Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.

Month: May, 2014

Young Woman With a Goldfish (on Dylan’s 73rd Birthday)

girl fish

 The transistor radio beneath my pillow

Like a Rolling Stone

Bob Dylan making something new

ancient again.

photp from 1901

A Study, No.1


Rudolph Eickemeyer (American, 1862-1932)

Medium: Gelatin silver print

Accession Number: 1972.644.2

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

fish in air

Toronto street, March, 2014

all was still 



Rattle by Maureen Hynes


There’s a new rattle in the wind, a new texture to what blows

around the continents. Spinifex bushes dot the outback’s

blowing sand, its slopes and hollows. Mixed in with red


sandstorm dust: gum wrappers, foil bags, plastic water bottles,

empty tinnies. In the old days, says the Uluru guide, the desert

and its people were self-sufficient – what they discarded


enriched the land. A second Gonwanda is emerging, the mid-

Pacific Gyre’s garbage patch, mirror to the four thousand pieces

of space flotsam hurtling through the stars. Daily I trouble myself

17.dialing beginning

with the household’s petty excess, jam jars and junk mail,

a bag from every airport I’ve visited. I carry twenty unmatched

lids and eight containers to the bin, the half-life of glass

7.feathered 4layered 3copynew layer 2

nearing that of plutonium. Why not create something of value

with all this carboniferous energy? Yesterday a thick grey

cloudbank was towed across the evening sky by a thousand


invisible strongmen hauling in the snowstorm, obscuring

the sunset. I have finally decided that my preference is cremation.


Maureen Hynes is a past winner of the Gerald Lampert Award and the Petra Kenney Poetry Award (England). She has published three books of poetry, Harm’s Way, Rough Skin, and the most recent, Marrow, Willow from Pedlar Press. Maureen is poetry editor for Our Times magazine. http://www.maureenhynes.com


I modified a photograph from Wikipedia Commons (in images 3, 4, and 6) of descending stone stairs in the ruins of Vlotho castle, North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany, posted by Wiki user Tubs, GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2.


When it is gone… (Nietzsche, a quote)

aseductive glance

“When it is gone,

passion leaves behind a dark longing for itself,

watery figuresan oval

and in disappearing

glassy cavefilmstrip

throws us one last

seductive glance

seductive glance.”

turn to youredly
watery figures
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900)

masquefinaland closerfinaltwo of two

Invented Quote #1


that time you were young



that time you were young

and you saw something

you almost forgot

and the faster you ran

the slower you arrived


Van Gogh

was a bit like that





a soloa nightwhen the night comes fallingstereoedball*




grey scale





*grey scale


Tasting the Light by Ellen S. Jaffe


I  taste the light

coming through the window.

(from “Odysseus and Circe,” Anne Simpson)


Pouring, like you,

 into my heart,

washing over my skin



through glass



flowing waves and circling particles

currents of surprise, delight.


I am water, and I am a gull, flying …

mona xround q

a gulf wide and deep as Mexico


replenishing after spills and spoils

mona vd

You fish me, for stars

for pearls

lost boys and missing girls


fallen into the hole of our fears

O  is an open mouth,


one closed eye,

and one open

mona sl

a black hole where light cannot flow


mona j

 now light from the window of opportunity

         swallows us whole


and  we  shine


mona round



Ellen S. Jaffe’s most recent book of poetry, Skinny-Dipping with the Muse (Guernica Editions, 2014) has recently been launched. Tasting the Light is a new poem, not yet published. Ellen lives in Hamilton, writes poetry and prose, and teaches writing in schools and community centres.




So much depends upon…

a wheelbarrow 1

Like a certain famous red wheel barrow

three watery wagons

so much depends


upon the red



snowy brush

My brothers decided to light up a tree. Not sure how much damage the (few) matches did to the knobby crevice where the unfortunate had, seemingly, been struck once upon a time by lightning. Nevertheless, our father, with an abundance of caution ordered buckets of water to make sure the riverbank didn’t burn. Perhaps to teach a lesson, perhaps out of a respect for fire, he kept the buckets coming. Eventually my brothers tired and remembered the wheel had been invented. Wheels and fire. And for whatever reason, like the wheel barrow for William Carlos Williams, much depends upon the red wagon.

touchof skye

Photo of the wagon from the internet, copyright unknown, used non commercially to refashion a new work for purposes of commentary.