LEMON HOUND

More Bite Than Bark Since 2005
Poems
Jeramy Dodds: The Poetic Edda

Jeramy Dodds: The Poetic Edda

  Excerpt from Jeramy Dodds’ The Poetic Edda, Coach House 2014, by permission. Jeramy Dodds’s first collection of poems, Crabwise to the Hounds, won the Trillium Book Award for Poetry and was shortlisted for the Griffin Poetry Prize. His poems have won the CBC Literary Prize and the Bronwen Wallace Memorial Award. He holds an...
Kerry-Lee Powell: Four Poems

Kerry-Lee Powell: Four Poems

TO MY CREDITORS A dozen red razors. Eleven peals of manic laughter, ten impending crises. Nine duels at dawn followed by eight candlelight vigils. Seven sighs, six lies, five excellent excuses. Four of my firstborns –three of them bastards– two brinks of despair, one portent of disaster. And O, the moon you asked for.  ...

Ryan Fitzpatrick: Three Poems

I JUST WANT TO ESCAPE When the morning starts with a crisis, I turn to my social network. I’m caught in a series of Kodak moments and it makes me feel so lucky. I tear up when colour swells into my recombinating diary. My lungs hurt during the moment of silence. The odds favour me...
Rebecca Hazelton: Three Poems

Rebecca Hazelton: Three Poems

COVER Halfway through the mission, the operative called his handler and told her the children in the park he could see from the clerestory were flying kites with tails decorated in ribbon and foil. They are putting a real emphasis on aesthetics, he told her. Some of us are born with priorities, and the rest...
Jackson Mac Low: 1978

Jackson Mac Low: 1978

Jackson Mac Low on Public Access Poetry, Jan. 26, 1978. See Penn Sound for more.
Paul Vermeersch: Rubble

Paul Vermeersch: Rubble

RUBBLE Paul Vermeersch 2 The shark-face is screaming in the doorway opening its fangs. SCREAMING thathat it cannot die, that it has come back, this time on wings, and will spare no earthly thing. It is moving above me, it is burning my heart out. The ancient owls’ nest must have burned. A red fox...

Cat Diary

CAT DIARY The cat keeps staring at the corner. He’s been there forever, listening. Okay, he gets up to eat and shit but he always goes back to that corner in the bedroom. He just stares. My girlfriend, Staci, there’s a word she likes: Uncanny. I can’t touch him or talk to him. Freaks him...

Sonnet L’Abbe: Writing through Sonnet 22

From Sonnet’s Shakespeare: 154 Ecolonizations XXII So many girls are missing. Shamefully, no type rescues dead demoiselles. Media memorials nod: isolated occurrences, gasp-worthy. Mouthfuls of sand, throats squaw-red, our foundation sedates – butch! burn, twat! witch! – sentences. Winters here; frontiersmen; soft furs: brown siblings, the threshold threatening looks and ideals. This ignominy daylights homeys’...
Ben Tripp: French

Ben Tripp: French

FRENCH She couldn’t leave the room She wasn’t able to leave the room She used to not be able to leave the room The imperfect is the film “I was swimming.” The composed past is the photograph “I swam.” I don’t know exactly when I’m thinking I know exactly where I’m thinking To prefer the...

Joshua Mehigan: One Poem

Heard at the Men’s Mission How many sons-of-bitches no one loves, with long coats on in June and beards like nests— guys no one touches without latex gloves, squirming with lice, themselves a bunch of pests, their cheeks and noses pocked like grapefruit rind— fellas with permanent shits and yellowish eyes who, if they came...
Emerging Toronto Poets: Stevie & Aisha Want You!

Emerging Toronto Poets: Stevie & Aisha Want You!

Here’s the first of a few LAST CALLS as we head into our final year of publishing. Lemon Hound is open to submissions from Emerging Toronto poets starting today and continuing until August 23, 2014. Co-editors Stevie Howell & Aisha Sasha John are seeking 3-5 pages of previously unpublished poetry by Toronto poets with two books or less, for a folio of new voices....
Laura Broadbent: Short Film II

Laura Broadbent: Short Film II

SHORT FILM II A woman in her early thirties is shown performing all the rhythmic, banal things any human being does unselfconsciously throughout the day such as brushing teeth, tripping in legs of underwear, peeing, splashing water over face, leaning on the counter while drinking orange juice out of the carton, staring into space combined...
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...
Kevin Walter: Five Poems

Kevin Walter: Five Poems

MILF Sonnet 5 Do not infringe upon her hot Joan of Arc fetish, mimetic fisherman—your namesake ghastly on the gentle flagstaff. A shrewd witness testifies against your fidelity, the blenders, libertine mainframes. Weatherman Ted needs his whiskers, after all. Henchmen debase pinwheels, hornets philander the redhead. This ethanol thermostat tells us the math was forewarned....

Antony Di Nardo: If it Weren’t for the Mouth of the St. Lawrence

IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE MOUTH OF THE ST. LAWRENCE I’ve got a message for you, he said, But saying it would take all the time in the world So instead I wrote it on the face of the river, A place Banksy hasn’t yet found. I’ve got a message for you, but it’s deep...
Douglas Kearney: Two Poems

Douglas Kearney: Two Poems

“I HAVE A PENIS! MAMA HAS A PENIS!” a song in me of my daughter’s wayward penis, twin to her brother’s stolid one. gone on its hero’s wanderings, audacious penis! it’s nautical, my daughter’s penis, a craft of sail, propeller, or oar, madcap ship of the frothy bath sea penis! it’s chthonic, my daughter’s penis,...
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...
David Bradford: Riding Bitch

David Bradford: Riding Bitch

RIDING BITCH I must have been 9 or 10, divorce still but a pipe dream, and just barely, then, taller than my mother, and just at 5 feet. I called shotgun, the callow son swinging the Altima door open, only to have him tell me to sit my ass in the back, that the front...
Jen Currin: The Whole Wind

Jen Currin: The Whole Wind

THE WHOLE WIND Someone at a party told me Mercury was in retrograde & then asked how I found my poems. Later he read a list of vulnerabilities & we all held hands. The children always steal spoons & listen to the dogs – I can just barely bandage the past enough for them to...
Sarah Lang: For Tamara

Sarah Lang: For Tamara

Considering how important generators are, / you’d be surprised at how poorly they’re drawn. / I’m talking magnets and copper wire. Tamara, apparently don’t throw out your textbooks. / I’m running out of advice. / You’re going to be better at this than I. One of the most difficult things to learn is to be...
John Cotter: Comment & Selection of Bill Knott Poems

John Cotter: Comment & Selection of Bill Knott Poems

Bill Knott wrote matchless and indelible poems in a wider variety of styles and modes than most mature poets try on while shopping. Remarkably, though he was loathe to acknowledge it, single voice can be heard ringing through each: righteous and irascible as a prophet, wised-up but awake to new kinds of beauty, adept at...
Anne-Marie Turza: Two Poems

Anne-Marie Turza: Two Poems

DEAR GOD —AND WHEN I SAY GOD, I MEAN THE GOD who made the snail, curled in a perfect house, shitting on its own head; I mean the god of untrue colours, the chartreuse and teal god; I mean god of the conditional tense, in the dark on the sixth day, who said If there...
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,...
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...

Rebecca Olander: Return to Great Meadows: Tracking the Living and the Dead

RETURN TO GREAT MEADOWS: TRACKING THE LIVING AND THE DEAD   One goldfinch feather, veined               color of cosmos, coreopsis, primary shade, the definition of yellow.         Taken as a sign it comes along for the walk around the marsh, the mucky edges,           fallen trees downed for want of firm earth.   At the gaping center,...

Rob Fitterman: No, Wait. Yep. Definitely Still Hate Myself

Not to be found on any Griffin Prize shortlists any time soon, and yet I would argue that so far this is the book of the season. An uncomfortable bulls-eye and an instant conceptual writing classic. Sort of like sticking a taco up my nose while attempting to swim in a puddle.

Geoffrey Morrison: Lungfish

LUNGFISH I broke a roller-skate in the shade behind the cemetery: Gargoyle-grotto of a garbage can, a basketball court, The wool-grey metal backboards streaked with rust. Drifting across the three-point line, last year’s leaves. “Friends, this place bears the curse of Saturn.” And in the tobaccospit ditch, the flicker of a salamander Autumn came, and...

Trish Salah: Eulalia for Mother Night

EULALIA FOR MOTHER NIGHT Saint Able bombs to be a Barcelona called Chloe Saint Sometimes Soon to be Chloe accepted. An actor decides if detours, what’s arrived Are art is lunges male managed mind Student soma asks attitude of spirit birds Susana begs becoming clothes consolidated On experience from a far farm Pretoria painted Older...

Matthew Tierney: Radio Call-In No-Show

RADIO CALL-IN NO-SHOW Our Lady of Perpetual Help has new signage that peddles prayer requests ‘by appointment only.’ Only an atheist would bring up the choice of font. The point at which a passing car’s hubcaps seem to stall, then wheel backwards— that’s when you fall half in love. The tunnel light a stainless steel,...
Winner of Lemon Hound's First Poetry Prize

Winner of Lemon Hound’s First Poetry Prize

THEREAFTER by Melanie Siebert 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...

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....
Lemon Hound Poetry Prize Shortlisted Poems

Lemon Hound Poetry Prize Shortlisted Poems

Our fabulous judge, Rae Armantrout, has selected the five finalists for our first poetry prize. The winner will receive $750. We’ll announce that winner Monday, April 7th. But, before then we will post all five finalists, one a day, because we think each of the finalists deserves to be read. So, let us entertain you....
Christine Walde: Two Poems

Christine Walde: Two Poems

BLACK ELECTRICITY Is this where it started for you From here the sudden shocks Hooks pulled back to reveal The onyx-furred tunnel Her voice calling out your nature Silent among the pines & that spiked head of some heaven Starry that cradled you Over the water & made you want Her body lightning You divined...
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...
Jaime Forsythe: Two Poems

Jaime Forsythe: Two Poems

INSTRUCTIONS FOR HEAVY WEATHER after a collaboration with Alice Burdick You egg cup, you balloon animal, shatter and burst, dilute without fuss. Two celestial bodies nod hello while a bucket of paint overflows in the rain. Beach your testimony for a tried-and-true myth. Fiddlehead your hair for the ceremony? Not enough. In the wet glow,...
George Murray: Three Poems

George Murray: Three Poems

PROPER PUNCTUATION Forecasts are for chumps, he told her, tapping the paper. Write that down in your notebook there. All angle and spangle, the weather punks its tattooed forehead into your face. A Scottish Kiss. This is what it means to be raw. No manufactured amp feedback or rusty strings or rebel lowercase. Now is...