LEMON HOUND

More Bite Than Bark Since 2005
Author Archive
Erin Lyndal Martin: Notes Toward an Essay on the Construction of the Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família

Erin Lyndal Martin: Notes Toward an Essay on the Construction of the Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família

“The Sagrada Familia is the most hideous building in the world.”–George Orwell 2026. Projected date of completion. When is a church complete? This is not a literal question referring to resteeplings and maintenance that must be done over the years; this is a question of what a church is. But let us look at the...
Jonathan Ball: Misreading Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven"

Jonathan Ball: Misreading Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”

Whenever I teach “The Raven,” a number of students assume a particular misreading: that the narrator has murdered Lenore, and that the raven of the poem symbolizes his guilty conscience. I’m always shocked by how naturally this misreading comes. Students seem to realize it’s not sustainable as a “reasonable” interpretation, but prefer it to more...
Rachael Katz: Two Poems

Rachael Katz: Two Poems

The Mall is Closing I will always get the wrong sweet. It’s not that—it’s not that, but impulse is a high-fructose corn syrup something something razorblades. How about let’s kill nothing not even our own indecision because it is a warm bird body under its feathers. Bless you in the back aisle I can’t see...
Billeh Nickerson: Two Poems

Billeh Nickerson: Two Poems

THE GHOST OF BLOWJOBS PAST Suppose you’re invited to a Christmas party, and when you arrive at the condo lobby something feels familiar, which is strange since it’s not your kind of building and you don’t recall ever coming there before. Suppose on the flight up it hits you that the building occupies the space...
Jennica Harper: Three Poems

Jennica Harper: Three Poems

MY FATHER, AS JACK NICHOLSON A man who knows a pretty girl when he sees one, and he’s always seeing one. He reads waitresses’ tags, calls them their names. All down-home Daddy drawl. When he was young, this probably worked with some. Now they humour him. For some reason I want them to be spellbound,...
Rodney Koeneke: sharon mesmer

Rodney Koeneke: sharon mesmer

sharon mesmer Sharon get up be cinema again for long pearly stretches the sky isn’t anything but stars inside the theaters projectors push light through emulsions soon we’ll be peasants films digitally perfect sugars beat by threshers from the cane with alarming new efficiency mixed in low-calorie sodas and presented to you at your table...

George Stanley: Two Poems

MEMORIES OF DESIRE I am unable to focus, I don’t want to focus on desires I can no longer feel. Desires for power over a younger, slender guy, a boy, a son.  A surge of anticipation of the first touch, but first the words, now mild, now menacing, touching and talking, touching after first talking,...
Mark Bibbins: Swallowed

Mark Bibbins: Swallowed

Swallowed When I see an escalator I have to kiss everyone on it, don’t you? If you like these pastries—our lawyer calls them perfidy rolls— there are more on his helicopter. He’s Serbian or something, whole family wiped out by his other family. But he’s fine now. Drop a kiss on the cultural floor, three-second...
Vanessa Place: As James Franco knows

Vanessa Place: As James Franco knows

AS JAMES FRANCO KNOWS As James Franco knows, Poetry makes me feel like I can create whatever I want, because all you really have to do is express what you feel emotionally and physically and how this affects the world around you As James Franco knows, Poetry makes me feel like I am singing a...
Matthew Zapruder: Two Poems

Matthew Zapruder: Two Poems

SUN BEAR yesterday at the Oakland zoo I was walking alone for a moment past the enclosure holding the sun bear also known as beruang madu it looked at me without interest it has powerful jaws and truly loves honey it sleeps in a high hammock its claws look made out of wood and if...
Karen Connelly: The Children

Karen Connelly: The Children

THE CHILDREN I feel them falling out of me, the children, like the passage of stars in the sky, the small fire denied by the fierce rising of the sun, the burning of my own life. They turn their small hands up to me sadly, they don’t know how to cry because they haven’t been...

David McGimpsey: One Poem

I WAS ALWAYS TOLD A POET SHOULD ONLY PUBLISH ONCE A YEAR, ON THE QUEEN’S BIRTHDAY AND ON THE SUBJECT OF THE QUEEN’S BIRTHDAY A government program seeks to leave poems in hospital waiting rooms so patients might read them and begin to understand there are worse things than diabetes. When Seamus Heaney passed away,...

Mary Dalton: Two Centos

APPLIQUÉ First having read the book of myths, they had begun to whisper, as imperceptibly as grief. Hearing the judges’ well-considered sentence, the atom bellies like a cauliflower; call it the refrigerator’s hum at night. On the most beautiful day for air strikes the season is called evening. The buildings are at their stations, untimely....

Brecken Hancock: Four Poems

BRECKEN Booze tides me. tv abides me. My tits slung astride me, I noose quiet to lie with me. My other husband’s a broom.   PROGRESSION BLUNTS EMPATHY Hush now, Mama, don’t say a word. Daughter’s gonna drink until you’re cured.   SYMPTOMS INCLUDE DISINHIBITION In lusting after their son, Sandy remembers her husband, young....

Robin Richardson: A Hedgehog in the Kitchen Keeps the Cockroaches at Bay

A HEDGEHOG IN THE KITCHEN KEEPS THE COCKROACHES AT BAY I love your world, he said, just keep it to yourself — I love your mouth. In a Star Wars themed fever dream I saw him lassoed by a solar flare and held there in a warmth I can’t provide. Blue light clicking upon waking,...
Doretta Lau: Left and Leaving

Doretta Lau: Left and Leaving

In the winter of 1997, world leaders descended upon Vancouver to discuss important matters. Two kids in Victoria battered and drowned a girl they barely knew. The dead girl, Reena Virk, and I were the same age: fourteen. Dozens of women who lived in the Down- town Eastside had disappeared, but few people seemed concerned....
Divya Victor: Color: A Sequence of Unbearable Happenings

Divya Victor: Color: A Sequence of Unbearable Happenings

Color: A Sequence of Unbearable Happenings “The story reveals the meaning of what otherwise would remain an unbearable sequence of sheer happenings” — Hannah Arendt, Men in Dark Times 1 It was a nice try. It was a nice move that made the black move to white. A nice move that turned most things away...

Alessandro Porco: The Minutes XIX

The Minutes: XIX Let’s begin: research indicates it’s never too soon for the “new” boom cuz if you can suck it then you can sell it: zumba house flip villanelle festival sex tape fatback dust jacket glitter cream— virtue requires a certain ease or lease. If you can suck it, yes, then you can endow...

Melanie Siebert: Thereafter

Thereafter Thereafter the northern plains would be cattle country. I had paid off my younger self speaking of the highly contaminated water. The dust was slaloming through the postmodern footnotes. The sandhill cranes etc had refused treatment. A host country manipulated the climate to guarantee good vibes to visiting qualms. Given that the leaked materials...

Sheryda Warrener: We Bought a Little City

We Bought a Little City First, we remove the dreadful yellow awnings from the shop-fronts in the square. Brighten the streetlamps. Play our instruments for the dairy cows crowding the fence. We angle for more daylight, fill out the appropriate paperwork. Get down on hands & knees to clean out the ditches. We eat breaded fish for lunch,...

Claudia Radmore: argle bargle eructation

argle bargle eructation   ribbons of baby stars ….burning their way through ………..natal shells ……pinpoints of red …..on the outside ………….of a round greenish nebula ………….in a cavity carved ……….from galactic dustclouds …………infant stellar ancestrals wind ……….through a maze ….of dark clouds ……infrared images ………record their progress astral ultrasounds          forecast dates...

Alice Burdick: Terms and Conditions

TERMS AND CONDITIONS Remember your terms. They are final. It’s good to have a hook or teeth to hold onto the ideas. Reel em back with that kite movement, brain floating on its column. Spine shake, snake bones through the day. I will hold the endless count of rooms in the real estate of desire....
Eric Schmaltz on John Riddell: The Selected Fiction of John Riddell

Eric Schmaltz on John Riddell: The Selected Fiction of John Riddell

Writing Surfaces: The Selected Fiction of John Riddell (Wilfred Laurier UP, 2013) is an overdue and timely re-introduction of one of Canada’s most radical, enigmatic media experimenters and fictioneers. Riddell’s concretistic, playful, unreadable, procedural, and non-representational works are numerous and have been too often overlooked. Beginning his career in the early 1960s, his work appeared in...
Bukem Reitmayer on Vivek Shraya: God Loves Hair

Bukem Reitmayer on Vivek Shraya: God Loves Hair

They say Your skin is blue because You are infinite like the sky and the ocean of milk You rest on. I wish my skin was blue. So begins the piece entitled “Dear Vishnu” in Vivek Shraya’s playful and intimate collection of prose poem-like stories, God Loves Hair (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2014). Among brief flashes...
Michael Casteels: Two Poems and One Frog-Pond Sudoku

Michael Casteels: Two Poems and One Frog-Pond Sudoku

SONNET The irises arrive, serene and swallowing the orchard, the sultan seated beneath harvest. Pupils dilate and ripen in this hinterland, this salubrious work-in-progress. A pheasant integrates from treetop to treetop; the curtains part and there she is, oh trembling heart, oh hyperventilation! If I were a horse I’d equilibrate, if a rhinoceros, I’d radiate...