Poetry

Waterhole Saloon | Whiskey and Words

December 16, 2024 Like 0 Ian Dundas

Waterhole Saloon, Stanford, Montana… Home. Stanford, Montana I knew it as a Hutterite bartering in a gravel parking lot with a tool salesman and from the gust of wind approaching the saloon blowing wet napkins across the wood bar top…

Poetry

US by Lindsey Terranova

November 14, 2024 Like 0 Guest Contributor

I’m done with the pendulum Swing right, swing left, never stops It isn’t a pendulum,

Poetry

Roadside Cross

June 24, 2024 6 0 Ian Dundas

On a sharp bend down a drunken HWY 78 between Columbus and Absarokee a white cross stands on the shoulder like a hitchhiker forever passed by in the daylight the weathered cross appears at peace nestled in the long grass and…

Poetry

Conversations with Ravens

December 18, 2023 3 0 Ian Dundas

Some of the best conversations I have are with Ravens on blue mornings. We mourn the old grain silos and loss of old barns as yellow leaves fall upon red leaves already downed. They tell me of their struggles –…

Poetry

The Magic City

December 11, 2023 2 0 Ian Dundas

This place has been scarred since the white man showed up damaged and broken. It’s poison It’s forever reaching mediocrity and obtaining it every time. This is a place once under water that needs to be washed of its bullshit.…

Poetry

Dream jobs

December 4, 2023 2 0 Ian Dundas

I have never understood the phrase “dream job” because I have never dreamt of labor – working some job where someone else gets rich off your back while attempting to strip you of your individuality. I dream of other things.…

Poetry

Things I Can Put My Lack of Faith In…

November 27, 2023 3 0 Ian Dundas

I have faith in the borrow pit alongside forgotten two lane highways and backroads that go on forever, music, bourbon, Irish whiskey half empty dive bars on cold winter nights and the small of a woman’s back. There’s faith in…

Poetry

Old Brick Buildings on a Blue Sunday

November 20, 2023 2 0 Ian Dundas

There is at least three types of puke on the sidewalk in a one block stretch and many more in puddled alleys where derelicts rest on a Blue Sunday in March Blue Sunday. You feel it in the air with…

Poetry

Drowning

November 13, 2023 2 0 Ian Dundas

It can become overwhelming when you’re drowning and locked inside your head. The silence of a house where you hear every sound it makes each pop and chime the sound of the furnace clicking on and it echos through your…

Whiskey and Words

When the Street Signs Melt

November 6, 2023 2 0 Ian Dundas

I want to watch the Rimrocks cry during a heavy rain that spews it’s tears into the basements of those who are dumb enough to live underneath while the Shop Vacs clog and turn to mold. I want the street…