Sunday, January 30, 2011

Latest news

Here at The Red Ceilings we are delighted to announce the launch of our new website and the launch of our chapbooks. All of which can be found here at

First title is a limited edition of Simon Howard's adrift. 40 copies available so be quick.

Free ebooks too - including the fab red notebooks, by rob mclennan.

Are we mad?

I LoVe Louis Vuitton ~ Jarrad Dickson

You’ll have the eyes of Louis Vuitton

And a curved eyelid like an unfolding rose bud,

And you shall be red, white and black as the Louis Vuitton.

You are a flame
And I am your butterfly.

The Armani boot
Falls off your foot in bed with me
As we make God and Satan dance.

I unfold your L, your V,
And I see you whiter than a rose,
A pale, milky, white, LoVe
With the fingernails of Moschino
And the Holy Chalice Breast Gloss

Of Vuitton; our dear, dear, and dead, Louis…

I am a curtain holding you together.
Undo our love, and you will fall like Pandora,
As a sainted Mycenaean,
Whispering your final words before the full stop,
“Every women adores a Louis Vuitton.”

We went together, you and me, don’t you remember?
We kissed at Parcels, stabbed ourselves with perfume
And unwrapped our sheets, and you spread yourself
As the Blue Angel, my dear, dear and dead LoVe.

Your L undoes from the V
And we are the frail, we have the blood of liars,
Now, LoVe, come close behind my ear
And I will trap you like light into my diamond.

Jarrad Dickson is an aspiring "Artspersonality," he has published 4 books, one with noted psychologist Dr. Dan L. Edmunds, and has a book named The Chamber of Diseases about fringe theories, ego-death, coming out this year tentatively with Dark Harvest Occult Publishers, and should be publishing a book of paintings and poems with Arthur Shillings press. He went to Dilworth school, in Auckland, NZ. He has visions, and in his first 3 books induced his visions into books as a type of "literary psychosis." This poem "I LoVe Louis Vuitton" will be published by The Red Ceilings Press in an echap soon, with 27 poems of 27 lines each. It is a book of "fashion poetry," inspired by designers, the beauty of model Lily Cole, and women. Jarrad is 24.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

red notebooks, ~ rob mclennan

We are very pleased to announce the latest offering from The Red Ceilings Press, an e series of online and downloadable booklets.

red notebooks, by rob mclennan

To download the booklet go here

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Oh, Ouch ~ Kate Fujimoto

I drank too much coffee and stayed up

Pressed my finger to the lightbulb.

Told myself
the coffee’s gotten better than you
at making
my hands shake and
my heart
jump loud in my ears and

can’t I say
I see


glorious about
not making a big deal?

A Skinned Knee ~ Kate Fujimoto

In the summer
I went home
and skinned my knee on a boy.
He was tall enough
to see clean over my head, and
thin enough
to walk through walls.
He had a weak chin –
which made him look brave.
It was heartless of me but
I loved
that there was so much he would not say –
the way he laughed about
the holes in his life.
I wanted to fill these like
walking pneumonia,
but even though he was younger than me
I knew
he knew more.
Like how to go for days without eating.
Or sleep with one eye open. 

Kate says
I am studying English at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, Washington.
I write poems which can also be found here:
I make music (when I have time).
I like my coffee black.


Monday, January 24, 2011

Various positions, ~ rob mclennan

safety-orange; pin all your hopes,
or selflessness, a puff of smoke,

        linger in,
        your aching beds,

is it private to speak out,
primary colours?

slackened, thrift, a passion
stricken, not

of a depicted sense

        dispersing waves,
        a shelter seasons,


gimme shelter, shelter; mud darkens,
fast, slow-rising light,

Wintergreen, ~ rob mclennan

if what we were,
life-sized; an urge to toss my drink,

a wave of subdivided chatter,

         not so much
         as viewable,

should clarify; snow stuck to my ribcage,
a pleated wool condition,

sickness, breaks; a wheeze,
thin strip of cellophane,

        encyclopedic pose
        of enzymes,

grim evolutions; what fails,
a second lick of sugar,

Parenthesis, ~ rob mclennan

the metaphor of finding; a discovery poem,
somewhat obvious,

    we burned our skin
    , the skin of our books

made smaller; to survive
what left of futures,

the name begins at water,
parted for the sake,

            which of these things

the sky itself no longer
an archives untipped scatter,

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011), 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010) and wild horses (2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009), An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (, seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics ( and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater ( He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at

Monday, January 17, 2011

(punchbag) ~ SJ Fowler

the act of impotence
to spray a thousand stings
in return
the inanimate swings
indifference returns
to spill a thousand punches
on the crown of real people
in do doing, to produce
and exact
the fine line between
     digging in earth
               or water

from Fights IV Antonio Margarito (the arthur shilling press, 2010)