TIMBER 8.1

Hello Readers, TIMBER 8.1, our Winter 2018 Issue, is here! We have shed remnants from our former life in print and no longer link to a PDF version of the journal. We are so excited for the poetry, prose, and visual poetry our authors submitted to us! None of this...

Beckett & Rilke Fertilize Bewilderment in the Wilderness Mother of Word Brooke Larson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia University, and is currently a PhD student in Poetry at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Her poems and essays have recently appeared in The Offbeat, Gravel, The Swamp,...

Dearest (A Poem) Lisa Folkmire is a poet from Warren, Michigan. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts where she studied poetry. Her poems have appeared in many journals, including Heron Tree Literary Arts Journal, Yellow Chair Review's Rock the Chair Challenge, Atlas & Alice, and Ann...

Room set Something to say Up lifting David Felix is an English visual poet who lives in Denmark. His writing has always taken on a variety of forms and has appeared in a number of journals, anthologies, exhibitions and performances. As a child of artists, magicians and tailors he is...

The Hadean Eon 4.6 billion years ago to 4 billion years ago ♦ Our sun is born The Earth forms, albeit in a molten state Earth is bombarded by space junk Our moon forms Space junk bombardment calms a bit Oceans begin to form from condensation Things begin to settle...

A Frantic Turning Around The absence of love must be like a frantic turn-around. –Bernadette Mayer Don’t let anyone tell you you are less than scared. That’s how you really feel. I was going to die young but now I’ll have to wait for you, honey, was a line I...

from "Birth Chart" This is a lunar fragment for the scorpion child who will not sleep, the stripes of his pajama shirt against the dinosaurs of his pajama pants, the bonnie he calls bunny who lies over the ocean, oh bring back my bunny to me, oh lie down, scorpion...

A Summons to the Archive Mascot The battalion in retreat stopped for a night in a village that did not appear on any of their maps. In the morning they looted everything they could carry, then burned the village to the ground. After the battalion moved on, the ashes of...

When We Take You Home I dont remember the forest or the language the path of my name out from your mouth I have killed to smother the embers flaked pink in your ashes we carry you into the forest after cutting into you a snake unearthed we pin with...

On a rooftop, a burglar holds a gun to Mary Jane’s head because, duh, rooftops are normal hangout spots for burglars and hostages. Spider-Man takes a cautionary step forward. The burglar is shaking and I can see the sweat coming out of his ski mask; my face flattens against the...