Sunday, February 28, 2010

to sonnet y ~ Simon Howard

tonight there went swans & circumferences
descriptive of coordinated elimination
there went weightless ropes
thrown into kitchens of knife-crime figuration
a style of headgear not understood nor
adored,carillon witch-hunt,there were
cicatrice-dolls,someone is
oiling them now according to schemata
divergence economico-satin & cased
crusted unequally staunched.that aperture
glares into prepared arcadia,its martyrology
sucks a sack of pantaloons kisssed
in tearful standstill despair retributive
sub-plus kink.a stretch of those lamp;

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

(parmenides) ~ S J Fowler

the other, namely, that it is not

and that something must needs not be

that, I tell you, is a wholy untrustworthy path

for you cannot know what is not

that is impossible

nor utter it.

for it is the same thing that can be thought

and that can be

always straining her eyes

to the beams of the sun

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Water Globe ~ Carly Hind

You spilled your brains in the street
Whilst I counted back from one hundred-
In barely an utterance.
The numbers slipped around my tongue,
Sharp like the scraping of burnt toast.

There were already flowers at your feet,
And the graffiti sketch of funerary art
For public mourning.
Afterwards they built you a Taj Mahal,
A mausoleum of white tents and tape.

Passing eyes rolled like polished globes,
Drifting with the calm shake of snow-
Where you lived,
Where the deeply splintered keel
Raged against leaning frozen surf.

Burrowing ~ Carly Hind

We picked at tube worms
Like it was an adventure,
String puppets of the earth
Forging the deepest love-
From no less than nine hearts.
It took us a year to nourish,
Our growth scattered
Like embryonic plants
Drowning in a rainstorm.
We thickened our colony,
Stirring in alternate waves
Of muscular contractions.
Lowly and organized
We grazed too quietly,
And found ourselves sunk,
Like fingers in the throat
Of a heaving bird.

Carly says ...
I spend approximately thirty hours a week in a bookshop, luckily i get paid to be there. The other 138 hours of the week I divide between sleeping (optional) eating (necessary) and writing (naturally). Much of my work can be found at, mostly poetry and some experiments with flash fiction. I currently reside in Carlisle where I
recently moved to try a little hibernation from city life. I studied Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University where I hope to return come September to earn a Masters in the same subject.

Friday, February 19, 2010

The Red Ceilings Press e series

We are delighted to announce the launch of The Red Ceiling Press.
Starting with an e series of online and downloadable booklets.
First up - Simon Howard's Numbers.

If you are interested in submitting work for publication please email the red ceilings at

to download the booklet go here

Sunday, February 14, 2010

(cyprian norwid) ~ S J Fowler

wreathing weed
earwigs are only grazing
leave them to live

what can I leave in the squats?
in the womb of the empty

moreover, the womb?
what will I leave in the wombs
of those girls in the street

spent casings and

S J Fowler is a postgraduate student of philosophy in London he also works for the British Museum. He can be found here and here.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Beauties ~ Beth Levin

Little ZaZa
lost in the Turkish March
later sketches a vase
like Matisse

Liam laughs quietly
at my fervor
he plays but still no feeling
I suffer

Ashley who doesn't own a piano
masters a Bach minuet
I look on Ebay for a used spinet

Chris, my shore bird
grew up in Japan
technique only beginning
but has exotic legs

Isabella alters the rhythm
I let her
sassier her way

Jeff's thumb dangles below the keyboard
my silent gasp
I remind him hold an invisible peach

The master class silent
Jeremy 12 in shirt and tie plays perfect Bach
barely audible sighs

A valley girl
attempts a Brahms Intermezzo
it's a question of light years

A.O. comes to music
as a respite from words
a Schubert Impromptu
flowing away from a typewriter
away from a deadline

Soon-Ji in satin slippers
the concerto so well groomed
not a hint of lah-di-dah
her mother outside the door

Beth is. She can be found at