Size really DOES matter…

August 24, 2015

sizematters

S-appronS-beltsanitarywear

The End of the World

August 24, 2015

Octopus

Starfish. The frog prince unkissed.
In sand, a castle

Guarded by a boy’s hand.
Neon bells colliding inside the cyclone.

For thirty miles
The coral multiplies.

Bodies ballooning in caves.
A smile serene on the queen’s face.

Shards spinning in the lighthouse.
Octopus gnawing warm bones.

Denise Hyam

(Denise Hyam was born in Sydney Australia, she migrated to London at the age of 19. She loves cricket and spends all Summer watching it.)

Pain…

August 24, 2015

foritnow

It’s easy to assume that any bottom enjoys pain, so we will remind you that Dossie did not play with pain for her first several years in S/M: pain is an acquired taste for a lot of folk. We are both very happy that we’ve acquired it, but would still look askance at someone who would inflict intense pain on us without some reason to believe that we would enjoy it.

Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy
The New Topping Book

In praise of Lovecraft…

August 24, 2015

a hot day in the park

August 24, 2015

dayinpark

The sky is blind with glare as, ambling,
I squint at strangers and shade eyes to
stare at squadrons of coot and swan and duck.
On the struck lawns men are flat out,
newspapers tented over faces,
while by the lake I stop to gape as
a girl strips to let her body burn.
Trees are stunned with sun. Beyond all this
the urban mess, with cars a distant
anger.
In the cactus house the air
is still and spiked with eucalyptus.
From the roof an iron chain holds a
banana tree in place like a hung slave.
It sprouts fruit the size of fingers, and
green, green. Here plants and people merge in
deep miasmas, all movements die to
sighs and barest breathings.
But outside
vast clouds muscle in and heat builds up
to detonation point. The parkland swells,
paths melt, trees crack, and at a stroke the
sky splits to its quick and rains hiss. Through
the streaming glass I see people run,
distorted, become amoeboid blobs.
Shouts, cries splash across the park; around
me breathings quicken, the captive plants
grow restless in their foreign beds. Lost
among strange leaves I kneel, submit to
change, wait for the storm to blow over.

Wes Magee

(Wes Magee has published 6 collections of poetry for adults, and more than 90 books for children including poetry, fiction, plays, picture books, and anthologies).

Reading just now…

August 24, 2015

satan

A Warlock…?

August 24, 2015

notice

findsout

is not a place

August 24, 2015

endofdays

is not a place
the city
is a state of vision
a disease
discrete cell conduits
a desperation
animating mechanism

& these pictures
not a system of belief
they are a map
no metaphorical description
of a living fact
but factual description
of the living metaphor

& the map vanishes into the territory
& the map vanishes into the territory

Gordon Kennedy