Monday, December 31, 2012

New Words and Pictures by Wayne H. W Wolfson

THE JOB Part 2

A 3 panel movie. Cheap Marker on 5x8 Paper 2 minute sketches, late night free jazz of the pen. Soundtrack: Clifford Gilberto "The 10th Victim" from Xen Cuts (Ninja Tune)

Part one; It's On

"I have known you all these years, you are really going to make me stick a domino through the mail slot?"
I remained silent,
"Look I got the money right here, cash of course and probably more than the job is worth"
I shrugged but after quickly looking around rweached my hand out.
"My sister says hello by the way."
I pocketed the money.
"You still owe me a domino."
End part one

Part Two; Hard Eights

I went to Spontini's to make my final arrangements. We went over the last details, I always liked to have a back up plan too, What if I did not find him, what if I did and he was with her? How much did Aubrey want me to weight in either situation? 
"How are you going?"
"I will drive."
"But you hate cars, you never drive."
"That is exactly why no one will notice or expect me"
From the corner stool Ana was nursing the first drink of last call. She never talked out of school and so had witnessed who knows how many scenes like this. A Dutch-Cuban beauty with an over riding thing for feet of all shapes and sizes. 
"If you get tired take your shoes off, drive barefoot."
I half raised my glass to her in salute without turning my head. 
The half a second he bent below the bar I had to ask myself as anyone in my position should,in between two hard heartbeats, is this it then. is this how it ends? He popped back up and slid a manilla envelope across the bar. I put it in my coat pocket. I turned around to leave.
"Oh one more thing."
I turned around, a double six, white with black dots was handed to me.

End Part Two

END SCENE; A Lion Alone

I had found them together, His idea of laying low had been the back table of a Chinese restaurant. The scent of jasmine tea and burnt cooking oil. His first instinct had been to sacrifice her and that I thought was about right. He begged, pleaded and when the futility of that became evident threatened which was followed by a sort of wide eyed hands over mouth regret for having done the later. Of course he brought up the old times, the "good old days" .
"They had not been that good for me."
He pushed her into me as to run for the back door, the first mess made. An exhaling of breath, the icon stare towards a cheap drop down ceiling that had seen its share of pu pu platters and late night pai gow games. I lay her down on her back in the booth and nodded to the waiter that it was ok to call somebody. I chased him but knew it would be over before it became interesting. I read somewhere once that when a child is lost he will automatically head up where as an adult to the center. He had-had it soft his whole life his positions always being given because he was a legacy member. And even as he rose in the organization he did very little actual work, save entertain out of town guests taking them to all the places to do the things he would have been doing any ways but now he did not have to foot the bill. He ran up the fire escape. I followed but could take my time as there was nowhere left to go. The roof top. He stood with his back to the neon skyline. He was babbling in a panic now. I let it flow for a minute or two.
"Look, even if I let you go, they know where you are someone else will come. You have never been good at saving that is half the reason why you are in this mess. I am sorry, it is over."
He decided not to go out with grace, he began taking off his watch extending his hands from which it hung off clammy fingertips towards me. I did not say anything which he took as hope but was really my temper about to flare up.
"Why, why do this, you are not even one of us, you are just a lion alone, you can let me go, give them the money back, I will give you the fee."
It was starting to rain. I thought of something funny, not an articulate thought but a small component of something. So vivid was the image I started to laugh which momentarily mixed with a scream, an opera duet as could have been described by Dante and it was over.


- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2012

Saturday, December 29, 2012

New Poetry by Kevin Del Principe


Welcome to the sacredly profane and always sanguine carnival
A bare-bones world made with saxophones trombones
And cigarette smoke rings blown from hot lipstick lips
Anyone willing to sweat out god’s lost fever may enter

But once admitted the shadowy tent you cannot readily get out
Because savage light swings wildly casting phantom glances
And the cacophonous chords played by fallen watchers
Disorientates sinners and saints alike who clap and stomp together

It is not yet morning and the drive to abandon reason is strong
Let her go son let her fade into the slippery atmosphere
She belongs among all things vacuous and ethereal
Fight the devil’s knife tongue attached to your hallowed ear

Perhaps the most desperate character is also mostly honest
And the greatest revenge is spitting daffodils instead of flames
Maybe the only way to get out is to let go again
Because in a shadow world only real objects can be lovers or friends

- Kevin Del Principe 2012

In addition to writing poetry, Kevin Del Principe writes for the screen and stage. He is currently an M.F.A. Writing for the Screen and Television candidate at the University of Southern California.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Seasons Greetings

Bluepepper would like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a peaceful and productive 2013. And if you're an Aussie, don't forget to blow those candles out!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

New Poetry by Stuart Barnes

Eucalyptus resinifera

in drizzle
in humidity


-three o’clock

from gnarly
hearts, mahoganies

million fruits!—

all marbled

& where were you

- Stuart Barnes 2012

Stuart Barnes lives in Melbourne, Australia. His poetry's been published in print, online, & anthologised. He also writes plays & creative nonfiction, is working on his first novel, & edits PASH capsule  (, a poetry magazine.

Sunday, December 09, 2012

New Poetry by Benjamin Dodds

Struggle Street

A pitbull pup launched
through the void of a screenless
second-storey window breaks
four legs and siphons
from readers a soup
of tears and muttered tutting.
These toothless/heartless owners should be
licensed and where do they get the cash
to buy their Crayola cartons of
Horizon 50s anyway?

- Benjamin Dodds 2012

Cygnus olor, Tokyo

In rain-pocked
of human smut
the greasy swan
swims bound up
by ligatures of
plastic packing
at the high walled
corner of an
inner city moat.

Her black
and the mute
way she
bends herself
from his
searching rape
echo half-
from Kubrick's
final film.

- Benjamin Dodds 2012

Benjamin Dodds is a Sydney-based poet who grew up in the Riverina of NSW. His poetry has appeared in various journals, newspapers and anthologies. His first collection Regulator is currently seeking a home.

New Poetry by Julie Maclean

In search of Noir

Clark Kent in thin black frames,
smooth as blonde wood,
pale as a white-washed wall
charms the girls   boys too

Seems tired as he talks
of Nordic crime…
more blood   more guts
more rapes  more scalps
more sticks up arses  
snuff stuff      burning at stakes
serial death   more girly bait
in soft focus    hand held camera
grist for the mill    bread and butter  
thinking...not more wannabes

wannabe famous
get off the slush pile
out of this shit hole
wanna break
Kit Kat
wanna be loved
see sky
hear twang
see sun
smell a gum tree
get duty free
see mum
go home

- Julie Maclean 2012

Lamb Silence

Blank libretti either
side of the Oresund Bridge

till we got to Oslo
Walls of the harbour
rose and fell with House,
Sounds of Soul, a grass toupee
lifted off the castle wall

Ice block Operahuset
framed by nouveau
kroner from oil,
banged a steel drum
It sounded out of place

Like the skinhead
in the butcher's apron,
with the mohawk,
muscled in honey tones
of the Viking
flour dabs in gently
fingered timpani

taking orders
for moules frites
with the grace & style
of a symphony,
face pastorale

- Julie Maclean 2012

Originally from Bristol, UK, Julie now lives on the Surf Coast, Australia. In 2012 short listed for The Crashaw Prize, (Salt,UK). Her debut collection of poetry, When I saw Jimi, will be published in June 2013 by Indigo Dreams Publishing, UK. Poetry and short fiction features in UK, US and Australian journals including Cordite, Overland, Southerly, Wet Ink and The Best Australian Poetry (UQP).Short listed for Press Press and Whitmore prizes.

Saturday, December 08, 2012

New Poetry by Donal Mahoney

Wooden Anniversary

She uncradles the phone with a lyric
for someone who might be calling
if I weren't calling again from work,

who would be calling, she says,
if five years ago I hadn't
promised her me.

Five years ago she believed me
and now she has children, four,
a house, my calls each noon.

Five years ago she lied to herself
as I napped on her parents' porch,
silent yet screaming the truth.

- Donal Mahoney 2012

Silver Anniversary

There beyond the shrub
the sun medallions on the grass
around a python and boar,
the python winding.
Through binoculars I see
the python work so slow.
The boar now knows
what I learned long ago.
To go this way
takes years.

- Donal Mahoney 2012

Donal Mahoney has had work published in various print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa.
Some of his earliest work can be found at

New Poetry by Matthew Davies


You’re way too scrupulous
Stop swaying that saliva ass
and lick me

Your eyes alert, aware
Mine, weary, polluted
in drunkard imperceptions
of flicking lights
that cause stark reactions
on the inside-out

Now forget all that
and come out bulging
Flesh unto yourself
Not erect with honesty
or with clear-thought, purpose, direction

Just show me your body
Show me your toes filthy
Show me the land you inhabit
where the crisp tobacco rolls

- Matthew Davies 2012

Matthew John Davies is a poet from Brisbane, Australia. He has been published in Page Seventeen, Rabbit, and Regime Magazine, as well as journals online and off.