BLUEPEPPER

Safety Razor I’m still enamored with the idea of it:  that an antique safety razor—sporting a fresh leaf of steel--might in t...

like painted clowns       In the funeral trade, you wait a lot she said; It gives me time to stop and think. People sto...

Maryanne Most of the time I am in my own head which serves as a sort of insulation against all the things which could easily drive one w...

At Bluepepper we tend to leave off the editorials and let the poetry speak for itself. Momentous events of the past year have passed withou...

A month of Sundays and prayers (For Ambronese) And all I can think of is the River Ouse. Virginia Woolf’s River Ouse pourin...

Like Learning to Read A mark we all agree on takes on a meaning. We give it a sound. A string of marks becomes a string of...

Whispers from the Grave (Heart attack 50 years of age) What happened to 20 acres of farmland tilted toward sun angles, those ...

Table Wooden scale where to play with fingers fundament and keyboard of black pens and white paper Michael as brut ch...

Overcoat It was autumn in my endless year. I was under-ripe, an empty bucket. So I bought an overcoat belonging to a dead ma...

Gone to Jean Rhys’s purple sea Sunlight came to my house. It came knocking. It came And went like winter guests usually do. L...

Ringing in the Ears Ringing in the ears has no cure.  It’s called tinnitus and you can pronounce it  the way it looks or th...

Before I Forget This thing  like lightening between my teeth bad ideas left at the bar time ravaged  muddy boots and not...

While my inbox remains empty, I would like to take this opportunity to wish all Bluepepper readers and contributors a safe and happy Yu...

Tonight the Moon is shining, solemn in shades of blue, and my head is a balloon, longing to be a wheel of cheese.  I cannot t...

For everything my parents taught me Weekdays are detonated On a Monday. Little anticipation for them at Heart. A sisterhood ...

Calgary still talks about the 1988 Winter Olympics 　 The pen was too good to acquire. A cheap ballpoint might have fallen int...

The Escape I envy your talent for slipping into the sleeve of sleep; one moment your oceanic eyes are wide, the next, silky ...

The first thing I ever heard last night the wind had something to say I stayed awake listening he whispered through my keyhol...

Circle One those desolate pastures  the wind secures the dancing wattles  unshaped and rusting,  bark fraying from their tru...

We, Of the Bleeding Hearts We, of the bleeding hearts, tend our little fires in the encroaching dark as we have always done,...