All posts filed under: Images

Patterns of Sensation – the bodies of dolls by Salma Caller

Silk Velvet Purse Doll Tiny invisible stitches hold rivets that hold rivulets Of silk ending in the darkness Where dreaming continues The sleeping and dreaming of her invisible body Silk Velvet Purse Doll   A mille-feuille A body of a thousand layers A thousand gauze tissues A thousand substances Concealing a darkened chamber Entombing A heavy velvet pouch Profligate sensual reclining body feeling inwardly Reaching caressing touching exploring the textures of the inside of a dark and empty space Where nothing is also everything A costly ornate body of sensation Silk velvet skin silk thread silk tassel nerve endings Silent silken hair spreading A dense and tactile embroidery surrounds her slits tips lips edges and borders Wires closely over-sewn create Her ribs Brushing stroking heating and burnishing Made a body that is close textured lustrous gleaming and smooth Intricate and laborious twisting and twirling of twines Tiny invisible stitches hold rivets that hold rivulets                        Of silk ending in the darkness         …

“narcissus” by C. Murray

narcissus not step twice into, not step back from stream. its nets are storm blackened, narcissus’ flower is a cut out. it has shut in the cold, skeining back into the bud. echo and, outbreath he skeins back his thread the blind buds are always. step (not-step) back then. step (not-step) back then, back from the black river nets. narcissus was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Compose Journal Chris Murray is an Irish poet. Her chapbook Three Red Things was published by Smithereens Press  (2013). A small collection of interrelated poems in series and sequence, Cycles, was published by Lapwing Press (2013).  A book-length poem The Blind was published by Oneiros Books (2013). Her second book-length poem She was published by Oneiros Books  ( 2014). A chapbook, Signature, was published by Bone Orchard Press  (2014). “A Modern Encounter with ‘Foebus abierat’: On Eavan Boland’s ‘Phoebus Was Gone, all Gone, His Journey Over’ ” was published in Eavan Boland: Inside History (Editors, Nessa O’Mahony and Siobhán Campbell) by Arlen House  (2016). ⊗ See more at:

The Spring 2017 issue of Compose Journal is live

Our Spring 2017 issue features an interview with Margo Orlando Littell and an excerpt from her debut novel, Each Vagabond by Name;  poetry by Laura Donnelly, Brian Simoneau, Chris Murray, Tanya Fadem, Sergio A. Ortiz, John Grey, Lita Kurth, and Gail DiMaggio; creative nonfiction by Noriko Nakada, Marion Agnew, Kevin Bray, Telaina Eriksen, Jim Krosschell, and Wendy Fontaine; fiction by Andrew Boden, Darci Schummer, Liesl Nunns, Laura Citino, and Beth Sherman; and artwork by Ana Prundaru, Fabrice Poussin, and Brian Michael Barbeito. See more at:   Thanks to Suzannah Windsor and Andres Rojas for including two poems from my book (work in progress)  at this link

Song To Sequana (Burgundy, 100 BC) and other poems by Tim Miller

SONG TO NEHALENNIA (NETHERLANDS, AD 200)   Lady, here are offering for all those whose business has to do with ships the ones from here to Albion & back and the prow you always lean upon;   Lady, here are offerings for all those whose business is with the worked earth the ones with and herbs and flowers and all the fruits piled upon your lap;   Lady, here are offerings for all those who have ceased with commerce and died our sons in the sea and our fathers in the ground and the Dark World’s dog always as your side;   Lady, here are fresh loaves from all those that have desired your altar and temple and shrine the ones who follow your miles to the water theirs and our mothers the long background of you.   LOOKING FOR NERTHUS (AD 100) for Jenny   The priest senses a new weight in the wagon and it’s driven by boat to the mainland and wheeled with rejoicing from place to place:   the pulling cows …

“Trompe L’Oeil” and other poems by Patricia Walsh

Trompe L’Oeil Tidied away, fast disappeared, what’s lost in the house isn’t lost. In a mid-sentence, blasting myths and fairytales I avoid the radiance of your eye. Hidden phallic symbols litter the test crunchy fallen leaves subdue the table reference books stand-offish, yet useful the clock, used to stares, reigns supreme. What escaped thought becomes you? What line unwritten begs attention? The trompe l’oeil of art crumbles a piece of fiction no longer necessary. It would do well to save ink and rest, watch Love/Hate till my eyeballs dissolve, or the TV licence man catches me. Anyway smartphones, smart bombs pave the way. Eyeball to eyeball, keeping in check a double decker bus is crashing into me, foolproof suicide, if you stand next to me, always having money to keep me sweet. Stuck in the village. You’re lost, after all. Winding through people, an avoidance strategy, cold calling my fantasies, standing aloof no eye contact can remedy this. Citrus Refresh Bruised flesh, eaten by spinsters’ cries calling for regional order. Sated for now, tomorrow might …