Category: Prosetry
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FREE POETRY: Taking Shots Alone 1 & 2 by Phillipe Chatelain
I have decided to self-publish two collections of poems (taking shots alone 1 and taking shots alone 2) that I have been writing for the past 2 years. I will be mailing them out FOR FREE to those who fill out the request form at my website. Be sure to click the “Order TSA” link at…
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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…
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LEAK: IP 5 Table of Contents
Still waiting for that Magna Carta Holy Grail leak? Well, here’s the best we can do to quench your thirst. The next issue of In Parentheses will be available TOMORROW (July 1, 2013). This marks our 1-Year Anniversary issue, as well as the first installment of Volume 2. Featuring works by: Wojciech, Michael Lee Johnson,…
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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…
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Belief…by G. Mramor
Can you mock me so, because I wish to believe? Can you attack me so, because I wish to believe? Can you hate me so, because I wish to believe? But what is my belief, that makes me so? That is rapturous and deadly. That in my hand is a paper timeless and in my…
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The father is gone…by G. Mramor
I have not returned to set the bones in my father’s body. I have come, and these with me, we bear the oils and the cloak. Our sisters will make the words and the procession, we will mourn for centuries. But we will take him over these city walls to a city farther and there…
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Where roots spread into oblivions…by G. Mramor
Where roots spread into oblivions,
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They will make cities from us…by G. Mramor
And there I am, like a devil before your eyes, bouncing from lash to lash to make my way down the race of your skin and glide my fingers across your receding lips, yearning for no memory fore memory is not needed to find the trace of your beauty, like my ink through this page,…
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Want of Sleep…by G. Mramor
With hands raised
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They are coming…by G. Mramor
The tranquil flow of the village is no more.
