Pandemic Love & other Affinities from Icefloe press an anthology

Please check out this wonderful anthology from Ice Floe Press in Canada. Edited by Moira J. Saucer, Robert Frede Kenter, Anindita Sengupta & Jakky Bankong-Obi. Cover design by Robert Frede Kenter “Pandemic Night” is a mixed media painting of aquarelle pencil & watercolours by Moira J Saucer

This book has over 130 pages of pandemic-era based poetry & art from poets around the world who are at the top of their game.

This book is also dedicated to poets lost during that time including Ice Floe Press contributors Cathy Daley and Kari Ann Flickinger. It is dedicated to everyone who lost loved ones, family members & friends during this ongoing Covid-19 Pandemic.

Poetry from Ewoenam Akahoho: little esinam (she left the world her beautiful crayon sketches) “and now, I have become the man who lights his cigarettes with the sun”

Roseline Mgbodichinma Anya-Okorie: A Function of Spaces “When we laid on green…looking up to the fogginess of blue…between dusk & dawn – When we clasped our fingers together & whispered “It’s two of us against the world…”

poetry from Akesha Baron (Mr. Duarte Mr. Rubin), short story from Ronna Bloom (Fall, Falling) Poetry from Yasmine Bolden (May Your Blessing Be Your People) “The Answers, the ‘unity’. Outside the sky bled sorbet orange” Poetry from V.B. Borjen (The Kites) “…counting bell chimes off the cathedral tower and the uncovered mouths of passers-by sharing booze in plastic bottles and flasks” Poetry from Paul Brookes (Is It Love To Be Glad You’re Dead), photography/art from Barney Ashton-Bullock, story by Matthew Burnside (Ramshackle Heavens), poetry from Sue Chenette (Etienne Brule Park, Sunday October 18, 2020), poetry from Marian Christie (Rapunzel in the time of Covid) “She braids and unbraids her lengthening hair, combs out the knots to feel pin-sharp tugs of pain. To feel” poetry story from Defne Cizakca (I Woke Up One Morning and You Were Not There), poems by Geraldine Clarkson (Raoul, Raoul) “who’d nuzzle the padlock on my tongue try to glean corn thoughts from my blank blue eyes tickle the nape” (Mannequin, with the melancholy gaze -) “Though you never look at me directly, I always wake to your pale blue eyes, raking the air just above my head,“Pandemic Paintings by Cathy Daley, Poetry stories from Nabina Das (How to Undo a Love Story 1 & 2) Poetry from Shome Dasgupta (The Dance of the Wayfarer) “Under a fresh beam of moon, a broken root, severed and twisted – a frozen echo waiting screaming to be released” poetry by Satya Dash (Accrual) “always to be seen smeared like a sun with its back turned, blemish conspicuous even when the page is turned over” poetry from Martins Deep (as i lay forget-me-nots on your side of the bed) “to an orchid growing in a vase filled with the humus of decomposed dreams”

Poetry by Peach Delphine (within this thicket of scar) “Tongue of shovel, bone of splitting, this body a basket of spark and cinder, when you hold me smoke lingers in your hair your hands come away with ash...poetry by Steve Denehan (Someday) poetry by Olga Dermott-Bond (Skin hunger) “Standing down river, I flinch at the hours, days, weeks we have lost to this iced babble; the hush of us grazes my skin-“ poetry by Chelsea Dingman (Valence) “Again, I ran past the lake this morning, trying to figure out why I run the same route, expecting to find myself anywhere else” Poetry by Damien Donnelly (All the Other Things that were also Alone, On the List) Poetry by Birgit Lund Elston (Were There to be a Choice) “and the fox with her playful kits in the woods at the back, how could I ever leave” poetry by K. eltinae ( Poetry by M.S. Evans (Months as Worry Beads – A Suite of 3 poems), Poem by Sue Finch (A Peacock Butterfly Dries its Wings) “From the sink I have been watching them cast silhouettes like bats”

Poetry by Kari Flickinger (that’s why I came back to you) “after weeks of fearful quarantining in a hotel on the blazing outskirts of some California desert. You hear that mission bell?”Poem by Suchi Govindarajan (An old quarantine) poetry by Catherine Graham (I Ask, Can We Be Civil?) “Leathery wind pushes the mystery flowers my name; a stem when light opens a dress-carriage for my heart” (Parts of the Song Where the Dead Come From) & (Hold the Dark), poem by Roger Hare (Pandemonium), poem by Matthew E. Henry (split screen), Poems by Elisabeth Horan (Soft Ghost Sonnet) “may it bring more joy than I’ve become -myriad cut & stab of blood, wears it thin; surely becomes woven thread of skin…” and (Twentieth Anniversary) Poem by Rahma O. Jimoh (Pandemic Soulmates), Story by Silas Jones (Heading Out), Poem by Agunbiade Kehinde (Love Poem with Shakespearean end) “Who would have thought colours and cologne could change the images of a lover in your head – like a damning art”

Photo by Robert Frede Kenter (Lock Down #24) and poetry (Pandemic Moon: A Love Poem) “Sirens accidents red lights elevators of claustrophobia run through the skin of the city” photo/art (The last of it) Poetry by Rose Knapp (Daemonic Queer Club), Poetry by Laurie Koensgen (The Conjunction: December 21, 2020) “Let’s say they’re us, those silver pinholes in the sky becoming one blurred puncture” story by Henneh Kyereh Kwaku (There Was a pandemic & I wanted to be touched & you were about to be married-), Story from Emma Lee (Failing to learn life lessons from penguins) Photography by Robynne Limoges (Surrender), (Hospital Corridor #2 & #3), poetry by V.C. McCabe (Frostbitten & Faunal) “I miss you every breath. Aromatic snow, your skin & winter catapulting us under blankets, the choice to roast in your eyes…” story/poetry by Spangle McQueen (Perhaps Love: How to have your mother’s funeral in a pandemic), poetry by Jenny Mitchell (Mother of Pearl) “She is still in the coffin. I thought she would rise like a hymn, voice soaring up to the vaulted ceiling”

Poetry by Hasan Namir (2020 Was Before) (Growing up in 2020) (Wake: The: Fuck: UP) Poetry by Marcelle Newbold (Transient Comfort) “signifier of a storm, a gentle stroke to my skin each drop a universe, a meal to a whale” and (Dwelling), Poetry by Twila Newey (Common Light) and (Natural Selection), Story by Lizzie Olesker (Block), poetry by Charlotte Oliver (Pandemic Packing) “each colour sharpening the other, first Spring petals cried from blossom trees now shrivelled grey reminding me that all will pass and memories hold beauty safe...) poetry by Niall M. Oliver (Heart) Poetry by Bola Opaleke (Rind of a Pandemic) ” A mother feels the hurt of her baby’s flowering teeth on her breasts, but welcomes the pain as a penultimate symbol of motherhood” & (Before & After the Flood), poetry from Kunjana Parashar (To My Sister, Stuck in Another City), poem from Serena Piccoli (Foam) Poem by Maria S. Picone (We Should Not Forget) “should not discount the taste of slow times fabulized in romantic paintings-should not untie silence & sorrow

Poetry by Kushal Poddar (Ring,Ring, Round and Round) “It is not really a beast-a shapeshifting leaf bearing the unbearable isolation of the early spring and falling into the deserted lanes of pandemic…It is not a real leaf” (Comorbidity) “The Winter thaws. Streets squiggle in the mud”poem by Lee Potts (A Concise History of the Wind) “Countless threads crossed above and beneath us The same blue as oceans You’d find on antique atlas showing the ends of the earth” art by Whiskey Radish (A Sortie), Poetry by Khalisa Rae (This Sounds Like Leaving) “Searching for replicas of our past with subtle differences thinking the subtle will wake us up from this looping nightmare” poetry by Vismai Rao (After my death by staring too long at the sea, I rebirth as mango seed) “with the barest of things: sunshine, water, unlimited oxygen. A hit of warmth and my body cracks open to shatter & dissolve” poem by Larissa Reid (The Mythologies of home) “That day, hear heart felt like paper. It had lost its shape, its weight, its very structure. It drifted lightly against the inside of her ribs” poetry from Monty Reid (from The Lockdown Elegies) Poetry by Andres Rojas (Time) (One)

Art/poetry by Moira J. Saucer (Myra: The Bitterroot Suite), Poetry from Anna Saunders (All the Fallen Gold) “I will keep this precious leaf until the underworld gods call for alms” poem from Preston Smith (Quarantine Love Poem) “I’ve found that growing flowers is hard in the Anthropocene. There is Tinder and there is tyranny, and they are both tired-“poetry/story from Ankh Spice (Here is the toll) “Yes, the bail, yes the scoop, I was and am still, now scooping the soft from myself to caulk the blistered wood.” poem from Alina Stefanescu (Imbibet) “The constraint lies on the bed with one head hanging off the edge” Poem from Samuel Stathman (For Archie) poetry by Claire Trevien (Or another exit door), poetry by Bunkong Tuon (No One Asked but They Did it Anyway, Visual poetry from Margaret Viboolsittiseri (a love letter to me (b&white version), (intent)

A Poetry Showcase with Pasithea Chan (September 2022)

Author’s Notes:

Ekphrastic Wrap inspired by Chinese painter Liu Maoshan’s La Friterie.
Written in 10 lines with 94 words with the rhyming scheme of aa bb cc dd ee
Credit for the photo goes to:
Please visit the Liu Maoshan’s page on:
And a gallery page with clear display of Liu Maoshan’s work on:

Sadness & Loneliness in Color

Cream and beige loneliness cling on sadness in drab buildings,
buildings with windows holding drabness like its belongings

Belongings heavy with gloom spinning a grayish loom,
loom of desolation weaving threads of isolation that loom.

Loom of ghosts and haunted thoughts running in silence
silence that dawns reverence to break dissonance with silence.

Silence that falls on pavements with brackish pigments
pigments segmented with asphalt hues on walls with yellow pigments. Pigments from nostalgic mind figments of scattered leaves on Chinese Firs
Firs daubed in silver pigments to give light strokes showing fading firs

Much or Match

They will tell you:
friends are family
we choose ourselves.

I will tell you:
friends are either
much or a match.

Much in a bunch
gives hurt a punch
from friends in life’s crunch.

A much that burns
with love and care
with kindness so fair
with understanding
before being understood.

Match of disgrace
gives hurt a face
from fake friends in life’s crunch.

A match that burns:
respect with lies
success with envy
love with jealousy
and kindness with hurt.

Between much and match
are fires of desire and satire.
All hearts go down that gyre
until time lets truth transpire.

Much with loving desire
bids respect you can admire
from real friends showing life at its best..

Match with jealousy’s fire
bids disrespect and ire
from fake friends making life a test.

Take it from me:
let much light your match.
Keep those much because they match
but lose those matches like a boring klatch.

Hold on to much to light your fire
with dedication’s matching desire!
Who needs a match when you have a bunch
capable of giving life’s mishaps a punch?

Author’s Notes:
You may not have much friends or your friends may not have much but that bunch is all you need to give hurt and trials a punch. But you may also have many friends that burn your existence with waste and lies like a match. So why keep that bunch? Matches were made to set fires. Hence the poem : Much or Match.

Ships that Never Come

You look behind me
and see potential’s horizon.
But you don’t see
the ocean that divides us.

You look up to the sky
but I look under my feet.
You see clouds coming down
I see the ocean touching heaven.

You chase shadows
but you don’t know I cast them.
You pick up stones
I walk on them.

You go with the flow
a ship I watch from the shore.
You expect me to follow
that’s why I had to let go.

You live in the clouds
parsing stars with scars.
I see you like a farce
masquerading lies as stars.

We are worlds apart
parted by an ocean of thought.
When you arrive I leave
but when you leave I live.

You may be sure
about your ship.
But I am a shore
that’ll never let you anchor.

Some ships never come
because they were never welcome.
Yet many can’t tell
when they’re supposed to leave.

Author’s Notes:
This piece is about emotional and intellectual disconnection between a man and a woman in a relationship. The man sees himself a ship that the woman’s been waiting for all her life on the shore when in fact she sees him a ship that sailed long ago. They are both looking at the same scenery but they aren’t looking in the same direction. People don’t just drift apart, they simply shouldn’t have been together.

Rainbows without Sunshine

Tomorrow seems so grey with clouds so fey
clustered in a maddening fray dragging
souls to fates shaped by those who can stay
under a sky of dreams lost in circumstance raining
hurt and wait for hope’s rainbow to come shining.

Life is a meadow traversed in a bellow shay
bearing lupine smiles, and thistle cries dragging
hurt’s atrocious weeds that spill their whey
on love’s violets and care’s paintbrushes growing
wildly and sparsely dying in winter to live in spring.

Tomorrow is life’s sky overlooking mountains that play
under rainbows on life’s virid meadow showing
souls, that majesty in clay, can rise and have a say
if it can play dreams with actions under an overarching
rainbow even when skies rain and the sun isn’t shining!

Author’s Notes:
A cinquain written in 127 words with the rhyme scheme of ababb in 3 stanzas one for the sky, one for the meadow and one for the mountains.
Inspired by a photo from artist and photographer Candace Diar depicting Colorado’s Wild flowers:

Old & New Peers

Filter, filter, makes you a trendsetter
hiding the fact that you’re much older.
Sticker and glitter to show you matter
lest you be called a bitter critter.

Slangs, hashtags and comments
define events and moments.
Followers to buy or sell components
otherwise lifetime opponents.

Freedom of speech and gender
to unleash chaos for a new world order.
Because misconduct is the way to be proper,
In a time where being real is harder.

Real issues thrown away like used tissues.
Who needs solutions when we can sell problems?
Why stand together when you can divide and conquer?
Judging is thinking because talking is listening.
New generations claim to know better
because the old ways are no longer
Now that the truth is out of order.

And so we filter pictures creating monsters
because problems create believers
because ideas are dangerous and liars are winners
because politicians have worshipers.
of hashtags and opinions shared as stickers.
Who can afford to snooze when nobody wants losers?

According to the new diction: New generation
are masses in competition choosing a mission
focused on a life based on recognition
even if it leads to self destruction or omission.
With an ideology of indecision
advocating mass incognition,
perversion and corruption define recognition.

Original is a sin in a world of have been.
It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen
because change now comes from a bin
where death and silence are akin
and emotion is a matter of skin
where the truth is a bubble popped by a pin
we call how to be in and stay in.

So cheers, here’s to your fears
having the loudest jeers.
Keep your filters, I have my leers.
You have your eyes, I have my ears.
I guess old and new can’t be peers.

#newage #newgeneration #socialmedia #realissues #life #truth #reality #violence #lifematters #division

Candlelit Ice Rinks

Deep in a cagey cradle
it beats pumping endlessly.
Sometimes it pumps
enough to overflow in words.
Sometimes it skips
a beat killing cries.

You can run out
of paper or ink
trying to be heard out.
Or you could die out
like frost on an ice rink.

Dark or bright
heavy or light
hearts and pens
define right or plight.

Poems are hearts’
desolate skating rink.
Sometimes leaving marks
on moments of fire or ice.

Passion is a candle
burning elusively.
It seeps in cracks
pushing or stopping words
in tracks like small sips
halted by gulps or hiccups.

So let your poems handle
your passions loosely.
Pen your works
as per moments
of cares or hurts.
Like all arts, poetry hurts.

Akhal Teke Autumn

She canters freedom like wind
Gallops wilderness like fire
And into metallic dreams
She blazes banter with reverence-
Only to chute through life’s greenbrier-
letting seasons mark her deviance!

As she gaits, bittersweet love is dinned
with a shako of loss and a whimsical rouleau!
She caulks impressions from semblance-
Halting anguish with mystic desire!
Denying cant from reinters is a gyre-
she perfectly forms as she trots!

In her cremello eyes is a mundane escape
from all that is eidolon and bemire!
Waiting for her rider, she dismounts-
popinjays with utmost countenance!
Mettlesome is her autumn full of satire!

Tequila lit Akhal Teke you sire-
Autumn’s passions so Bordeaux-
For your love’s winter pines
my heart with perseverance
overcome with awe and surefire!

Author’s Notes:
Akhal Teke(Turkmenistan Stallion): A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence

Magician’s Ombre

He trumps with masculine beginnings
under Mercury’s will to command
Renegados: heart, mind, and soul

He is skill’s regal teacher
playing will’s red suit
against a black intellect.

His motive is untainted innocence
draping red passion and experience
unto humans’ conscious existence.

He belts his waist- a divine bridge
for both worlds: spirit and human
manifesting desires into reality.

Eternity is his tiara shining
over elements of an alchemist table
fit for a banquet for three players.

Wearing mismatched red and white lilies
for slippers of majesty: good and evil
He leaves you plagued with creativity.

Drinking a cup of emotional fulfillment
filled with imagination and beauty.
He will dance you to productivity.

He eats from a pentacle of brilliance
molded for perfection, baked in patience-
to serve you excellence and practicality.

Armed with the sword of mental clarity
his judgments are sound and canny
with ideas so profound with relativity.

He is master of illusion and duality
a shaman and a charlatan prodigy-
who’s game only for the witty!

Author’s Notes:
Tarot cards have been associated with card games all over Europe mainly the 3 player game “Ombre” of Spanish origin- known as well as Renegado”. This poem discusses the traits, personalities and behavior of the tarot card ” the Magician” as part of a reading and the personality of the zodiac sign or person it is associated with.

Love and War

Love a child with tantrums
makes demands that are costly.
Like a child taking a stride
wearing your mind
in its little feet for a feat!

Before you know it
the fire around you is lit.
You find yourself waging war
on its behalf and eager to enlist
for proxy wars that may exist.

Love a child with tantrums
plays pretend around family.
Like a child it hides behind
you as you face canons so snide
not knowing defeat is your only treat.

Before you know it
you no longer fit
anywhere except out the door
of loved ones for whom you slit
your wrist as they vanish like mist.

Love a child with tantrums
builds and destroys family.
Like a child it will leave your side
and refuse you if you backslide.
So watch your step and mind your feet.

Without you knowing it
you will get hit
with words that score
your value as per a list
tweaked with blame for a twist.

Love a child with tantrums
never plays fair around family.
Like a child it will deny you’ve tried
and bid you farewell saying you pried.
It’ll run you over like an ironed pleat.

Before you know it
you will be called a dimwit
for choosing love over war.
Do you get the gist
of Love and War’s whist?

Author’s Notes:
Inspired by: Sting- This War
They say All is Fair in Love & War. Love between two people is a messy business but love among family is way messier. You tend to protect and defend and support family but these gestures are sometimes the cause for families to dissolve. Many times the saying: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” is a reality. This is when you realize that it’s hard to watch someone you love outside behind a glass window but sometimes it’s great because that’s the most you can get close.

Stem Gem Schlemm

Put them anywhere and they will grow
into anything you want them to be.
Whether you are gunning for cancer
cells or growing new limbs!
They call them stem cells
because life stems from them.

Put your heart on anything and it will flow
with passion opening doors like a key.
Whether you are after danger
or fostering love or making sacrifices.
They call it a heart because life holds
unto it like a chord for rhythm.

Hearts’ dynamics stow
fit or misfit attitudes for free.
Whether in severe anger
or one sided compromises.
Qalb in Arabic or heart comes
from the verb “yaqlib” as in flips.
Hearts are thereby a stem gem.

So safeguard your cord from envy’s blow
Mind your heart’s beat from pity.
Such keen cleat can fetter
the art of beat and feat with regrets.
Beat for what’s right with right moves
but choose your feat for the right reasons!
Don’t atrophy your cord with confusion’s hem.

It’s easy to lose tomorrow
with circumstance’s eye.
For when trials’ lenses blur
truth’s lights;
Value’s aqueous humor leaks
out of self respect’s Schlemm.

Author’s Notes:
Inspired by
 : Lindsey Stirling’s Hold My Heart, youtube link:

The first Chord is for rhythm of vitality the second cord is for the etymology of the word heart which comes from the EU word Kord to indicate lifeline= cord.
Schlemm: a circular canal lying in the substance of the sclerocorneal junction of the eye and draining the aqueous humor from the anterior chamber into the veins draining the eyeball — called also Schlemm’s canal, sinus venosus sclerae.

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Sarah-Jane

gif from Sarah-Jane

Q1: When did you start writing and whom influenced you the most now and currently? 

Sarah-Jane: I’ve written illustrated stories and poetry as far back as I can remember. The first was about a family of rabbits – I was about four. It had no words but all the rabbits had different patterns on their trousers. My biggest influence is probably old-school poetry forums. I’m a bit wary of mentioning these as their workshopping can be very brutal, and hit-and-miss (you need a thick skin to survive and I wouldn’t recommend them for everyone) but places like Poetry Free For All were free and accessible resources for me when I was otherwise isolated, very short of money, and raising two small children. 

Q2: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer? 

Sarah-Jane: Yes! When a colleague at work talked about my ‘lack of creative practice’ as a put-down. I thought inwardly ‘I have got a creative practice’ and I started to look where I might submit work for possible publication.

Q3: Who has helped you most with writing and career? 

Sarah-Jane: Besides the myriad people on old-school poetry forums and lovely poets and artists on twitter, I have a group of close poet-friends whose work I admire. We meet to discuss poetry and life weekly, and their help is invaluable. Also, there were a few kind editors back when I was just sending off work that took time out to give me a couple of lines of valuable advice, sometimes about the poems, sometimes about my bio. Small things, but they helped. And being part of a super-lovely, super-talented poet/artist twitter community.

Q4: Where did you grow up and how did that influence you? Have any travels influenced your work? 

Sarah-Jane: I grew up in a tiny, tiny village in the middle of nowhere with my Mum (who didn’t drive). My Dad was frequently away travelling. It was only when I went away to college that I realised not all shopping trips took place monthly, and things like all-night-garages existed. I thought all-night garages were magical. I’d stay up until midnight to buy a Kit-Kat just because I could. I think growing up surrounded by so much nature programmed me to look at colours, scents and sounds in a close way. I developed a very vivid imagination. Also it was quite boring so I read an awful lot!

Q5: What do you consider your most meaningful work creatively to you? 

Sarah-Jane; Probably my first ever ‘series’ of visual poems that ‘worked’ cohesively as an idea – erasure poems based on a late (19 scientific diary/set of observations which created imaginary constellations. Making them taught me how to move between analogue and digital techniques, and to work in a sequence.

Q6: Favorite activities to relax? 

Sarah-Jane: Drawing and reading. I don’t do a great deal of conscious relaxation. I work and work and work and work, then I sleep.

Q7: What is a favorite line/ stanza/lyric from your writing? 

Sarah-Jane: ‘Bad cleverness in the artist’. It’s ‘found’ text from an early (20 technical guide to calligraphy. 

Q8: What kind of music inspires you the most? What is a song or songs that always come back to you as an inspiration? 

Sarah-Jane: I play artists I like on repeat. It changes according to what I’m working on, but at the moment it’s usually Loma.

Q9: Do you have any recent or upcoming books, music, events, projects that you would like to promote? 

Sarah-Jane: I’ll be collaborating again with the fabulous Renee at Rare Swan press soon. And I’ll be bringing out a short-print run artist book with The Ethelzine in 2023. I work at Hereford College of Arts and I’ve some tiny accordion books and lots of images and video/audio on show at our staff showcase now (the private view is today) so if you live near Hereford please drop in!

Bonus Question: Any funny memory or strange occurrence you’d like to share during your creative journey? 

Sarah-Jane: Collage brings with it a definition of strange. I once spent a morning sticking teeny-tiny lightbulbs onto a variety of teeny tiny insect derrières.

Please include any links, bio, a photo to be posted on the website.

Twitter: @Sarahjfc

Insta: Sarah_jfc


Bio: Sarah-Jane’s work is inspired by fairytales, nature, psychogeography and surrealism. She uses bricolage to explore the space between real and imagined; creating alternative narratives as small acts of resistance. Sarah-Jane’s work can be seen in various journals, including Waxwing Literary Journal, Rattle, Petrichor, Sugar House Review and Iron Horse Literary Review. You can find her on Twitter @Sarahjfc or on her website at

Inspired by Leonard Cohen lyric visual piece from Maggs Vibo

(c)Maggs Vibo

Maggs Vibo (aka Margaret Viboolsittiseri) a visual poet/artist who has had several art & poetry pieces included in Fevers of the Mind online & in print anthologies. Maggs also designed the Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview series logo, and the photo which is the cover art to my book “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” is from a photo that Maggs photographed.

Congrats! To Fevers of the Mind contributor Maggs Vibo

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Margaret Viboolsittiseri aka Maggs Vibo

Photography from Maggs Vibo : Lone Road on Island of Moloka’i

I Don’t Need Anesthesia: Photo Art & Poetry by Maggs Vibo

Visual Poetry by Maggs Vibo : the Year of the Ox

I Don’t Need Anesthesia: Photo Art & Poetry by Maggs Vibo

Congrats! To Fevers of the Mind contributor Maggs Vibo

Maggs Vibo (aka Margaret Viboolsittiseri) a visual poet/artist who has had several art & poetry pieces included in Fevers of the Mind online & in print anthologies. Maggs also designed the Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview series logo, and the photo which is the cover art to my book “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” is from a photo that Maggs photographed.

Maggs is a veteran and recently had attended The Library of Congress Artist Showcase event (at the Thomas Jefferson building)as part of a group exhibition for artist. Her work with Fevers of the Mind and other poetry journals was included as a teaching aid at the Library. Here are some photos from this event and a podcast with Maggs “Leave No Veteran Behind”

Margaret Viboolsittiseri (aka Maggs Vibo) works in print, broadcast, special events, glitch media, and online. She is a contributor for Poem Atlas and has experimental art in the winnow
magazine, Coven Poetry, Ice Floe Press, The Babel Tower Notice Board, ang(st), The Wombwell Rainbow. Recent anthologies include Poem Atlas ‘aww-struck’, Steel Incisors, Fevers of the
Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 (January, 2021) and ‘My teeth don’t chew on shrapnel’: an anthology of poetry by military veterans (Oxford Brookes, 2020). She tweets @maggsvibo
and her website is