Monday, March 23, 2015

New Poetry by Ron Riekki

Walking the Streets of Croix After Our Argument

There are a thousand bars.
I could get drunk,
so drunk
that I’d become a fossil.
I’d be a dinosaur.
I’d drink myself
to the Big Bang,
before we ever met,
before anyone ever met,
before anything ever happened,
and I’d be drunk there,
and young
in an alley,
to remember you.

- Ron Riekki 2015

Ron Riekki's books include U.P.: a novel, The Way North (Wayne State University Press, chosen by the Library of Michigan as a 2014 Michigan Notable Book), and Here: Women Writing on Michigan's Upper Peninsula (Michigan State University Press, May 2015,

New Poetry by Jonathan Hadwen


when you lower yourself
into the ocean, look outwards
as if there’s no shore,
no heartbeat to return to,

just that distant point
where no part of you, not even your eye, 
can ever reach.

- Jonathan Hadwen 2015

(Jonathan Hadwen is a Brisbane writer who has been haunting the various halls of SpeedPoets since 2008. In 2013 he was named runner-up in the Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize for an unpublished manuscript, and in 2014 he placed second in the Josephine Ulrick Poetry Prize.)

New Poetry by Donal Mahoney

An Easter Rising
Poetry by priests?
Who gives it more than mock attention?
We read their poems, yes,
author first, then the title,
finally the verse itself.
Not much, except for Hopkins.
We wait for Rome, you see,
to give us in addition to its saints
one more decent poet.
A sot once said
“When things get bad enough,
you will see a Celt,
armed with a quiver of poems,
ride flaming out of the hills, 
soaring over the lakes,
wearing a rainbow for a Roman collar.”
Things are bad enough right now by half.
We need to hear his gallop soon.
 - Donal Mahoney 2015

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He writes poetry and fiction. Some of his earliest work can be found at

Thursday, March 19, 2015

New Poetry by Michele Seminara


Let's leave everything be.
Let's just stop fixing.
Perhaps if we let everyone settle
clarity will be revealed.

Today I entered the cathedral of the bush—
sought permission to walk the land; felt it granted.
Was buoyed by a chorus of cicadas ululating
their adulation to the Gaia of this world.
(On Facebook a slowed down recording of cicadas—
Oh my, what exaltation! Beyond the range of men.)

As I traipse through the bush
in my rag of a dress,
great slobbery dog lopping
at my side, a disheveled woman
with hands clasped behind her back
like some unhinged Confucian scholar

a brown snake crosses my path.
It's an intimate moment, as if
he has been waiting for me.
What does one do in such a moment?
Acknowledge, pass...

Let's leave everything be.
Let's just stop fixing.
I want to open like that naked flannel-flower to the sun.

- Michele Seminara 2015

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

New Poetry by Robbie Coburn

Autumn Proverb

walking the paddocks I saw a dog attack a bird, 
take its fragile body in its jaws and shake it of all life.
it lay motionless on the earth, the shrill cry that shattered the grasses fleeting.
I wondered what it must have thought of when its throat was torn, 
who must now wait for its return, the coming of only a longer silence-

death, as absence, has a permanence the skin cannot repair,
captured in any moment that passes beneath a perfumed rain,
I recalled your ghost, transparent in the open paddock,
a thin veil of fog beginning to leak from the frame.

- Robbie Coburn 2015

Monday, March 16, 2015

MTC Cronin at the Brett Whiteley Studio

Margie at the Brett Whiteley Studio Sunday 22nd March, 2-3.30pm, 2 Raper St Surry Hills.

MTC Cronin has published 20 books of poetry, prose poems and essays with several translated into other languages. Her work has won major literary awards internationally and in Australia. Recent poetry collections include The world last night (UQP, 2012) and In possession of loss (Shearsman Books, UK, 2014). Today is the launch of her latest collection – a 20-year work in progress calledThe law of poetry (Puncher and Wattmann).

Thursday, March 12, 2015

New Poetry by Dawnell Harrison

My first language
My first language was split
in two by a white light that
revolved around my head
like a halo -
the luminescence sparked down
like rain drops lit from within.
My first word was star,
a real white prism of light
that lead me up to a cloudless sky.
A silver and blue nebula followed
me around like a child dragging
a blanket behind her.

- Dawnell Harrison 2015

Dawnell has been published in over 240 magazines and journals including Pyrokinection, Fowl Feathered Review, Blue Pepper, Queen's Quarterly and many more.  She has have had 5 books published including Voyager, The maverick posse, The fire behind my eyes, The love death, and The color red does not sleep.


Monday, March 09, 2015

New Poetry by James Walton

The Hideout

When my father died
I remembered
buried outlaw long necks of beer
as tubers
under the colour of hydrangeas
splashing irises
beside the straggling hibiscus
drunk as

- James Walton 2015

James Walton hails from South Gippsland and lives in the Strzelecki mountains. His work has appeared in: Eureka Street, Australian Love Poems - anthology,  Daily Immanence - anthology, the Wonder Book of Poetry,  and Australian Poetry. James decided to stop being a coward and quit work in January to concentrate on writing.  He is now starving, but happy, and lives with a Noah's Ark of animals.

Friday, March 06, 2015

Bluepepper lives again!

After a good deal of patience and expense on behalf of yours truly, Bluepepper is finally back in business. Apologies to all budding "peppers" out there! Please feel free to re-submit.

Thursday, February 26, 2015


To all those who have submitted work in the past fortnight, I humbly apologise for my lack of response but repairs to my laptop are taking longer than expected. Bluepepper should be up and running again in the first week of March!

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

New Poetry by R. Gerry Fabian

The Winter Of Our Discontent   

With apologies to Shakespeare and Steinbeck

The rusted square metal clothes pole
sits in three feet of snow
with stiff frayed rope
thrashing against the cold metal.

Where are the the warms breezes,
the robins temporarily resting,
the flapping of shirts and skirts?

- R. Gerry Fabian 2015

R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor. 
He has been publishing poetry since 1972 in various poetry magazines. 
He is the editor of Raw Dog Press
He is currently working on a book of his poems.

Monday, February 09, 2015

New Poetry by Pattie Flint


She’s matchsticks, my baby.
I’m hoping she’ll rub up on
my five o’clock shadow tonight
burning my dirty fingertips 
with the way she fingers
her earlobe with two studs.
She laughs, tells me I am a
moderately sized fish 
in a really small pond,
I say it’s not failure
I’m afraid of, it’s contentment. 

- Pattie Flint 2015

Pattie Flint is an uprooted Seattle native toughing it out in Scotland binding books by hand. She has been published in Five [Quarterly], Hippocampus and TAB, amongst others. She is currently working on her MFA at Cedar Crest College. 

New Poetry by Seth Jani


It’s the raw nerve.
No more sex or whiplash,
Just the fire underneath,
The electricity.

For all the wondrous phantoms
That catch the flesh
It’s still just longing
In the end.

The old, flame-white face
Of desire
Still pulling us like a madness
Towards the beauties of the earth.

All these blood-soaked, irreplaceable things
That glow and perish.

- Seth Jani 2015

Seth Jani originates from rural Maine but currently resides in Seattle, WA. He is the founder of Seven CirclePress ( and his own work has been published widely in such journals as The Foundling Review, East Coast Literary Review, Red Ceilings Press and Hobo Camp Review. More about him and his work can be found at