Brian Kielt

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Patriarchal Picnic



Kielt’s work explores methods of depicting trauma and the phenomenological; senses or moments from experiences and memories. Life is unstable and the mind is unstable. They are in a constant state of change which may merge fact and fabrication. Drawing is essential because it is at this stage where information is filtered and deemed relevant to the final outcome. This editing process creates voids which allow the viewer to plant their own affects and experiences of trauma. Paint and other media are brushed, rubbed, and scraped across the surface. What is left is an unusual relationship between this moment’s truth and its preceding and succeeding implications. Drawings and paintings merge and overlap found and original imagery from eclectic sources which hint at sinister motifs of the viewer’s own making. These fictive narratives are continually shifting. To record the constant flux of multiple imagery, orientations and perspectives is to widen the scope for understanding the many facets of trauma. This moment’s perception of experience will be altered by time; elaborating and eroding.

Mariana Panchuk

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Maybe You Are

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Mariana Panchuk is an artist from Kyiv, Ukraine. She loved drawing since early childhood and especially enjoyed fictional stories and images. In school years she was studying at the art school, and later studied design at the institute. After receiving a Bachelor’s Degree, she has been working as a pattern and graphic designer at the printing complex. Eventually Mariana decided to expand her possibilities for implementing her creative potential and become an independent artist. She prioritizes continuous development and is always open to cooperation with others in the interesting projects.

Mariana’s artworks are always meaningful. This is a distinctive feature of her art. Naturally, each of the drawings has its own significance for the author. Nevertheless, the viewer is given a possibility of finding their own association and freedom to realize their own perception. Very often in the same figure a separate person finds his/her own outlines of the images that are totally opposite to the vision of another individual. Thus, her works reveal what lies in the subconscious mind of the beholder, as a reflection of the inner world, not only the artist’s but also the viewer’s.


Mariana Sawan

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Mariana Sawan is an artist coming from Brazil.
She has been drawing since the age of 10, when she gave her first drawing lesson to some friends! Her artwork nowadays is very unique, telling stories about how she perceives the world. Thick lines, sparkly eyes, geometry, curves and curls combined make it authentic and pleasant to see. Freedom, love, ego, passion, fun, dreams, human’s struggles and happiness are her themes, and one of her biggest joys is to trigger a smile in those who observe it!
Find her on Facebook at:

Hiram Larew


The Power of Poetry

Poetry doesn’t vote.  It can’t rule.  It sits on no juries.  It signs nothing into law.  It runs no companies or houses of worship.  And, it never ever wins an Academy award.  On all of these fronts that matter, poetry is powerless.  And for that very reason, of course, it is incredibly powerful.

Poetry is our trees, our anger, your life, my death.  It’s the birds that stitch air.  It’s the soul of night, the feast of day, and that ever present caution that’s careless.  Poetry doesn’t decide.  It doesn’t provide.  If it answers at all, it does so with questions.  And, to be honest, poetry doesn’t care; it cares as deeply as wells do, yes, but it never brings you water.  It wants nothing from you except wanting – this is probably its most gifting power.

And it soars, when allowed to, over just about anything else we can imagine.  It’s not the clouds themselves so much, but our need for them.   Said all at once, poetry is powerful for what it cannot be, and for the dreams it wants.

If you should ever encounter a poem that makes you jump, ask yourself why.  Most likely, the answer – if there is one – will be from so far-fully inside you that ancestors will wink.

Finally, poetry is really nowhere and so it’s just about everywhere around us.  It lives in the corner of your eye.  It rents most all of your willingness from you.  It aches with whatever is gone.  And, it cheers – even raves – for what may never be.  Thank goodness – and badness – for poetry, and for our never being completely sure how powerfully potent it really is.



Larew’s poems have appeared most recently in Honest Ulsterman, Amsterdam Quarterly, vox poetica, Every Day Poems, The Seminary Ridge Review, Shot Glass, Forth Magazine and Viator.  He lives in Maryland, USA. His Facebook page is at

Emma Zukovic

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Emma Zukovic was born in Lymington, England, in 1993. The artist is now based in Galway, Ireland. She received her BA in Fine Art Printmaking and Contemporary Practice in Limerick School of Art and Design. The artist’s mother is of Irish nationality and her father is from Macedonia.

Being of Macedonian descent, Zukovic’s work is concerned with the theory of Post-Memory and its relevance to the lost country, Yugoslavia.



Carmina Masoliver


Looking At The Same Thing

Singing on the back of your motorbike

through mountains, my favourite memories


surprise me. The return of love, like it never left,

you holding me in each and every bed,


except the ones without air-con to cool us,

where we laid like starfish, salty skin


and the heat is never something you can picture,

but this winter, I think back to summer shorts,


only wearing sleeves to show respect,

the land abundant with temples,


rice fields, motorbikes, smells

distinct to every country.


We were tested with con-men, swaying boats,

sea urchins, our own minds. Somehow


we coped, we survived and now we are back,

wanting to keep these memories alive. And sometimes


it’s the snapshots of everyday, changing landscapes,

we walked through side-by-side, for the most part.


Rolling shrimp in rice-paper with satay dripping off,

the sweetest popcorn at the cinema.


At other times, it was like we were dropped

into a postcard, and I question reality


when I think of the blue of that water,

the kindness of strangers, the feeling


of swallowing beer in a hammock,

of tasting the food from the side of the road.


We are back now, but let’s never stop

climbing mountains, taking in views,


plunging into unknown water.



Carmina Masoliver is a poet and teacher from London, England. She is founder of She Grrrowls feminist arts night, and is a regular contributor to The Norwich Radical. Her work has been published in various magazines and anthologies, such as Popshot, and her chapbook was published by Nasty Little Press in 2014. She has featured at events including Bang Said the Gun, Latitude, Lovebox, Bestival and Goldsmith University’s The Place for Poetry. She has facilitated workshops independently, as well as whilst shadowing Ross Sutherland, Niall O’Sullivan, and Michael Rosen. She currently lives and works in Córdoba, Spain.




Margarita Serafimova

Five Unnamed Poems


I was going up and down the garden,

between glimpses of flowers and my thoughts of you.

You were giving me death, the times were giving me light.

I was making circles as an earth.


Spring came,

but you did not come to your senses.

The bloom left you behind.


I knew now where this love was going –

it was re-entering the cells of my eyes,

it was permeating my irises, infiltrating their lights and colours.

It was washing their clearness and depths in tears,

and they were glistening, ready for the sight of

the air, mighty with empty vividness, over the Homeric seas.


All forces of reality –

the breath of the sea, the crystalline shoots of the tamarisk –

were converging, and in clear mute voices speaking to me:

You live in order to live.


Mountains and deer are sending snow

because they care for our renewal.

We sleep in their cold, sumptuously curled up

as in an embrace of oneself.



Margarita Serafimova has published one book of poetry, “Animals and Other Gods”, in the Bulgarian (Sofia University Press, 2016). Her second book, “Demons and World”, also in the Bulgarian, is forthcoming in May 2017 (Black Flamingo Publishing, Sofia). In English, pieces of Margarita’s have appeared in Outsider Poetry, Heavy Athletics, Anti-Heroin Chic, the Peacock Journal, Noble / Gas Quarterly, In Between Hangovers, Window Quarterly/ Patient Sounds, with others forthcoming in The Voices Project, Obra/ Artifact, The MockingHeart Review, London Grip New Poetry, and The Birds We Piled Loosely. Margarita is a human rights lawyer. Facebook:

Robert Ford


In The Moment

The kids are in love, and so sweetly

you can see it melting out of them,

see gravity getting smashed into

a million pieces beneath their feet

as they bounce along, occasionally

touching down because they can.


In their free hands, the ones not

holding the other’s, they clutch balloons

painted in colours we can no longer see,

inflated with their restless thoughts of

an unmapped future, raw materials

yet to be processed into anxieties.


Don’t you remember the first days of our

being? The damage we caused to gravity?

Our balloons? How the brilliant shock

of it interrupted time itself, and made

the future evaporate, while we failed to

notice ourselves not breathing properly?



Robert Ford lives on the east coast of Scotland. His poetry has appeared in both print and online publications in the UK and US, including Antiphon, Clear PoetryWhale Road Review and Ink, Sweat and Tears. More of his work can be found at

Bee Smith


I Was A Peculiar Woman Child

After I discovered Emily Dickinson

At age eleven

I took to writing cryptic poems

with a homemade quill,

a seagull feather nib

dipped into a bottle of Quink.


On Sunday nights for Bonanza

I donned a pioneer dress and sunbonnet

made for my sister to wear

in a sesquicentennial pageant.

I liked to immerse myself

In full period dress for TV.


Just as my bosoms budded,

my brothers’ burst into off key renditions

Barbara is Bustin’Out All Over,

twanging the straps of my training bra,

I became obsessed with the past,

the kind at least a century old


before hot pants and halter tops

flip flops on hot sidewalks

the flush of shame at strange men’s eyes

looking at me as I walked down Chestnut Street,

arms loaded with library books,

their wolf whistles sounding like cat calls.



Bee Smith facilitates Word Alchemy Creative Writing Workshops in West Cavan and is on the Irish Art Council’s Writers in Prisons panel. Her articles can be found widely across the blogosphere. She is the author of “Brigid’s Way: Celtic Reflections on the Divine Feminine” available as an ebook on Amazon. BrigidsWay.

Eva Griffin


Losing Dogs

I call my mood swings me and you;

We will shit on everything you love.

We raised our bodies on streets,

Growing up under the chill and

Approaching every momentary

Lapse of happy

With the affection of a kitten

That has never seen heat.

Have faith in our bad taste,

We are the flavour of your mouth

That no soap can tackle.

We bet on losing dogs for fun,

But the love songs would still

Be written without them;

A few broken windows

Can make you empathetic

After all.

We mark our territory by crying on things.

Is it any wonder we enter this world

Wet and screaming?

Going from one thing

To everything

So suddenly,

We pass into the grand narrative

In tangled terms,

Our cries like little laughs.

Tickle some sun beams

And if you’re happy

We’ll grow up like you,

But we are only

What you think you are.



Eva Griffin is a poet living in Dublin. She is currently pursuing a Masters in Gender, Sexuality & Culture in University College Dublin and is the former Visual Arts Editor for


Editor’s Note

If you’d like to read more about Eva Griffin, and we highly recommend that you do, please click here for our Issue #5 poetry and art spotlight.