Merry Christmas from Seamus Hurley

Merry ChristmasA very merry, seasonal, whiskey-sipping, sleepy, bright, present-getting Christmas from Dr. Seamus Hurley, and from editors EEJ and DLR.

We will return on January 2nd with new goodies from our Snake-Oilers, so Beannachtaí an tSéasúir until then!

Impression № 057: Auto-stop

auto-stop

Gaëtan Vanparijs, everyone’s favourite Belgian surrealist, brings us this lonely alien hitchhiker. Won’t somebody help him out? Get in the Christmas spirit!

* * * * *

A native of Brussels, Gaëtan Vanparijs is a young independent illustrator and art teacher. He frequently exhibits and enters competitions to spread to share his universe. Through “l’étrange vie des autres” (“The strange life of Others”), he inserts a touch of the absurd into everyday life scenes, leaving each reader to his own interpretation. He has finished work on a book of illustrated Monsters’ Biographies,”Monstrueusement vôtre”. He is influenced by movies and the Belgian surrealism that surrounds him. More of his work can be seen at Flickr.

His other contributions to Snake-Oil Cure are here.

Dr. Hurley’s Digest, Vol. II, Issue 41

It’s nearing the Christmas season (sorry, Dr. H is a Catholic, so he’s very secular about all this), so we featured some Christmas shopping lists from (of a sort), as well as great poetry from a new Snake-Oiler, and photos from a relative newbie.

Monday – Poetry

Wednesday – Photography

Friday – Fiction

We’ll have something little for you on Christmas Eve and Christmas day, then editors EEJ and DLR will be taking a break until the new year, when we will open with some great photography from Ellen Jantzen. Stay tuned, and merry Christmas!

Shopping List

I want a bathrobe, deep and furry, an Abominable Snowman robe that wraps around me firmly, plucking me out of life’s snowdrifts, a geisha-wrapping robe, that snuggles me so I can barely move, taking tiny mincing steps that do not splash my coffee, cuffs sliding over my hands to make them delicate, almost invisible, collar brushing my neck softly like a cat’s plumed tail. I want a bathrobe that forgives cheesecake and Girl Scout cookies and the extra helping of lasagna, that flatters me poetically, that dusts the floor ahead of me with suitable obeisance, that feels honored to wrap my middle-aged body. I want a bathrobe that all the other clothes envy because I love it so much, washing it all by itself with the soap that comes in a bottle–not the box detergent with its look of cat litter gone wrong–drying it gently and hanging it on a hanger in between wearings, behind me in the mirror, so I can see it, always, even when I am putting on lipstick and clothes that do not love me—see it waiting to hold me, see it wishing that I was wearing it as much as I wish I was.

* * * * *

Lydia Ondrusek is a long-married mother of two who describes herself as busy writing her way out of a paper bag. Her fiction and poetry have been published in venues that include GUD, Apex Magazine, Flash Fiction Online, and Deep South Magazine. Her middle grade story series King of the Marshmallows is epubbed by Echelon Books. You can find her online at lydiaondrusek.com, at thelittlefluffycat.com, and far too often on Twitter, where she is known as @littlefluffycat.

Her other contributions to Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.

Exposure № 104: Intrapollati

intrappolatipublication

Photographer Nicolas Bruno brings us more digital work that is surreal and beautiful.

* * * * *

Nicolas Bruno is a digital photographer residing in Northport, New York; a harbor community located on Long Island. Inspired by frequent episodes of sleep paralysis, Nicolas derives his surreal subject matter such as faceless figures and outlandish imagery from the experiences he gathers. He is an avid explorer, ranging from wandering the innards of abandoned psychiatric hospitals, to exploring the depths of deep forest to set the stage for his artwork. Visit his website or Flickr for more.

See his other contributions to Snake-Oil Cure here.

Share

Fall

Twilight fell from a branch
the moon was holding
as it rose above the ocean,
and I couldn’t reach for it
for my hands were full with you.

* * * * *

Aida Bode is an Albanian writer, poet and translator. She was born in Korca and has published her earlier writings in the local newspaper of the city. Her recent writings have been published in newspapers of the Albanian community outside of the country, as well as those in the country such as Iliria, Shekulli, Gazeta Shqip and more. Her first book, published in Albanian and English, David and Bathsheba, was well received and praised by Albanian and foreign critics and readers.

This is her first submission to Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure.

Dr. Hurley’s Digest, Vol. II, Issues 39 & 40

Over the past couple of weeks, Dr. H has been gearing up for the holiday season, so we’ve featured new work at a slightly less brisk pace. Nonetheless, it is all wonderful stuff, so check out what you missed n the last two weeks below!


Monday – Fiction

Wednesday – Photography

Friday – Poetry

Monday – Poetry

Friday – Photography

We’ll be keeping you entertained for the next week or so, then taking a small holiday break, but stay tuned for full details.

 

Impression № 056: Runaway Clown

Clown 2 Sharon Woods

Runaway Clown Sharon Woods

Photographer Sharon Woods shares these fantastic photos of a runaway clown. Perfect for a Friday afternoon perusal.

* * * * *

Sharon Woods studied fashion and textiles and ran her own small business, Blackalbino. When her partner moved to Switzerland, she started taking photographs, and had her first solo exhibition last year, Dead Kitsch Twisted Beauty, She is currently looking for funding to put on another show, which will include some recent photographs from her Flickr account, and has the working title “My Life As A Bird and other Theatrical Notions”. See more of her work at www.sharonwoods.co.uk

This is her first contribution to Snake-Oil Cure.

Tears of Infidelity

The reluctance of your touch
was its beauty.
So careful not to break
your word.
But my world
refused to understand.
And quickly turned
your mind
over.
And out
in the darkness.
The fight took another flight.
One of fleshful answers.
Damning.
Damaging.
As these bruises fall
deeper.
It’s only their shadows
you can see
on my skin.

* * * * *

A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published six collections of poetry, all available on Amazon.com.  She has also published her work in numerous national and international literary journals.  Most recently, she has accepted the position as editor for four online poetry journals for Kind of a Hurricane Press. Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work on Facebook and Twitter.

Her other submissions to Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here

(The Ghazals) – by Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke and Martha Landman

https://i2.wp.com/farm9.staticflickr.com/8060/8239289188_6ac30f205c.jpg

I died for Beauty — but was scarce

— Emily Dickinson

Do I mourn my belovèd, and not move abstract nouns?
Roll-your-own sweep of the real world in an apothecary’s ounce.

Expressively, I travel the hot East & West ends, eating a volcano.
Hail, munchies are my God—I’m found on a daylight world on majoun.

A tin of dirt my heart’s palpitating talons the love after that’s unseen.
“Cinammon Girl” by Neil Young; a fool I’m twenty-five nights a roun.

Ehad, cloudy, five months on, I, Michael, a quixotic edifice discarded.
The angel gestured & I dropped her, and my debt, in the ocean towns.

*

Why am I forever saying
Words I do not mean?

–Edna St. Vincent Millay

Plagiarize love, in the absence of a decade of earth, leaking kisses.
Her amber fluid cries her belovèd steps sure-footed down the canal.

Supposedly impossible, the same One who created flies created him.
For a cheap flight open-mouthed dusk became night playing the infinite.

Hardly illicit flesh lingers cold a couplet goes on & — lays the gift.
I so like unbelief word upon word so become tired of brooding sentiment.

Pashmina wounded heralds a postmedia dawn.
A last love blind One doubled upon him dead.

*

From what stuff did He create him? From nutfa He created him

–Quran 80:17

Somebody’s got to take care of him, the King will protect her & love her.
The pattern is this: the image of these injured elements woven shut.

A greying feather slips from a composed mouth, & she reached a door.
A viscous future forms in bed @ night conceives a prisoner.

The raw cotton turbulence reached anapaestic order, incomplete—
Footloose, he rose then fell into a halfway, fountaining tangled feet.

One year, two years in a travel bag en route a Bulgarian harbour.
My scant wounds a black mirror simultaneously wishing poems.

* * * * *

This poem is a joint effort by Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke and Martha Landman, from their recently published joint volume entitled The Paradoxophies. This volume also features a Prooemium written by Dr. Hurley Editor Emily E. Jones. The Paradoxophies can be purchased here.

* * * * *

South African born Australian poet Martha Landman now resides in Townsville.  Her work has appeared in Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure and The South Townsville micro poetry journal. Martha is a psychologist who loves all things writing and reading.

Her submissions to Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.

Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke has this year launched The South Townsville micro poetry journal and he welcomes submissions of a 30 lines or fewer poem from any of Dr. Hurley’s readers and contributors.  If Michael could have one wish in life, he would give that wish away. michael(dot)fitzgeraldclarke(at)gmail(dot)com. 

His other contributions to Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.