WITH all the hating going on right now coming in from every direction, the universe could use more love.
Positive loving vibes issuing forth into the atmosphere to transform one and all.
With this in mind we offer before St. Valentine’s Day six love poems by Toronto musician/writer Tom Preisler. They well cover the inevitable ups and downs which come with loving someone.
(Tom will be featured in an upcoming print publication of ours, Extreme Zeen 2, due in April. We’ll also have a photo of him in our next print zeen, due soon. We like to spotlight the best new writers, and Tom Preisler is a good one.)
There is this loneliness everywhere,
You can see it in the front door of a supermarket store, its reflecting in your beer and untouched whisky,
It’s in the face of a woman waiting for a telephone call that never comes, in a one bedroom apartment with plastic flowers in waterless vase, untouched, unloved,
faithfully waiting for each night to pass.
(Art: “The Dancer” by Andre Derain.)
DILEMMAS OF CORPORATE CULTURE
ARE fast food poems pop? Or art? Andy Warhol would argue they’re the essence of pop art.
Corporate culture is ubiquitous and it’s also America’s addition to the culture of the world. Coca-Cola wasn’t simply a brand. It advertised American populist ideology to the planet. Some might call it cultural imperialism and others would say it’s only a soft drink.
Jimmy John’s is just a sandwich.
Where do we draw the line? Is the intersection of art and commerce allowable? The bigger question: Is it avoidable?
Our take: If a competing literary site can dedicate their entire oeuvre and reason-for-being to a fast food taco chain, then we can present three terrific prose poems about Jimmy John’s.
Chelsea Sieg is one of the best young writers we’ve come across in a while. A writer with the rare ability to combine humor and poignancy with a perfect flow of words so that afterward you shake your head at the accomplishment. Three prose poems: “The Jimmy John’s Poem Collection.” Read them.
it was a simple, quiet, two am kind of happiness, the kind you don’t have to think that hard about. it was a small, soft hope. and I would have eaten every sandwich on the goddamn menu, mustard and all, to keep it alive.
(Art: “Still LIfe with a Beer Mug” by Fernand Leger.)