Drinking to forget again (nearly home time)

Yoon Yong is drunk again. Drinking to forget again (nearly home time)   …3 bottles of Soju later & staggering thoughtfully through tight gullies | her stomach   packed full of pig | mouth reeking of garlic noxious enough to stun a jindo—the stars like pheasant tracks   —if you count all the stars is [...]

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Irena Hergottova (7 Poems)

  1. Thrilled that I was able to encourage Irena to submit to us, she is a poet with a rare insight on her lived perspective as a woman, wife, mother, migrant & humanitarian.
    Please, please, please encourage Irena to write more, she’s really very good at it & needs people to tell her, to give her the confidence to do it as much as possible, for my sake, think about me dear readers, I want more to read from Irena.

Thanks for reading & see our submissions page if you are interested in submitting, we are always open to submissions from emerging writers, hidden, shy writers & the cream of the crop. We don’t care where you are in your career, we want the best, we want poems that reveal, expand, incise with insight, boldly baffle, poems impossible to predict but speak to our deeper senses of understanding, the poems from everyone to everything, the poems of our climate, clippered with lillies & speak out the kindling as they rage on the pyre.

Underfoot Poetry

Nothing of Me on the Moon

The moon where I live
sucks up all darkness,
it’s a pond upside down.

The moon that I know
casts a circle of brightness,
a Chinese lantern in the sky.

Like a pot of honey never falling,
she just sits there, waiting for my glance.

I no longer ask such questions as
what’s the air like, is there noise?

I am happy sitting near the window
resting my eyes on the distant ball of stone.

I narrow my view—does she ever wonder,
am I a blot of blood, a stubborn stain
or just a fleeting interest
with a shimmering spotlight,
a random puppet
positioned in a frame…?

In the blink of an eye, everything’s forgotten,
there is nothing of my presence imprinted on the Moon.

An ocean that no one sees,
drops of rain falling on its surface at night…
I mean the sea…

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Lil’ Spud

Children can be so cruel. Lil’ Spud queuing to pay for my basket of tofu, sesame oil, red chili & pumpkin seeds at the local mart— a boy, lil’ spud of a child pointed at me, singled me out &, with the menace of Mephistopheles laughed archly—no question, he directed the tip of that podgy [...]