Archives for August 2017


Allan Peterson

The gift of the future was finding out

how wrong we were about the past

We were so open to everything

it was like unprotected X

We wrote words like leaves that fell

and turned in the current

as a rotating wing reducing pressure

on its cambered face produces lift

2018 Orison Anthology Nominations

We are pleased to announce our nominations for the 2018 Orison Anthology:



Allan Peterson

Someone made a craft of balloons and lawnmowers

a chaise lounge a cup for martinis and rose above landscape

drifted and came down pleasantly streamside

where kingbirds were associating easily with peewees

and tyrants the way a dalmatian can move among holsteins

with a sense of belonging


Laton Carter

Some people state some people, but neither word is exactly what they mean. Some is a lie, because it expresses inexactitude, and people is a lie because it is a generality. The people that state some people know exactly what they are saying, but choose inexact generalities to express it.

The word impact, meaning the point of collision, no longer suffices as a noun. Engineers find themselves impacted by the living conditions they witness. They are impacted by the people in these conditions, and the people, because of their conditions, have no choice but to impact.

Dentists are not impacted like engineers. Dentists witness impaction. A wisdom tooth becomes impacted, and the dentist’s job is to extract it from impaction.

Influence is like wind — the thing itself is invisible, but its effect is free and available to the eye. Trees bend to it — people’s lives break from it.


Eric G. Wilson

Blinded and bound, I stiffen
for triggers.
Inside my eye you spread.
The horses you water by the shore.
Bullets splash my heart,
blue hooves, the waves

The Brightening Air

Eric G. Wilson

Chartreuse gown
iconic as Harlow
between songs you smoke
your bedroom flickers
my sonnet on dahlias
the hyaline dawn

As Soon As Possible in the Past

Jeff Griffin

Stuffed animals left a knife smell
we stick on the asphalt. I suggested no

such half-toothed smile. Warm
drink, arrogant beauty—

possibilities of night, deserted
hallways. It was—

 it was not her.

A blonde started throat dancing.
I dance, I did, I dance, I do a little.

Light, chewing sound of copper pennies
being run through the mouth. I found

myself licking the motel window.
Air thick with burning feathers.

Tape the door closed, tomorrow
will take all day.


A. Molotkov

A bullet-size hole
in my chest; my best

attempts at love escape. A story
of wrong doors opened

in a wrong order. A multiple

choice test. A towel I left
on the beach

the morning
my mother ran out of air.

Turn Around

Peter Munro

Let me repent my god and die.
Without a woman I am not.
I offered everything. It bought
me nothing. In the church of thigh

and idyll, she strips. But her sighs
betray the worship I have sought.
Let me repent my gods and die.
Without a woman I am not

nothing yet my praise seems a lie,
empty as wind in a chime, caught
briefly in sound like a blood clot
snags on what a spirit denies.
Let me repent, O Lord, and die.


Jennifer Wortman

HaShem mans a mean sea.
A name’s a seam.
A seaman’s ash: amen, shema.
Mama smashes manna.