Friday, July 29, 2011

Uncle Salvador's Cigar ~ Gordon Mason



The limited edition chapbook, Uncle Salvador's Cigar by Gordon Mason is now available from the Red Ceilings Press website. Lovely!

Friday, July 22, 2011

This is not Poetry. #poetry ~ Joseph A. W. Quintela

New free ebook out on the Red Ceilings Press. 
This is not Poetry. #poetry by Joseph A. W. Quintela.
Visit the website for the complete list of ebooks and limited edition chapbooks.



Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Juijitsu of Macking ~ Jesse Bradley

New free ebook out on the Red Ceilings Press. 
The Juijitsu of Macking by Jesse Bradley
Visit the website for the complete list of ebooks and limited edition chapbooks


The Red Ceilings Press reviewed







Andy Spragg's The fleetingest, David Berridge's BLACK GARDENS and Nathan Thompson's Questions for Painters are given the once over by the fine Mr Colin Herd in the wonderful 3:AM Magazine...

Friday, July 8, 2011

Rear Naked Choke ~ Jesse Bradley




I diagnosed myself with a severe
crush on you. The only treatment:
holding your hand and slow dancing
to the sound of something random.


I’ve got a brown belt in the jujitsu
of macking. Your sentences
get past my guard easily.


When you ask me which member
of the Wu-Tang Clan I’ll do it like,
I’ll answer “Old Dirty Bastard”,
not because I like it raw though.
Being beneath you will make me
loudly inarticulate.




Jesse Bradley's free ebook The Jujitsu of Macking will be available on the Red Ceilings Press website very soon.





inspired remnants ~ Howie Good

New free ebook out on the Red Ceilings Press. 
inspired remnants by Howie Good
Visit the website for the complete list of ebooks and limited edition chapbooks




Thursday, July 7, 2011

Laika ~ Nicholas Beaumont







I wanted to do something nice


for her - she had so little time left to live.


I took her home to our kids who threw


a ball for her, and my wife gave her




a bowl of brown jelly. She’d come


such a long way from the mongrel we


found in Moscow, shivering in doorways,


sniffing footprints in the snow. We didn’t




tell the kids about the preparation,


keeping her in gradually shrinking cages,


locking her in cupboards for weeks at at a time;


or the announcement to the world shortly




after launch: that there'll be no return


mission, Laika will die in space, 


doomed to an eternity of bouncing 


comically off the walls of her 




space-coffin, a furry corpse oblivious


to the stars and planets shooting past like


street-lights. Sometimes its easier


to believe what I tell the kids: that she’s




still up there, alive and well, whizzing


around the universe in her tiny metallic


football, yapping at aliens and traveling


further than man ever could.







Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Sylvia ~ Isabell Dahlberg





I


Sylvia sat still.
She sat where they left her.
They left her where she sat when they came
They came after having finished the 24 hole golf course
After that, they went out to have dinner.


Sylvia sat still.
She sat where they left her after having gone out to eat something.
She never ate.
That is, she ate, but she never went anywhere else to dine.
Dining elsewhere was for those who lived in their own houses.
She lived in a house, obviously, but she did not own the house.
Or the bed.
Or the chair she sat in.


Sylvia sat still.
That was what everyone said.
She is so still.


Sylvia sat still.
Maybe she is no longer capable of moving.
She is very old, I mean.
Not that old.
But still.


Sylvia sat still.
She sat in front of that window.
Gazing upon the world.
Sucking it in.
Sucking at least.
She makes ghastly sounds once in a a while.
I wanted to bring the kids but was afraid she might scare them to death.




Sylvia sat still when they rolled the others off to bed.
Not that she ever said anything.
She never uttered a sound.
But it was as though that sitting of hers, so still, was a cry to be left where she was.
At least that is the way I thought of it.
She is gone now.


II


After that first time, several more were to come.


I did not intend to
I did not want to
But you did
I know


The cries of the children in her breast.
Low, never hesitating but propelling her into that wheel
(of lost fortune)


The falling we cannot do without your falling you must fall or we will die
Is that what they told you
Who told you that
I don’t know. The children.
Who’s children
Not mine. They were never mine. They were just his


And she ran into the nights into the wass the fires and the frightened masses
She fell into the hearts of the masses and she remained there until …


She was in our hearts, she is
We carry her
But who could have carried her then


No one


Could I still have been here
You know you couldn’t. You were lost the day you were born


III


Sylvia, I see you
I see you there among the other women
That group of extrordinarily intelligent and blazingly beautiful women
Of all ages, young, old or halfway here or there


Sylvia, I see you there at that broad big table
It’s fine wine and dining
Fancy clothes and smoke rising towards the ceiling
Your'e the fanciest bunch of razorsharp ladies I have ever laid eyes on, Sylvia


Me?
I am just dwelling in your company, trying to suck some of your skills
In a room of my own





Isabell Dahlberg b. 1972. writing music, poetry, and more. lives and works in Malmö, Sweden, with two cats

 

Saturday, July 2, 2011

On the Toad ~ J D Nelson

New free ebook ~ On the Toad by J D Nelson. See more free ebooks and limited edition chapbooks at the Red Ceilings Press website.