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Poetry Issues #14


The distribution of Poetry Issues #14 began yesterday. This issue also features Birgitte Brøndum, a poet currently residing in Malmö, Sweden. You can read the issue here and find more of Birgitte's work on her personal website and on Instagram.


Besides the usual distribution points, this issue has also travelled to Prague (thanks to SJ Moenandar) and Copenhagen. 




The Coming of Age


I need to cut all your words

with red childproof scissors

and rearrange them into solved

thousand-pieces puzzles, purple-horned

unicorns and double negations.


I’ve sank before in awkward situations

spun in the roulette of truth or dare.

I had to sit still in uneasy chairs

rushing as my deadlines were due

wary of the you’s that came before you.


I’m not the child one can oppress anymore

but neither cut out for the things I want.

Adequately clumsy in my unfitting skin

I miss the harmony you granted me

– a welcome recess to disparity.




Neural Delirium

    by Birgitte Brøndum


In a coffee cup is a heart of foam

foam bath and foam hair at seven

7 bruises are never enough

enough is a wet cloth on thin paper

papers are confidential, yellow binders at sixteen

16 photographs of one-eyed dogs in my hand

hand it over, hand it over, hand, it’s over

over there, over here, overdone

done with your large continent

continents spilling out of me

“me, me, me!” he says pointing

pointing inwards is not a skill

skill acquires the will to step







One lucky day I will expire

like the bottle of milk

we still keep in the fridge.

It patiently came to be

the mother of all

battles for household authority

in the fringe of our commitment

to hostile passivity.

But one lucky day I promise

I too, milky and sour, will expire.




His Mind


He said he kept it all in there

pointing at his whitening head

slant-looking and pleased.


He was a dinosaur of sorts

an ancient retrieving machine

for truffle-like memories.


Then he started searching

for lost words, as if scavenging

in a stranger’s attic.


Associations eluded him

like sand dripping

from a golddigger’s sieve


and the hanging teardrops might

have been a side-effect, or pain

for a missing verbal scheme.




Measuring It


If we start counting in summers

life is not long at all. Isn’t it obvious

we have to – absolutely must –

start living more?


If we subtract the full moons

not much is left of romance. Mustn’t

we – isn’t it imperative –

fall more, and more, in love?


If we divide the gain by the strive

it clearly wasn’t worth the while. Shouldn’t

we be more careful – diligent –

with how we spend our time?



[You will learn more about the Poetry Issues project here.]

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Saturday, 03 February 2018 23:16