Venezuelan-American writer Megin Jiménez wrote this poem “a few years ago when I was writing a series in the voice of cities. It’s Paris recounting a dream, a nightmare of a fire wakes it up, the rose window in Notre Dame like a big eye.” Read More >

Gemini’s ginned up as if for war—

all that’s missing is a bullet and a poet:
O America give back Jack Spicer!

She pulls her ponytail higher—
give back the unruptured discs of her back,
give back Jack’s liver, and deliver her

from this tired romanticism!
She’ll fight you all with one fist
and a black wolf. She’ll fight you

all in this melancholia of night.
She’ll correct your grammar. She’ll write
words even she can’t pronounce,

soak black cherries in gin,
feverish arm herself with armfuls
of airplanes and soldiers—again,

O Jack, where are you again
tonight?—she’ll soldier into the bright
October sky.

Jennifer Minniti- Shippey is the Managing Editor of Poetry International literary journal, Director of Poetic Youth programs, and a professor at San Diego State University. She is the author of Done Dating DJs, winner of the 2009 Fool for Poetry Chapbook competition, presented by the Munster Literature Centre; Earth’s Horses & Boys, from Finishing Line Press; and After the Tour, from Calypso Editions. Her writing has appeared in Salamander, Spillway, Cider Press Review, Tar River Poetry, and others. Keep up with her news at jennyminnitishippey.com

A Wall in Philadelphia

Yellow stenciled
digits slashed
red with spray
paint, an asemic
text November
sun comprehends
as the limit of
its reach. Deep
green weeds
glow in the rift
where asphalt
meets wall—
arched leaves
wide as any
tire in the lot
drip light, but
the lines lead
the eye:
white oval
remnant
of a name
beneath
a square
cement patch.
The poem, all
that wants
to be said,
is said—there. Read More >

COMEDY

We were still drifting as the day broke
improvising lines, like we practiced
machines in their tracks, mud
turned to cement, the feet
missed our gardens we
were coming and going
like it will matter, currents
through white sheep completely
alive, this was during the day—

it should be the truth. Naturally
in those lines this is a lie—

Uncertain—it heard us
never asking, how do you talk, even find
the words, from all the words
in your head, such a moment, liquid
of the ears, the blues
of the planet, two spoonfuls
absorb, in each head, a spiked drink, tongue
know the dropper, seem
surprised to drown the point.

Jared Schickling is the author of Needles of Itching Feathers, recently published with The Operating System. He has written several BlazeVOX books, including The Mercury Poem (2017) and Province of Numb Errs (2016), as well as The Paranoid Reader: Essays, 2006-2012 (Furniture Press, 2014); Prospectus for a Stage (LRL Textile Series, 2014); Donald Trump and the Pocket Oracle (Moria Books, 2017); and Donald Trump in North Korea (2017).  He edited A Lyrebird: Selected Poems of Michael Farrell (BlazeVOX, 2017) and he edits Delete Press and The Mute Canary, publishers of poetry. He lives in Lockport, NY.

Low Rent

I grew up in a house
built as budget permitted,
one room at a time,
chicken wire poking
through crude plaster,
walls out of plumb. Read More >

Sonnet for Donnie Morgan

Some days, in order to survive, we allow ourselves
belief that the posts smashing through the grill
of the Toyota, that the impact of, not one or two, but a whole row
run through, as he veered off the road for reasons
unknown, rendered him unconscious, unaware
he was trapped by twisted wood, angled metal
braces growing hotter on his legs that couldn’t run.
Someone so young, being struck lame, already a god-
damned shame. Now, this violence, this end, crisp glass
in the wind, in our eyes.  We don’t ask what the reports
might say, what ignorance enables us to push away –
him, awake, burning. Some days, his laughter echoes
up the stairs, heaven’s lucent snow.  But mostly,
the house is silence.  Mostly, flame.

Melanie Graham holds a PhD in poetry from the University of Lancaster, UK and recently completed her MFA at Sierra Nevada College. Her poems have appeared in Drunken Boat, Cherry Tree, The Mailer Review, a​nd as a finalist in several competitions, including The Southeast Review, Split This Rock, a​nd S​o To Speak. She won the 2016 Kakalak Poetry Prize. Her poem “Honeybees Returned” for Sylvia Plath is forthcoming in Fat Gold Watch, an anthology dedicated to Plath.

Ping-Pong Free Press’ 4th Annual Speech is Not Free gathering: Writers Against Fascism and for Freedom of the Press. Ping-Pong Free Press  and Poet Republik Ltd. gathered at the Howl! Happening Gallery in the Bowery to feature readings by writers who oppose fascism and dictatorships, and who are for freedom of the press and against totalitarian notions of state-sponsored propaganda. Read More >

It is fitting that Shelley Marlow should be the inaugural writer for Prose Republik for a number of reasons, a) she’s an outstanding writer, and, b) as we rapidly approach the twin specters of Halloween and El Dia de los Muertos, it is right and proper that this author is a witch. So here’s to all you seekers and wanderers in realms not within our philosophy. If you’d like to share a story, a poem, or a calavera here outside the bounds of this dream within a dream, please do, if not, please enjoy…

The Wind Blew Through Like a Chorus of Ghosts

by Shelley Marlow (new work in progress)

Read More >

Dylan Krieger’s collection, no ledge left to love, is the recipient of the Ping-Pong Free Press poetry prize of 2017, chosen by judge and poetry badass, Brian Henry. It is my extreme pleasure to share with you a sneak peek–one of my favorite poems out of this fascinating and essential collection, release date: December 1, 2017. Read More >

CHRONIC

How I love the hospital

Gift shop—pocketing the penny

Read More >