killer whale journal vol. 4

7/24/2019 Killer Whale Journal Vol. 4

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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/[email protected]


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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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killer whale journal vol. 4

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