LEMON HOUND

More Bite Than Bark Since 2005
Poems
Dan Chiasson: One Poem

Dan Chiasson: One Poem

Interviewing Janet Malcolm To interview the interviewer, you need a mirror. She’s trading privacy for peekaboo. Janet Malcolm writes the questions that she answers. Her apartment had the air of “New York Writer”: The cat, the glass-top table, a park view; On the far wall, facing us, an ornate mirror. Her cat, and not her...
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...