken words 
from another day
We were one
For the moment.

Epiphany

She grew up i n a town of 1,500
With skinned knees
& horny creeps looking up from repairing cars.
Mavericks with dagger stares
Stabbing waltzes in Main Street dance halls.
She said she had an epiphany when she
became an emotional rollercoaster.
Nervous breakdowns with no refunds,
forgery companions.
As the Kentucky Derby day burns
under the grifting rhythm of the sun.
103 degree blisters on the lips.
She says the clouds have died, incinerated -
Like ash scattering the town like feathers from a pillow.
Heartbreak
Ashes covering lottery ticket dreams 
Beer breath hitting the city like a sauna
In a town living in ditches
In a truck driver's graveyard.

The Dishwasher Man's Dirty Secrets

The dishwasher man in the kitchen 
From a famous restaurant outside Cincinnati
Is exhausted, sweaty, foamy, drunk
In his filth, in his hands he cries
"Does anyone have the time of day -
To show me the way
To burn out these lights
That's causing all my sins
That sin is burning in my  blood
Each night I defend -
In prayer by myself
When I'm pulling at the cape
When I'm drinking myself out of shape
When I'm telling my woman she is no good
When I'm sleeping alone, feeling misunderstood
Because I'm living a life that is so out of place
With the rest of the world trying to paint me a new face
I want to repent and feel sorrow
I want to steal, not borrow
All of your time, all of your attention
Perhaps I will fall in line
Perhaps maybe another glass of wine
Another glass of wine" 

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios:  David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Peach Delphine

Q1: When did you start writing and first influences?

Peach: Sophomore year of high school, Marvell, Milton, Keats.

John Keats - Wikipedia

Q2: Who is your biggest influence today?

Peach: Paul Celan, Brigit Pegeen Kelly

Q3: Where did you grow up and how did that influence your writing/art?

Peach: Florida, a subtle and secretive landscape heavily exploited with a harsh history.

Q4: Have any travels away from home influenced work/describe?

Peach: Wherever you go the world is beautiful, sometimes that tells you where you belong.

Q5: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer/poet?

Peach: When I was fourteen the local paper started a weekly poetry column, I submitted and was published.

Q6: Favorite activities to relax?

Peach: Cooking, gardening, walking, canoeing

Q7: Any recent or upcoming work you’d like to promote?

Links to some of Peach’s poetry & more

Poem by Peach Delphine: wave is a circular motion

Poems by Peach Delphine: Every Cloud Has Life of Its Own & Speaking of Home, Beyond the Wind, Flat

Poetry by Peach Delphine – Entanglement

2 Poems by Peach Delphine: Coyote Song & 84 (any scar)

Patience of egrets a poem by Peach Delphine

https://www.blackboughpoetry.com/peach-delphine

https://icefloepress.net/2020/01/28/five-poems-by-peach-delphine/

https://www.sledgehammerlit.com/post/hands-worn-to-smoke-by-peach-delphine?_sm_nck=1

https://lumierereview.com/delphine-zhang

https://cabinetofheed.com/2020/12/19/coastal-pine-peach-delphine/

https://eatthestorms.com/2020/10/24/eat-the-storms-the-pride-poetry-podcast-episode-8/

Q8: One of your favorite lines from a poem of yours?

Peach:  - a forest of summoning a sea of renunciation -
"How easily I set aflame to this misbegotten body,
accelerant ever on my tongue, chine of wind,
cutting edge of utterance, "

Q9: Who has helped you most with writing?

Peach: I cooked for many years, you have to learn from everyone, even if it's not what you would do.     Thanks for having me amongst so many brilliant writers, it's been a joy and privilege. Stay well and best wishes.  

Bio: Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast.