Barbara Daniels – 1 poem


Workers in glowing fluorescent shirts
mow and whack weeds. You and I
grab branches and roots to stop

our slide down a rutted path, juniper
seed cones like blue beads, years
counting down, too little time

to watch swallows drink on the wing,
like us in a hurry, stuffing insects
in wide open mouths of their young,

then gone again, hunting. I never know
when it’s the last walk, the last mosquito
tasting me. You say you admire God’s

excess, the surplus of ants, for example.
Boundless clouds. Noon rushes toward us.
A cardinal whistles sweet sweet sweet.

There’s barely time for our own lunch,
yellow mangos, Baldwin apples, sweet
cherries, juice on our fingers and lips.



Barbara Daniels’ book Rose Fever was published by WordTech Press and her chapbooks Black Sails, Quinn & Marie, and Moon Kitchen by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Mid-American Review, and many other journals. She received three Individual Artist Fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.


Two Johns, two Glenns and Victoria…a feast of five poets

Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts comes to a close with a Boxing Day Feast of five poets. Look out for the Bindweed Anthology 2018: Devil’s Guts print anthology coming soon in 2019!


John Riley

John Grey

Glenn Hubbard

Glenn Ingersoll

Victoria Doerper

Happy New Year!

Victoria Doerper – 1 poem

Wu Tong Triolet

I sip on lukewarm coffee.
The sky outside is flat grey.
The Wu Tong has no flowers for me.
I sip on lukewarm coffee,
Remembering purple blooms swelling the tree
When everything was different than today.
I sip on lukewarm coffee.
The sky outside is flat grey.




Victoria Doerper writes poetry, memoir, and nonfiction from her home in the Pacific Northwest. Her poems can be found in Clover, Cirque, These Fragile Lilacs, and The Plum Tree Tavern. Her prose appears in Orion magazine.

Glenn Ingersoll – 1 poem

Enveloped by hurricanes’ thinking elephant


The bridge empties.

He pulls back his shadow, and sees a way to slip through.

The coffee is shot through with gold and with shouts.

I am finally awake.


Some achievements require more negotiations with indifferent agencies.

Precisely at 1:14.

Drip drip drip. For the sake of a shared enterprise!

Read one inch of book.


No more elephants. The mirrors go gray.

In the glass a pained sigh’s powdery residue.

The river makes its quota of fences.

My bicycle leans rusting, locked, yours spins in the circus under acrobats.






Glenn Ingersoll works for the Berkeley Public Library in California where he hosts Clearly Meant, a reading & interview series. He has two chapbooks, City Walks (broken boulder) and Fact (Avantacular). He keeps two blogs, LoveSettlement and Dare I Read. Recent work has appeared in concis, Mannequin Haus, and The Opiate.

Glenn Hubbard – 1 poem

Collecting Seaweed from Strangford Lough



It was on our doorstep and free.

Would raise fertility and yield.

Collecting it could have

been a blip on the chart,

enriched an otherwise arid

Ulster Sunday morning.


I imagine laughter as we slipped

and slithered towards the prize;

surprise and wonder at the sight

of so much exuberant life; a hand-

on-hip breather to take in the grandeur

of the skies and give the day its due.


But imagine is all. For I was doubtless

all business. Wanting it done, in the bag.

Concerned about the car. The morning

like some wash-day shirt, I ironed out the fun

after rinsing out the colours, not noticing

as they drained away into the ebbing tide.


Once the rain had washed off the salt,

I dug it in at an inch-perfect depth

while you sat indoors alone. Again.

Months later I took a spade to a bed.

There was the gain, what remained

of that morning with you: a thin, dark line.




Glenn Hubbard has been writing poetry since 2012 and has had a number of poems published in magazines and ezines, includingBindweed! Recently he has been spending a lot of time listening to recordings of Basil Bunting.