Category: creative writing

  • VIDEO: U35 Poetry Night @ Marilave

    VIDEO: U35 Poetry Night @ Marilave

    U35 is a bi-monthly reading series for poets under the age of thirty-five, conceived as a space for greater community as well as diversity of voice and vision. On Tuesday, July 23, we are pleased to be featuring poets Nora Delaney, Jade Sylvan, and Mary Benson. Check out video from last Tuesday’s poetry reading, hosted…

  • Submission- Re: Gallows by N Marata

    Submission- Re: Gallows by N Marata

    To think of surgical gallows Through broken garden paths Like a stubborn tulip Who loved the moon instead   Frayed, I go and leap Through noxious sewer-creeks “Plop!” go the stepping-stones As my father did before   Sprint past the torn meadow Through fallen trunks and shoots And fading past The hymns he used to…

  • WTF: Should we be mad at Rolling Stone?

    WTF: Should we be mad at Rolling Stone?

    If you haven’t heard by now, Rolling Stone magazine has released the cover for its August 1st issue, featuring prominently the bushy visage of the Boston Marathon Bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev.

  • VIDEO: Phillipe Chatelain talks about ‘taking shots alone’ (prod. by Carmen Guzman)

    VIDEO: Phillipe Chatelain talks about ‘taking shots alone’ (prod. by Carmen Guzman)

    I had the opportunity to work with my very special friend Carmen Guzmán to put together this short video about my latest poetry series taking shots alone. 

  • I am with you in Allston – by Phillipe Chatelain

    I am with you in Allston – by Phillipe Chatelain

    i am with you in allston – poem by phillipe chatelain Phillipe Martin Chatelain is a hoodlum from the Bronx, New York. He writes poetry and is founder and Managing Editor of In Parentheses Literary Magazine. A recent graduate of Boston University, his first chapbook taking shots alone has been independently released and his poetry can…

  • On the morning of oblivion…by G. Mramor

    On the morning of oblivion…by G. Mramor

    On the morning of oblivion I rise with the mourning star. I move through the crowds and let our shoulders bump, our hands touch, our eyes wonder. In the park light dazzles children climbing hills, dashing fields, running the jungle gyms lords of all.  And in the cafes hairy legs and summer dresses, grizzly beards…