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All My Stories
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Hammer
by Aidan Bernales Smirnoff piss in the face of Jesus Christ Leapt over in our pursuit of rundown rooms That bear no windows. We know to winnow The sheets upon the kiss of the lock and the key Or kiss our bedbug-bitten end. Ah, this city! Graffiti litanies line its fences. How they beckon me, Like the early-morning tsupers or those nocturnal Prostitutes who whistle for you. Birdsongs, I call them. And you’re quite raring to bargain, aren’t you? Strike up a conversation with th
Aidan Bernales
2 days ago
Menus
by Erin Jamieson cacophony of marigold taxis in cities whose perfume is Tuscan olive oil & fried cod a farewell to the Thai bistro, where you shared pad thai and he took your chopsticks a farewell to the cafe with discount espresso past mid day- he’d order two even though your mind was already racing a farewell to a family diner with sticky red polyester booths his double bacon cheeseburger dripping onto your salad plate- the salad he ordered without your consent I didn’t thi
Erin Jamieson
4 days ago
Community Unrest
by Carl 'Papa' Palmer Silence shattered 2am security alarm blasts a block or a mile away relentless until it stops abruptly leaving a void of non-noise yet not quiet serenity in the darkness of my bedroom did someone return home not enter the control code within the time limit push the wrong button on their car remote unable to reset in the dark or a thwarted burglary prowler frightened toward my unlocked car or yet another false alarm alerting no one not bothering to turn on
Carl 'Papa' Palmer
Apr 2
Three Poems by Grant A. Moore
by Grant A. Moore Anniversary the city edge, its concrete knife divides the Earth, creates a cliff the shifting gears engage to dive, a morning drive becomes a trek along the etching mountainside, the tips of which all signals die; ascending poles of cable lines, the crooked rubber vines that test the forest depth infested heights with swarming trails of valleyed years much older than the minutes here, forgotten since and gone to ground, to gravel found upon the paths unravel
Grant A. Moore
Mar 31
My Brother's Recipe for Mac and Cheese
by Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios He said it would make me famous this dish, made sacred with Emmenthaler sherry, a whisper of nutmeg. He said I would be famous and I am, among the neighborhood children many years ago, grimy and hungry from play jostling in the kitchen for a plateful. I ladle the macaroni and cheese in long sinewy strings, pulled from the spoon, breadcrumbs buttered and browned, a ceiling to crack into on an adventure in texture and memory, for the quiet gray
Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios
Mar 29
Mindful of Your Visit and Asparagus
by Melanie Perish Asparagus—spring harvest and thick, tapered as arms. The bundle of stalks waits for olive oil, black pepper, high heat – a timer set to roast them to flavor. When you arrive next month, above me with your damp, wide shoulders, the delts, biceps, extensors – your flexors and tendons tapered to wrist. My eyes, focused on your face, will not see hands spread on either side of my naked arms. We will be heat. We may let the vegetables burn.
Melanie Perish
Mar 26
Passing Three Women in Midtown
by Melanie Perish In O’Shea’s, amnesia smells of Irish whisky and Camels. I am alert to tainted saints. At the bar, two men and one woman sit. The men know she’s hands-off. This is ordinary magic. They heard she’s s got a conceal carry permit and reads Tarot. In front of Black Hole Body Piercing bike racks rise—other-worldly—shaped like giant nose rings. Distracted, I almost collide with a woman who could be me—a face like repurposed brick on this building, but no door into h
Melanie Perish
Mar 24
Stranger
by Amber Cannon Around Thanksgiving Since my birth I have received a birthday card From my maternal grandparents Accompanied by a phone call “You got your card right, now you spend That money on something just for yourself” They’ve never missed a year Even following my grandfather’s passing The signature in the card went from Grandma and grandpap To just grandma But she maintained their schedule With worsening shaky illegible signatures Until November 2020- No card A reminder
Amber Cannon
Mar 19
Mushroom Gathering
by Siobhan Hodge The rules say nothing of why we should forage, only not – we’re out here alone – time to hunt with your eyes, leave the tender caps untipped, a haunt of tiny white heads, undergrowth bristling. Let the animals have them, but I wonder how they know which ones are fair or foul, food or folly. The sheep bleat on and on, distant tussocks in the fog. Goomalling rains aren’t enough to drive us off. We wander into bush, golden wood with ochre spores, creeping on fal
Siobhan Hodge
Mar 12
Adebola in Prison
by Solape Adeyemi It is a sad thing, really— a young man leaving the shores of Nigeria with hope in his pocket and plans in his head, believing life could be bigger, kinder, fairer somewhere else. Now look at where that journey ends. Not in success. Not even in survival. But in a British prison cell, where his name no longer matters and his life is reduced to a number on a door. Adebola will spend his best years there. The years meant for building something—family, work, iden
Solape Adeyemi
Mar 11
Caryatid of New York
by Miriam Sagan stands at the corner, shouldering glass and steel, the weight of towers and the rush-hour glare. Her face is serene but chipped, holding up the passage of time, while the city breaths sirens and footsteps around her. No one stops to see how her bones are now petrified to stone, how without complaint, she carries the sky. At the blue hour, when the streetlights flicker on, she softens her columnar posture, her weight bearing resistance and for a moment, she rem
Miriam Sagan
Mar 9
Corazón posible
by Ted Bernal Guevara Magdalena, serve another pricey drink my way. I won’t be bitter. This evening wrecks decay. Anyway, plans with you are up a steep hill, I know. I’m just a long wait to that sacred mill. My life is far from here, from any advance. I would be lucky to have circumstance. But, Magdalena, it’s in my soul to hold you normal, to release myself of distance and bridge all abysmal, to your bright sanguine of a heart, I long to touch. I will treasure your mortal, y
Ted Bernal Guevara
Mar 4
It's Like Driving With a Suspended License
by Amber Ruiz With you. There is no logic I am always waiting for the sirens to flash behind me as I am pushing on the brakes Listening to your mistakes Are you jealous that I am fucking thriving? Always barely surviving Bought a new skirt in Kansas city I feel so fucking pretty Been wearing it for myself and no one else I have decided to forgive and forget However, you always out here with a new threat To live with such insecurity must be a pain I am not apart of you
Amber Ruiz
Mar 3
Two Poems by Ronan Lingatong
by Ronan Lingatong Trough I’ll count the rising of the shoulders of the waves. One. Two. Three. Four! I’ll look at its white snorting of bubbles And count again the seafoam; First to be felt are the troughs kneeling, Watch as there are more like it coming. In the second rumbling of the trough, The wind will be sucked in, prepare yourself. In the third groaning of the trough, Wrap your calloused fingers on the Lawaan gunwale In the fourth treachery of th
Ronan Lingatong
Mar 2
Eating Close to Home
by John Paul Caponigro The old goat down the lane looks like the man who makes cheese. The mother of the farmstand skin’s orange as the carrots she grows. The tongue of the oyster farmer’s as salty as the sea. I see colors sown in all seasons. Flowers in friends’ gardens seed mine. Neighbors are my daily bread, I devour the places they offer, they become us.
John Paul Caponigro
Feb 25
wasn't art
by Geoffrey Aitken some people still can’t grasp it. can’t make head nor tail, in the unfathomability of a cold concrete urban block. do not know, how to ask if the street sweeper’s okay on days when the leaf blower goes on and on as if every single one is a page from a book of instructions targeting the gutter. some people fail to see why passengers don’t have tickets on public transport to the city. awkwardly notice they’re wondering what was under the stark, grey-scale cou
Geoffrey Aitken
Feb 24
While Listening to the Evening News
by Alex Sy The sky, the sudden flare— the sky, vast, immeasurable. The glare—see how we dare to risk falling off the cliff high up where the distant stairs declare allegiance to this world. We claim to pull our hearts open, to bear— The highway lights in rows like aisle angels in heaven melt in the eye. The mullahs in Iran convene like crows. Meanwhile, my people swarm the floating Nazarene as if everything depended on it.
Alex Sy
Feb 23
A Hole in My Heart
by Debadrita Sarkar I have a hole in my heart, where a flower blooms everyday, to solace my soul. But, once my aunt said It is hard to breathe sometimes, right? and once, my best friend pitied for me, for the disgrace of God, in my heart. But, the hole never leaves me, in spite of all the curses and scars. Instead, the hole showed me dreams at nights, explaining and splitting the society from my own soul. And when I sit on my bench, all alone, the hole in
Debadrita Sarkar
Feb 17
Reminders of Loss
by Sam Hendrian Lay awake ‘til 6 AM Waiting for the sun to rise So the shops would be open again And the radio would play something more relatable. The happiest day of the year Is the most miserable for many Who are forced to remember someone they’ve lost Or imagine having someone to lose. Thankfully it didn’t snow To add insult to injury Although the iciness of the air Failed to give hope that somebody might care. No presents to wrap, No wine bottles to cap Other than a sing
Sam Hendrian
Jan 28
Longing
by Steve Evans My mouth is full of the aftertaste of chocolate, of red wine’s soothing soliloquies, and many other promises, but all they really speak about is you. I’m not feeling guilty, though. What am I to do when you aren’t here except eat more chocolate and pour more wine? You could appear and close the box, recork the bottle and offer me your own sweet tastes but you’re so far away. We both know that won’t happen. Shall I grow fat on the absence of you, sing hopelessly
Steve Evans
Jan 26
Articles
The Morning It Started
by Elizabeta Žargi That summer I was travelling through Europe on an Interrail ticket — a month of trains and no fixed schedule beyond a language course waiting in Ljubljana. I had already spent a week in Malmö, made a delayed stop in Hamburg after sleeping through it once, then gone down to Geneva to visit Milena. Eventually I returned to Vienna, where I was staying with Gregor and Sandy. They were also planning to attend the course in Slovenia. I was meant to leave on the 2
Elizabeta Žargi
6 days ago
Dreaming of Kalbarri
by Meredith Stephens “Wake up! If we don’t get going now it will be too hot!” urged my fiance Alex. I couldn’t understand why we had to leave for Kalbarri National Park at 5:30am in darkness. Was it really going to get that hot? We quickly arose and headed to the car for the long drive. By the time we arrived, the day was breaking and we were among the first tourists to arrive at the famed Nature’s Window. We made our way along the trail to the window where international tour
Meredith Stephens
Nov 2, 2025
Between Two Skies: An Egyptian Heart in Albany
by Walid Abdallah When I first arrived in Albany, New York, in the winter of 2014, I felt as if I had stepped into a painting. The air...
Walid Abdallah
Oct 13, 2025
Reviews
The Radiant Dark Book Review
by Catalina Bonati 4.5/5 stars ★★★★⯪ The Radiant Dark by Alexandra Oliva (to be published April 2026) is a generational story of mother-and-daughterhood that starts with Carol in 1980 as she holds her first days-old child when a message is intercepted from Ross 128b, an exoplanet 11 light-years away in another galaxy. She raises her two children in the shadow of the Rossians and of the back-and-forth messages between Earth and Ross 128b. Her daughter, Rosanna, is so inspired
Catalina Bonati
Mar 22
Mother is Watching Book Review
by Catalina Bonati 2.75/5 stars ★★★☆☆ Mother is Watching by Karma Brown (to be published March 2026) is a literary sci-fi horror novel which focuses on Mathilde, or Tilly, and her art conservation job. In the near future, she receives the opportunity to restore the last artwork of a deceased artist named Charlotte Leclerc who used human body and insect parts as part of her paintings. However, as she becomes pregnant and becomes part of the MotherWise organization, the paintin
Catalina Bonati
Mar 15
We Call Them Witches Book Review
by Catalina Bonati 3.75/ 5 stars ★★★⯪☆ We Call Them Witches by India Rose-Bower (to be published April 2026) is an apocalyptic folk horror tale centering around Sara, a young 17-year-old with a large family of three younger siblings, an older sibling and their wife, and a mother. They move around the country in search ground that is safe from witches, which seem to be primordial monsters taking the shape of the surrounding landscape who attack and dismember humans for consum
Catalina Bonati
Mar 5
Short Stories
Heirloom of the Wilting Jacaranda
by Maekawa Kirin You know… Grandpa Nathe was quite the tease. I can still recall those episodes vividly, in the same way this green tea paints itself in my mind from its lingering taste. Mostly bitter, but one I can stand behind. The peak of my frustrations toward him occurred at my graduation in the late spring of 2005. That day, the rain poured buckets, yet it was merely a gentle murmur compared to the thunder that erupted when Grandpa Nathe accompanied me on stage. I mean,
Maekawa Kirin
Mar 10
The Moon as Her Mother
by Hira Amir It all started the day when a team of doctors, wearing masks and lab coats, from the Institute of Animal Health came to their part of the village to announce the development of the new vaccine that fights various cattle diseases. All the village cows were to be injected immediately, the senior doctor said, no emotion behind his eyes; it is a government order. They had prepared in advance for the collective rebellion from the villagers. “We’re not letting these go
Hira Amir
Feb 26
Reading the Squeak Times
by Christopher Dabrowski Boar Albert ate and read The Squeak Times. -Loretta -he grunted animatedly. -Did you know that Earth's inhabitants eat pigs? -Oh -quipped his wife. -Barbarians! Albert adjusted the bathrobe belt and went back to reading. Yet he couldn't concentrate. Too much anxiety cost him what he read. -I will avenge them! I will eat a human! I'll buy one from the greyhounds -he decided. -They sell humans? -asked Loretta. -Yeah, th
Christopher T. Dabrowski
Feb 18
Poetry
Hammer
by Aidan Bernales Smirnoff piss in the face of Jesus Christ Leapt over in our pursuit of rundown rooms That bear no windows. We know to winnow The sheets upon the kiss of the lock and the key Or kiss our bedbug-bitten end. Ah, this city! Graffiti litanies line its fences. How they beckon me, Like the early-morning tsupers or those nocturnal Prostitutes who whistle for you. Birdsongs, I call them. And you’re quite raring to bargain, aren’t you? Strike up a conversation with th
Aidan Bernales
2 days ago
Menus
by Erin Jamieson cacophony of marigold taxis in cities whose perfume is Tuscan olive oil & fried cod a farewell to the Thai bistro, where you shared pad thai and he took your chopsticks a farewell to the cafe with discount espresso past mid day- he’d order two even though your mind was already racing a farewell to a family diner with sticky red polyester booths his double bacon cheeseburger dripping onto your salad plate- the salad he ordered without your consent I didn’t thi
Erin Jamieson
4 days ago
Community Unrest
by Carl 'Papa' Palmer Silence shattered 2am security alarm blasts a block or a mile away relentless until it stops abruptly leaving a void of non-noise yet not quiet serenity in the darkness of my bedroom did someone return home not enter the control code within the time limit push the wrong button on their car remote unable to reset in the dark or a thwarted burglary prowler frightened toward my unlocked car or yet another false alarm alerting no one not bothering to turn on
Carl 'Papa' Palmer
Apr 2
Art & Photography
Submission Guidelines
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We do not publish homophobic, transphobic, racist, or misogynist works of any kind.
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If the piece you wish to submit has italics or an image attached, please email us your submission at ultramarineliteraryreview@gmail.com rather than using the submission form.
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Prose must be less than 3,000 words.
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Poetry must be less than 3 pages, single-spaced.
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We respond to submissions within the span of two weeks.
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By clicking on the SUBMIT button, you are agreeing to the following terms:
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