Transcript
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Contributors
Poetry
Andy Stallings, Stephanie Chen, Joshua Roark,
Joan McNerney, Emily Brock, Meredith Thornhill,
Jane Awde Goodwin, Wanda Morrow Clevenger,
Rollo Nye, Marie-Claire Serou
Artwork & Illustrations
Titus Groan, Emily Herberich, Daniel de Cull,
Elliote Long, Alexander Limarev
Editors
Alessandro Mario Powell & Samuel Rowe
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Contents
Contributors1Contents2
From the Editors3
UntitledbyEmily Herberich4
Paradise5
We take something like a star and tell it to speak6
Their tuxedo skin is not the only thing that makes the Orca civilized7
electric pearls8
dividing mind9
Autumn Leaves: The Fall10
CymerabyDaniel de Cull12
Paradise13
independent moth14
the woman and the whale17
mtier of rise18
rogue chords19
water over rock20
Still Life with Nausea21
Paradise22
UntitledbyElliote Long23
Bios24
Front Cover: UntitledbyTitus Groan
Back Cover: Glitch Asemic Pixel Poem vol.3by Alexander Limarev
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From The Editors
Here we are: two years on, four Vol.s later.Everything is coming together, tighter every time.We began with the intention of starting a journalopen to all. And as our Bios show: everyone is allover the place. Its a real honour editing this alongwith my learned friend Ale. Yall are stars.
Samuel Rowe
With sea levels rising at astounding rates, 2015 proved a good year for orcas everywhere. Themonstrous overlords of Seaworld finally capitulatedOctober legislation effectively doubledthe size of killer whale enclosures, and banned their breeding. Semper sic tyrannis, indeed.After volume III of Killer Whale Journal surfaced victorious last year, we, the management,
hibernated. No, orcas do not hibernate. Admittedly, we are not Killer Whales ourselves.Emerging from our seasonal slumber last September, we licked the lingering honey off of ourmammalian fingers, we brushed the leaves from our knotted, poetic hair, we yawnedfelicitously, and we finally checked the KWJ email. Once again you have outdone yourselves,you beautiful people you. When a distressed sailor happens upon the orca this goes one of twoways: the good way and the bad. In this analogy you, dear reader (and/or writer), are themajestic killer whale and we, the management, but shipwrecked sailors. Youre work surprisedus, so very pleasantly. I am pleased to announce that in its fourth installment KWJ is strongerthan ever. From here 2016 looks like a wonderfully plump sea lion pirouetting, neutrally
buoyanta marriage of entertainment and sustenance. We were more selective than ever thistime around, but we think you shall thank us for it. This year, instead of publishing the best ofour submissions, we strove to build more a cohesive volume, a work of art in and of itself. Afterall, efficiency and concision are the defining traits of any nautical mammal.
Alessandro Mario Powell
https://killerwhalejournal.wordpress.com
https://facebook.com/killerwhalejournalkillerwhalejournal@gmail.com
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Andy Stallings
Paradise
The bowl filled with cereal,
the sink slowly drained, the
sentences lost their meaning
as he drifted back to sleep.
They learned to measure
time by trips to the beach or
the megamart, appetite by
the size of the sandwich
someone set on the plate. Its
total activity for the seabirds,
collective legislation for
the beach community.
We understood that the
scaffolding was, itself, an
installation. The music
perennial, we were just
visitors. A question gives
the profile of anothers
wondering. The unreal, notinhuman. What was I
supposed to think, and how.
Opposite: Untitledby Emily Herberich
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Stephanie Chen
We take something like a star and tell it to speakafter Robert Frost
Azealia breaks the word, speaks with vultures. Caricature soaked in saltpeter. She
throws it out to this mentioning: All talk is a gauntlet, flames in your teeth. Shes
buried under mass while were digging through the horizon, for one star brash
enough with its explosions. A punching through of the skyhere, a hole for
collecting light.
They ask of her a certain height. Pressed into a headline. Hack off entrails and make
it money, cunt-talk catwalk around her. She breaks a heel on the bridge when it
catches. Lead into twilight, shes printed the shape of a constellation. What if she
could balance a star on her tongue, like their mothers insist? Star talking, flash of
sky: Tame the elemental collision with talk-story. They clap their hands, say it in
unison. Say something of yourself! And she says: I burn.
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Joshua Roark
Their tuxedo skin is not the only thing that makes the Orca civilized
When all my bones curve just rightmy body is an empty kitchen sink,
or fresh made bed with all its corners tucked in,and I take off, peeking, when I
spit, at that edge lying so far offlike a set of traffic lights a dozen blocks
down. Gods bleed and deepen, Plath saidI deepen and turn off my bleeding
twist the inner handle and my wholebloodtube network responds:
my heart, big and fat as a human head, quitsfeeling so much
my brain quits thinkingso much
and my contentmentcontentment
body swimming cool andstraight is
the envy of all poets
who dive down deep
with bloodtubes barbaricuntamed and hot.
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Joan McNerney
electric pearls
rush from fingerstypist waltz
tranquillizertranquillizzer
tranquillizzzzerup we trudge onwooden legsup the long staircaseair tingling withanisette & ammoniatypist threadingword waveslifts palmdiaphanousone upon anothereach stepup the long staircasereflections
of sensebeneath nonsensebetween imagesof birds crashingglass windowssymbols strung uponchains of electric pearlsletters illusionthe typisttongue tiednow in knots
hands crisscrossedsilentlywalleyedmirroringa linegone mad.
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dividing mind
infamousswift
yellowautomobileno particulardate/modelpassing sculptured gardens,
graveyards, women in longveils of mourning/morning
black everything still still still(except for children who skip whileclutching doubleheaded iccreamcones)
infamousswift
no particularclock stares at 12 whichwas yesterday or could be
tomorrow but might as wellbe today why talk against time?
infamousyellow
no particularautomobile driving thrulongwhiteline of hi waydividing mind intodistinct red boxescat e goriesautomobile driving to
any anonymoushospitable
beyond graveyardsgardens morning veils
infamousswift
yellow.
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Emily Brock
Autumn Leaves: The Fall
Tumbler: full:Icarusyou wear the Fall wellgold feathers ruston the bark of your spineterminal summer dripsfrom under shoulder plateslittle russet shipsslip out from under wingwrinkle, wane, tumbledeath waxes on you
Tumbler 1/2 full:Icarusyou fall well
feathers ruston bark spineterminal summer dripsfrom shoulder plateslittle russet shipsslip out from under, wane, tumbledeath waxes on you
Tumble 1/2 empty:Icarusyou fallfeathers ruston spineterminalshipsslip, , tumble
death waxes on you
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Tmbl 1/4 mptyu er ec r s
I a uy f
o u all
r stun sp n
o i et rm n l
e i ash ps
isl p
i, ,death waxes on you
1/8 mpty
Tb ue ap m a l l po si
r I o a h cs yf o u u ii s s r
s t n s p n t r m n l l llr.. death waxes on you
mpt
y
ou
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Andy Stallings
Paradise
Bright as the noun in its
setting. Cabin country,
commute country, settling
dusk on the shoreline.
The man looked up as the
train roared past, his arms
bent to hoeing a line
of recreational tubers.
Bellflowers swept the foothills
one morning, like a pure
white line that advances
through sleep with the
unreckonable speed of
eclipse, unbearable and even
deadly. With her fingers, she
pried apart my lips and put in
the hard kernel. Red like
childrens toy metal, called
candy apple. A series of
indentations in the skin.
Opposite: CymerabyDaniel de Cull
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Meredith Thornhill
independent moth
i.
no luck liberating
bauhaus textiles
old liberty prints,
happeningnorth, east, south and west,
exploring
leafy roads
little parks
this underground reservoir
the last few years.
break into beautiful fabric
a different world we lost
a little time now,
rearranging
three messy girlsa decent space
telegraph hillthe real stuff
a milk place
Upper East Sidethe American killing
a headquarter
a response
my belongings
twice.
keep zen.
ii.a few things,
my judgement
the ongoing
preoccupied specifics.
timing now laughing
so baffling!
believing the keys
proposed success,
time + energy
priceless
creativefreedom.
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eyes
valuable opportunities
went quiet,
looking not holding my breath.
killer culture
third times a charmregardless
they shall absolutely say,
you cannot put all your eggs in one basket.
stability excel.
stability grow.
my presence graces
a new venture peak,
independent moth,
a poem collection.
iii.the 80s
a ghost town
sussing out its image
more interesting.
strobe lighting staggering
last at night
fills me with doom
stresses,
finding my home town.
20 surreal minutes.
Ive no ideano news
I want to hear them!
hypnotic white noise
an odd frustrating place
experimental art school.
its all too easy
to be enamored
fall in love
out dancing in minehead
fusty butlins holiday park
music festival.bloc weekend, send me
free flights
some poems.
iv.
stand still out dancing
my shoulders broke down
six weeks
a sad space
a desolate space
a weightmy departure.
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two months sorting
New York, New York
whatever that may be
to just words
to just fragments
to just poemsfree flowing verses
to be continued
in times of
stress
fear
loneliness,
longing the familiar.
I am stronger
a free little bird
rearranged such a culture
to give upto run away
truly moved on
out of town.
April spring fever
recharge my batteries
quite toy with
the characters
illustrated visuals
inspiring animations
collaborate the poems,
accompanying very muchlooking forward
en route
two friends
speak of the devil...
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Jane Awde Goodwin
the woman and the whale
forget that you are reading words now close your eyesnot your body part eyes your real eyes the onesin the middle of your head imagine yourself falling falling
but you are falling underwater and you are notreally falling but being dragged down by a whalewho has got a hold of you by your thigh
no wait first imagine that you are under blue clearwater watching a girl swimming there is her dark blueone piece with the vertical turquoise stripe goodthere is her yellow snorkel picture a beluga
but not the white beluga the charcoal gray kind lookdo you see he is letting her pet him notice how whiteand silvery her legs look next to him and small rememberthat you are underwater it is getting harder to breathewatch now the whale puts his mouth around her thigh
he starts traveling vertically down the blueis so clear imagine water in a cup picture watchingfrom just underneath the surface she is getting smaller andsmaller there is no bottomthis whale will drag her down forever.
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Wanda Morrow Clevenger
mtier of rise
all this passingage, this mtierof rise
cosmos stretchingunfathomable,fossiled grudgesgilded guillotines,wars & wars & wars& Warner BrothersLooney Tunes,hellhoundsat my heels
I wasall eyes & awkward
Mom would saycat got your tongue
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rogue cords
a sun of tealand brown calicosagainst a tan beeembroidered
background abovepurple deer prancingthrough a red forestresides beside aporcelain ponyfoaled in pacific
japan and a mexicanplumed birdwatching time tickon a melted merlot
bottle
the composition issurprisingly symmetricallycomplementary
an ice pick in myleft lower gut
jabs at itsirritating discretion
the electrician comestoday to put rogue cordsto codeso when we leaveno one will suspectanything at allwas amiss
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Rollo Nye
water over rock
the water fromthe stream whichran over the rocksout backthrough the yard -has decided thatit can takeits business elsewhere -and as a consequence -there is silencewhere there once wasa gentle gurgle -and this is whyI am searchingfor another wayto lull my mind
back to sleepon this nightof quiet.
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Marie-Claire Serou
Still Life with Nausea
Soundless footfalls light on the floor improbably beneath feetthat touch less and less of the corporeal as owner ceases toown or owe or borrow and begins to exist catty corner toexistences plane or boat or bus pass and passes quietly intosilence.
Its beautiful and sad but light doesnt stream through thewindowsand the chill is so persistent it ceases to trigger nostalgia.Outside, the birds leave the telephone wire, trace a circle andreperch reproachfully ruffling black feathers around theirhollow breakable bones. Time flies and fruit flies becomelively as each of the bananas on the fridge blooms bruises asits past unfolds. The stomach churns, leaching what it canfrom a diet of minced words and bitter coffee.Apathetic or Apoplectic or Apologetic, A state or another to
be traversed without stopping to look around or turning back.
A spine can become a rosary:the body is accustomed to repetition and guilt, butTrue Salvation is packaged in snack sized bags, small, sterileand unassuming like the stiff backed chairs that furnish theroom where the self resides when one declares oneself weak.
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Andy Stallings
Paradise
The insight slips past. In the
Acapulco market, where wed
been told we were expected
to bargain, we doubted
the cultural competency of
our source. Somewhere else,
somewhat beguiled, detached
from the dumb body. A
Sarasota serenade, sweet as
the strings of Nashville.
Staring at nothing but
the time it takes to think.
And perception, which
means: more birds, more
trees, more clouds, cars,
shells, and the styrofoam and
utensils from last nights
beach barbecue. Capital
never stops moving. Themoment of crisis might lead
to a denouement, but it
hasnt, yet.
Opposite: UntitledbyElliote Long
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Bios
Andy Stallingslives in Deerfield, MA, where he teaches English and poetry at Deerfield
Academy. He taught several years at Tulane University prior to that, and has
published a book of poems, To the Heart of the World, with Rescue Press
(2014). He has three small children, and coaches cross country running.
Stephanie Chens work has appeared or is forthcoming inJuked, Bayou Magazine, Lumen, No
Falling Ribbons, and the Tulane Review, among others. The Honorable Mention
recipient of the Anselle M. Larson Academy of Poets contest, she recently
received a Studio in the Woods fellowship. She loves black coffee, bad puns,
nearly-ripe satsumas.
Joshua Roarkwas born in Cuba, raised all over as a navy brat, and formed himself in places by
the ocean. He currently lives with his beautiful, amazing, fellow writer wife in
Los Angeles, working as a homeschool teacher for young kids while pursuing an
MFA from Antioch University.
Joan McNerneyhas been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press,
Dinner with the Muse, Camel Saloon, Blueline, Poppy Road Review, Spectrum,
three Bright Hills Press Anthologiesand several Kind of A Hurricane Publications.
She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net.
Emily Brockis part-writer, part-professional bum, busy schooning her way around europe and
wh!a(i)ling about her empty pockets. She doesn't currently own a set of keys and
that seems to be an important thing she keeps telling people.
Meredith Thornhillis a thinker and an observer, who corresponds these intricacies-at best-through
the written word. It should be noted that independent moth is dedicated to a
friendship that once was, though it shall not be forgotten. She currently resides
in Atlanta and is the Managing Director of The Spin Style Agency.
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Jane Awde Goodwinis a 28-year-old redhead court reporter who has sold groceries, knives, hotel
rooms, furniture and cameras. Her poetry has been published in Room, Prism
International, Geist,ARC Poetry Magazine, The Dalhousie Reviewand is upcoming
in The Fiddlehead.
Wanda Morrow Clevengeris a Carlinville, Illinois, native. She has published over 335 pieces of work in 127
print and electronic publications. Yes, she does the math.
Rollo Nyeis a poet living in New York. His poems have recently appeared in minor
literature(s)& will soon be published in Avatar Reviewand The Red River Review.
Marie-Claire Serouis a chariot for more than ten thousand types of bacteria.
Titus Groanwas raised by wolves, trained by monks. He can only be contacted via Hawk.
Some say he's over 200 years old, others believe there's more than one. Though
littles known of him, make your own assumptions from the etchings he musters.
Elliote Longis a student and whale enthusiast, based in South London. She lives for sea glass,
IKEA canteens and the number 168 bus.
Daniel de Cullis a Castilian and Aragon poet. Highly involved with natural life and love. Popular
and often quoted. Editor of the cultural reviews Gallo Tricolorand Robespierre.
Emily Herberich
is a writer for hire by day, and a human person who enjoys oil painting by night.
Her favorite novel is Moby-Dick.
Alexander Limarevis a freelance artist, mail art artist, poet and curator from Russia. Participated in
more than 400 international projects and exhibitions. His artworks are part of
private and museum collections of 58 countries.
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