Author: admin

Everyone Needs A Break Sometimes

The time has come to give The Splinter Generation a break. We could not be more proud of the work of our authors, our editors, and our readers.

Likely, this break will be permanent. But we have one more surprise coming down the pike. Stay tuned!

The Death of Adam: A Kaddish

Adam is dead and I eat Greek yogurt in my office between classes. Adam is dead and I reply to emails requesting recommendations. I purchase Iron and Wine tickets for their November show on South Beach. I buy Band of…

Forever, or Whatever

Poetry by Elaina M. Ellis

1.

Can a free-write about marriage be free or is it an oxymoron?
Marriage begs payment: pay for the husband to take the woman (cow)
off the hands of her father, as father grows tired of the girl-gone-woman (cow)’s
need to be fed? s

Experiments in Revision, Part 4

Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor Synthesis: This is not so much an act of combining as it is an act of harmonizing. Which parts of the previous drafts have shown themselves to be extraneous and unnecessary? Which parts augment and…

The Cantos

I hear Ezra Pound croaked without making a sound. No last rasp as his crooked legs crashed. I hear your aunt passed. I apologize. “I am nothing but bereft for her.” This is a chant & I realize 89% of…

Experiments in Revision, Part 3

Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor In this series we have thus far presented a long, action-loaded rough draft and then a total scrap-and-revise, tanka-inspired revision. This week’s installment is a list poem—a sister-shadow poem heavy with nouns; a counterpoint to…

robinhooding

Why I’ve got today This niggling feeling Like I’m The Principled Nazi Lieutenant With a Conscience defending A downed RAF pilot Of pure shamrock Irish stare (And this for fookin’ nuthin’: He’ll die, of course he will, shot In the…

Experiments in Revision, Part 2

Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor Tanka is a Japanese form that can be roughly approximated in English with five lines using a syllabic pattern of 5-7-5-7-7. When I first began working with it, I found it to be an amazingly…

Typewriter

Poetry by Whitnee Thorp

On Sundays we’d go over,
my grandmother and I, to see her ex-husband,
my grandfather, at his apartment a block away from ours.
On Sundays, the typewriter
would be in the same spot, at the head of the table,
covering a yellow smoke stained place mat.
He’d set a papyrus-thin white paper
through its clicking rounded black tongue x