Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Ariana D. Den Bleyker

Hold On

It’s really something from the past
               when you and I split     up.

Let’s be honest, who doesn’t say too much.
in those odd hours through the fractured, spotted
syl-la-bles falling upward into their mouths.

In this splitting and reforming,
through these pretzel-like graceful movements
propelling us, we levitate
our wanting someone,
our wanting to change.

Swim down, swim into it. Hold onto
the decaying that keeps us alive.

Ariana D. Den Bleyker is a Pittsburgh native currently residing in a small town in New York where she is a wife and mother of two. She is passionate about poetry because it speaks to her, influences her daily life, and encourages her to write while she draws much of her energy from her own life experiences. Her most recent work was featured in The Homestead Review and will be included in the upcoming editions of Stone Highway Review, Burnt Bridge and scissors and spackle.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Felino A. Soriano

Recollections 83


as yet: of yet a fragmented wholesome
whole then vehicle to tongue you, listener; I
as operating function, finger twisting
non-verbal meaning: may you feed the I
of my language’s plural? read my
manual upon operating sans transgressional

Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 45 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,800 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website:

Monday, July 25, 2011

Valentina Cano

Anti-Depressant Waltz

He began to see things in

too many colors.

Spikes of anger that

took shape before him

like taloned domes.

He tried to wring the colors out

in a struggle of limbs.

He tried to make things

clear (glass, pool-water) once again.

They refused to leave.

The colors soaked into his carpet,

dancing in a taunt of scales,

dipping under him,

sliding to the edge of the kitchen tiles

and back again.

He clutched at his head

with hands that swelled

in a nightmare of congealed blood

thick, chunky,

like ripped blood sausages.

Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time either writing or reading. Her works have appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Magnolia's Press, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals and will appear in the upcoming editions A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, The Corner Club Press, Death Rattle, Danse Macabre, Subliminal Interiors, Generations Literary Journal, Super Poetry Highway, Stream Press, Stone Telling and Perhaps I'm Wrong About the World. You can find her here:

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Kevin Limiti

Going through a maze
A toxic jungle
Headfirst into the weeds
No stopping for water
An array of colors
Strewn across with regrets
Feelings, son, feelings
Says my transcendental father
And I steep myself finally
Like a boulder into mud
And the water cleanses me
Thinking nothing of memories
But holding out for regret
And hating every minute
That I lived in this thicket.

Kevin Limiti has been suffering from Schizoaffective Disorder since he was seventeen years old.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Matthew John Davies

Lamb Licked

the small mass
of laboured friendships
has delegated the ersatz faith

the only one
the one that is scrolling
past erstwhile lovers
what chance does she have?

the little lamb who
joined society
licked joyfully by envelopes

Matthew John Davies' blog is at

Saturday, July 16, 2011


We are re-launching our magazine. From now on, we will publish work as it is accepted. Send in your submissions.

Please read our submission guidelines first.

Thank you.

The Editor