Thursday, December 1, 2016

Due to personal issues this project and all others associated with Kind of a Hurricane Press are closed indefinitely.  All work that has already been published will remain live on the site.  All work that was accepted but has not been published is now released back to the author.  All print copies and issues will remain available through their current sales channels.

Monday, July 25, 2016

A Poem by Daniel Slaten

Start the Panic

he dances backwards into the room
the moment everything explodes
a mushroom cloud of watermelon-scented
covers all but the only thing
the everything the anything
the absolutely nothing thing
               that matters
or doesn't does it
no of course it doesn't
it never will it never did
               it never should
and so it is
and so it isn't
a celebration of movement
               in that
of utter panic
when the watermelon-scented
woke us all from our slumber

Daniel Slaten writes short stories and poetry in small notebooks and on sticky notes.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Three Poems by Angelica Fuse

Winged Poem

I saw a winged
poem today whose
name said he was
but he was no devil
just an arrangement
of friendly whiskey
verses offering opium
to children.

Monkey Business

I am from the tree
dangling, an ensemble
of animal parts, teeth
that rattle, this is my
territory, I beat my animal
chest, bray like an ass,
piss on the floor,
then climb back up to
survey my finer points.


lathe and labyrinth
we drove deep into the night
looking for monsters
forgetting our swords at home
but at least we had our
smart phones so we did not
get too lost
then entered the open mouth
of the cave
[bad idea] now still turning
we are beating hearts
lost in the dark.

Angelica Fuse is an unquiet voice.  She enjoys reading by an imaginary fire.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

A Poem by John McKernan

Go On

Mister Mayor
Call Prince Adam

Ask him
How to lick
Arsenic off vodka ice cubes

Then call up the Insurance Company
Ask if they pay
In the event of suicide
Listen close

If you're paid up after two years
We'll send you a feather bed
Of maggots
And have Hugh Hefner deliver it

John McKernan grew up in Omaha Nebraska and recently retired from herding commas after teaching for many years at Marshall University.  He lives in Florida and West Virginia.  His most recent books i s a selected poems Resurrection of the Dust.  His poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Paris Review, Field, and elsewhere.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

A Poem by Marc Carver


I come to a river
there are three otters swimming in the river.
I put the diamonds on the bank and swim,
one of the otters comes to me and lays in my arms, like a baby.

His two fins at the back open out
and he becomes a small child resting in my arms.
He swims away
and I look at the banks, they are filled with bright green and red frogs bubbles all over their body
then I look for the diamonds
they are gone.

Friday, July 15, 2016

A Poem by Charles Eugene Anderson

Dine-In Communion

Eating is Freedom

The signs are everywhere.
I'm hungry.

Eating is Life

Pass one.
Drive some more.
Pass another one.

Eating is Divine

Pull off the interstate.
See the right church.
Drive to parking lot.

Eating is Tranquil

The line is too long.
Decide to go in.
Get out of hoover-cruiser.
Adjust pants.
Belt on last notch.
Time for another belt.
God has blessed me.
I'm his faithful servant.

Eating is Girth

I'm ready.
The line inside is almost as long.
I will be forgiven for fasting too long.

Eating is Repentance

I'll stand in line as long as it takes.

Eating is McDonalds

This time my number is twelve.
There were twelve disciples.
I look at the priest behind the counter.
He'll deliver the sacraments if I'm patient a little longer.
He says to me, "What are you waiting for?"
I say, "The Happy Meal."
I take it with my hands open the way I've been taught so many years ago.
The priest speaks to the woman behind me, "May I help the next sinner in line?"

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado.  He's been lucky enough to be published in many publications for the past twenty.  When Charles isn't writing, he likes muscle cars, running, and baking.  Find out more at  or

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

A Poem by Mark Niehus


Name Box
Date Box

Yes box
No box
go to question 37

Hi question 37
Yes box
Can you house me?
No box
go to Section E

Section E can you house me?
Yes box
with conditions, are you poor?
Yes box
are you lying to me?
No box
are you hiding zee moniez?
No box
please just house me!
Yes box
go to promise box

Promise me box
I Promise box

Sign me


Date me


Now fold me just so

Mark Niehus is a poet and artist who drives a cheese truck, between deliveries he explores the mechanics of human behavior.  Belief, need, ambition, self worth, inspiration and hope, occupy his mind while customers comment on the weather.  Finding a place for his writing has become important to him, though the reasons for this beyond the obvious are  unclear.  He likes to get close to instinct and invention to create unique combinations of poetry, street art, music and performance.