12/15/09 – jen kolic

jen kolic

I broke into your house not knowing what I was looking for. You, maybe.

Instead there’s an overturned stroller in the living room. Piles of clothes that must be yours. Empty picture frames like open mouths. Your mother’s dishes.

You’re dead, and I’m dying.

Through every window you watch me from the dark porch, waiting for me to say it. Waiting for me to open my mouth.

In the attic the rain is deafening. And you’re down there somewhere. Sprawled on the garage roof or the front lawn or Cherry Avenue. In every memory your eyes are already vacant. I never liked it up here, the sloping ceiling pressing down to meet me, and all the sleeping rooms below.

There aren’t any stars tonight, and anyway they’re not for us. You’re dead. And I killed you. And I’m dying.

moon

Jen Kolic is a writer, editor, and know-it-all living in Denver. She co-hosts Queen City Companion with Brian Flynn, and Mutiny Book Club with Byron Graham. Jen enjoys cats, junk food, and mystery novels, ideally all at once. 

Photo: Yener Ozturk

midwestern meditation – adrian s. potter

Stephen Radford

Having never been to heaven, I can’t conceive of hell. But when I consider it, I see yellow crops crowding a flat expanse and everything tinged with ochre – even our incendiary expectations. During our road trip, we solve the riddle of boredom by inventorying the silos, smokestacks, and silence that populates the prairie skyline. Everything we say sounds like an echo of something we said earlier. But in your eyes, I witness truth: brown of soil, green of grass, gold of grain, gray of tornadoes. Still, I dream of foreclosed fields and dying cowtowns, and yours the only living soul, a specter in reverse.

cropped-ghost-january.jpg

Adrian S. Potter writes poetry and short fiction. He is the author of the fiction chapbook Survival Notes (Červená Barva Press, 2008) and winner of the 2010 Southern Illinois Writers Guild Poetry Contest. Some publication credits include North American Review, Obsidian and Kansas City Voices. He blogs, sometimes, at http://adrianspotter.com/.

Photo: Stephen Radford

they are under my comforter of stars – promise clutter

redwoods
there will be an October surely,
my love,
suspended in fog
spiced with bark
& trapped beneath a canopy of mules
blocking the heavens from knowing
which way the wind blows
i do not catch in the chill
nothing here brings me to you
i see love in the gold glint on green
in the heat of the day
at night, the dogs hear
my mournful howls
i am not for you
as the redwoods are
i shed my leaves
before the first frost
i think you are the only one
to have ever seen the moon,
my love,
with candied cheek awe
trimming back eyelashes
exposing lakes of arcane calm
it is silent in comptche
we shuffle across dirt paths
i grab our elbows
to make us stargaze
they too are under
these lights
when you shine on them
won’t you send my love?
i grew accustomed to living without you,
my love,
here where the candlewax waves
crash against the stones
& the crow’s caw pierces my heart
my heart that aches for you
cropped-ghost-january.jpg

south broadway ghost society – raising funds for first print journal

00 ghosts

Friends,

I am starting a gofundme to raise money for the first ever print journal to be distributed by the literary and arts collective I run, South Broadway Ghost Society, and I am asking your help by pledging anything you can to help, big or small.

In the last four months since inception, South Broadway Ghost Society has grown immensely. We’ve already featured hundreds of writers, poets, artists and photographers, many of which right of of Denver, on our online journal, our curated Instagram and on social media at large. We’ve hosted four very eclectic events thus far: a reading at Mutiny Information Cafe, an open mic for letters at the Corner Beet, an intimate poetry/music mashup at Green Lady Gardens and most recently, an art gallery/live music/poetry event out of Thought/Forms Gallery near the Arts District on Santa Fe.

Ghost Society has 100% of my heart in it. I’ve made a commitment to myself to dedicate at least ten years to this project, wherein I intend to continue hosting events and I am very excited to announce, start an annual print journal which I aim to have distributed as largely as possible. Outside of obvious avenues of distribution like local and chain bookstores, I also want to get the journal into metaphysical stores and would love to have tables at events such as the Denver Zine Fest, DiNK and the Curiosities & Oddities Expo. The magazine will be fully illustrated with art and photography featured against works of writing from every genre; poetry, non-fiction, essays, fiction, recipes, spells, whatever finds its way to us.

I am asking for your help to make that happen. Our goal of $999 would make it possible to have the foundation to build up from there, to pay artists who are accepted into the print journal and get going on distribution this October. Thank you for considering investing in this project which means the world to me.

Even if you can’t donate, you can help a lot just by sharing the gofundme page. You can find that page HERE.

Much Love,

Brice Maiurro
Founder/Editor-In-Chief, South Broadway Ghost Society

*Anyone who contributes $50 or more will receive a numbered first printing copy of the journal when it is available in October of 2019 mailed to you, or available for pickup at any of our events. Please include your address in the comments or email your physical address with the subject “Print Journal 50” to soboghosts@gmail.com.

Thank you.

four hybrids – howie good

_DSC0295 (2)

Miss Plum in the Bedroom with the Candlestick

Crime was common back then, and the law itself often criminal. Nobody was safe from the thugs prowling the city. It took a constant and wearying vigilance to survive. If I happened to fall asleep, I’d wake up afraid. I think I was afraid she wouldn’t be there, peering out through a crack in the curtains. Why you here? I asked the first time she appeared. She just gave a fuzzy, fragile smile. The ambiguity was intentional. When you leave details out, it opens up possibilities for what can be – an ancient tree whose entwined branches support 34 brilliant candles.

Shredded

Private lives are now lived in public. That’s the problem with putting Velveeta on enchiladas. It’s only a matter of time before the celebrity chefs start to show up. I pedal away as if I have to actually get somewhere. Everyone I owe an explanation tries following me – sons, daughters, parents, co-workers, etc. We’re a wandering soap opera. “You can’t paint them trees,” protesters yell from the sidewalk. I just want some semblance of normality back in my life, some sort of quiet, and my heart to stop agonizing like a flock of gulls being sucked into a jet engine.

Shadowlands

When you look back over your shoulder, you see yourself looking quizzically back at you. You always assumed that you’d been given up for adoption. Now, more than 35 years later, you know. It’s night, and everything is also nothing, the dark howls and whimpers of women in search of their shadows.

The Later Years

Given a choice, I would want to be the sort of shrewd, goatish old man it’s said Rodin was, strolling about the boulevards and back alleys of Paris, while the work in marble went on nevertheless in his head and a young Russian-born French lady leaned lightly on his arm, and if her eyes were a little too wide apart, or if she didn’t actually read any of the books he recommended, he wouldn’t care, because it had just turned spring, and the air was like a mix of wine and brandy, and they were always at least somewhat drunk.

sbgs cowskull

Howie Good, Ph.D., a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of The Loser’s Guide to Street Fighting, winner of the 2017 Lorien Prize from Thoughtcrime Press, and Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry, among other books. He co-edits the literary journals UnLost and Unbroken with Dale Wisely.

Photo: @sweetdangerzack

submit to south broadway ghost society.