Category: The Daily Odyssey
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Introducing the Black Gentrifier: An Emerging Social Anomaly by M. Pitter
Streaming in popular discourse has been the phenomenon of gentrification in which it appears mostly that young, open-minded, aesthetic-seeking white people move into low-income neighborhoods eventually causing the rent prices of these neighborhoods to rise and the blacks and Latinos who had lived in these hitherto-low-income neighborhoods can no longer afford to live there. Soon,…
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Leave afterword…by G. Mramor
Leave afterword and don’t speak my name. Say instead I was a good boy, a handsome boy. And then you’ll say he was and you won’t know how to say it anymore. Say he and sad see the boy in the velvet blue dress Danni put him in because you’re so pretty. See the boy…
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Here there is no island dream…by G. Mramor
Here there is no island dream. There is the water and the beast Who follows me beneath. Beast Colossus, the one who does not Sleep but lives beyond me. Disperse like the snowdrift clouds. Silent like the long worn face disenchant in the stars. Undying like the lie spoke before me. Two holes…
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Order A Copy of Our Most Expensive Issue! $100 For The Best in Art, Poetry & Prose
It’s April 1st and today we release our quarterly magazine, containing all new submissions from Brooke Trealout, Stanley M. Noah, Owen Lucas, Gabrielle Catalano, Jeffrey Park, John Grey, Julia Alexander, Jon Dambacher, Brittney Bullock, Paulette Perhach, Bep Broos, Sarah Eisenlohr, Krisztian Tejfel, Michelle Cohen, Rosa Kim, and Eric Petersen. However, April Fools, it’s only $9.99…
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Speak me love…by G. Mramor
Love no hero. Love the giant that ripples your blood. Love the fray that hammers the nerve. Love the mouth that speaks your fever. Love the fracture in the bone. Love a broken axe. Love the cross you do not carry. Love the day you make with sand. Love a white bird in the snow.…
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Watering blue eyes…by G. Mramor
Watering blue eyes and the green passage between us Divets where tractors ran up the brush and you on a mounting road looking back down on a tree you knew Words written you can count the seven you spelt and the three she wrote after for your comfort The side of a cow open as…
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Snowblind…by G. Mramor
Burning snow and cold hands Black the dress wrinkled white Slumbring beasts and inverted eyes Snowblind the dreams hanging from the widow tree. Snowblind the naked doll bending down a wrinkled star. Snowblind the toy soldiers in the smoke of dreams. Snowblind falling this ruin the river runs in me. Somewhere snowblind my father sits…
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Fun… by Brittney Bullock
It was for the fun of it, or so I thought. I’d do it for the fun of it, for the great surprise and greater purpose of living on an edge- the edge. I guess I’d forgotten it’d already been defined, before in some past time, and re-defined again; a proper name to call the…
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That grows from your hands…by G. Mramor
And indifference bears its heart stone, Though a million words be spilt Love lords only the is. In time remember will divest me of this, For a voice in a box An unwanted stone sings its spring. A rose is no flower that grows from sand, And a love is not remembered When…
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Seeing all that was good in the land…by G. Mramor
Because I was there for the parting of the lakes and I saw the sun swallowed up by a whale and yet I stood transfixed as fires from sunset ran into houses dorming families thrown together in stitches from the war’s end and I watched muted as trees bludgeoned the ends of houses till they…
