Slapering Hol Press is proud to announce... 


Lillo Way is the winner of the 2017 Slapering Hol Press Chapbook Competition. 



Lillo Way's poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Poet Lore, The Madison Review, Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Poetry East, Common Ground Review, Tampa Review, Third Wednesday, Yemassee, Freshwater, Quiddity, Santa Fe Literary Review, WomenArts Quarterly, Marathon Literary Review, and SLAB. Her full-length manuscript, RINGBONE  was a finalist for the 2015 Barry Spacks Poetry Prize from Gunpowder Press. She has received grants from the NEA, NY State Council on the Arts and the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation for her choreographic work involving poetry. She lives in Seattle.


You can buy this title in February 2018. All other SHP chapbooks are available now in our online [bookstore].



The moon’s grown fat and I’m suspicious
because several stars have gone missing,
the sky’s an evil shade of black,
and someone’s stolen every leaf, leaving
nothing but bleached tree-skeletons
pointing bony fingers at the culprit.
Some people claim they’ve never seen the moon
perfectly full. But I’ve caught it that way
countless times, like tonight. Those of us
with poor eyesight are the beneficiaries
of such gifts. Without my glasses, I get seven
moons overlapping. An embarrassment of moons.
Looking through the edge of my glasses,
the upper curve of moon is scarlet
and the bottom is blue. I get prism moons
into the blind bargain.
The lake below is a sparkling mess,
a waste bin for phosphorescent fallen stars
and the mirrored moon causes a blinding glare,
as if I needed one.

—Lillo Way, originally published in The Meadow, 2017



The Editors and The Slapering Hol Press Advisory Committee congratulate the 2017 Finalists for their fine work:


GLEAN by Patrick James Errington


Patrick James Errington is a poet and translator from the prairies of Alberta, Canada. His poems have been widely published in magazines and anthologies, including Best New Poets 2016, The Iowa Review, West Branch, Diagram, Copper Nickel, Horsethief, and Boston Review. Most recently, he won The London Magazine Poetry Prize, 2016, and was highly commended in The 2016 National Poetry Competition (UK). His French translation of PJ Harvey’s The Hollow of the Hand, with Laure Gall, was published by Éditions l’Âge d’Homme in 2017. Patrick currently lives in Scotland, where he is a doctoral researcher at the University of St Andrews. 




To see the world is to still it. I watch
you, rising, watermarked, from the bath
and I offer you a towel and
permanence. Your hands aflicker
over your body, but you are always
rising to me; in the smallest
motes of you there’s still such
possibility. You are received. The mirror
takes you in like a mother, folding
you. If I squint, the light lights
like dust on your shoulders, heavy
enough to bend. Famished
of tense, could you have been anything
but brittle? Feel the warp of breath.
But a season exists without, the bathwater
set into place, mortise and tendon, by our
leaving, rippled because only you
have felt it lick your ankles. Tense
collapses around us—but you, you’re still
rising. Beyond your body, the sun
sinks, ponderous with everything
you have been, will be, bear. Promise
me, somewhere, a girl
is still committing a small act
of love, quietly, cruelly
in the dark that will last forever.

—Patrick James Errington, originally published in the Flambard International Prize Prizewinner’s Anthology (University of Newcastle Press, 2015)





Sara Ryan is a second-year poetry MFA candidate at Northern Michigan University and an associate poetry editor for Passages North. Her work has been published in or is forthcoming from Storm Cellar, Tinderbox, Slice Magazine, New South, Third Coast, Fairy Tale Review, and The Blueshift Journal.



Pantoum for Dark Lands
                after Aase Berg
it is my fear that tears apart the place.

apart the strange, apart the fat rose

in its muddy bed. tears the cave in two.

a wild hare bleats until its neck bleeds.


apart the strange, apart the fat rose

unraveling its petals into glass. this:

a wild hare bleats until its neck bleeds.

a catastrophe that has already happened—


unraveling its petals into glass. this:

avoiding it. bringing it back and dissecting it,

the catastrophe that has already happened,

where I forget all the dead animals.


avoiding it. bringing it back and dissecting it—

it is my fear that tears apart the place,

where I forget all the dead animals

in their muddy beds. tearing the cave in two.

—Sara Ryan, originally published at Tinderbox Poetry Journal (