The Missing Slate

The Missing Slate is an art and literary journal publishing work from over 50 countries as weekly web editions and quarterly digital editions. 

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We were tangueros of the same tile, tropical byway, creek mist, and love’s insomnia under Venus.

Sergio A. Ortiz, from ‘Invitation to Dust’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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there was something worth seeing through the mist that wouldn’t clear – a boy, a word, a note, a deer.

Helen Bowell, from ‘Note from Orchestra’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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For the longest time I thought the night was furred, a mass of soft hair fallen each dusk.

Meg Reynolds, from ‘Vigil’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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The word crumbles with the arrival of its other half       the word of nothingness and the placeless is the staple of my people they cannot ensure a clean death for me they cannot ensure my reincarnation back to those lands for my heart will start calling others — when the breath is crystalline

Elif Sezen, from ‘The Word’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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Global Poetry Writing Month with The Missing Slate

Today is our first day of Global Poetry Writing Month! This will be carried out over the month of April, with 30 published poets providing 30 prompts on a daily basis.

Today’s prompt is provided by Shikha Malaviya.

Join our Facebook group for the extended version and more details; it’s time to fight your writer’s block!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/186522108520519/?multi_permalinks=188669404972456%2C188664958306234%2C188658978306832%2C188654001640663&ref=notif¬if_t=group_activity¬if_id=1490989625366150

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and let us say that the tamarisk will flourish even in drought and let us say that water should be drunk while seated and let us say that honey ginger, cardamom green and let us say that a woman alone welcomes hurt and let us say that the Red Sea will remember and let us say that there is no truth but truth and let us say that sage or anise could heal

Tara Ballard, from ‘Aloud’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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So much sits on the throat the men on roadsides the men in corridors my wrists are living birds small and keening beside me

Sarah Lubala, excerpt of ‘Notes on Black Death and Elegy’. Published in The Missing Slate.

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& the light drips in to share our ride new vermillion along our bodies

i blink again & measure his disbelief i am tired in the new dark

my loosened hair smells of coal floats over the backseat like smoke

~ Safia Elhillo, excerpt of “on eid we slaughter lambs & I know intimately the colour”. Published in The Missing Slate.

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Didn’t I adore you harder than silence?

Nathalie Handal, excerpt of ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’. Published in The Missing Slate’s special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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This woman planted yew trees because it was such a great shame to be buried at the edge of the cemetery. This woman was buried beside those yew trees. Canadian yew, Chinese yew, Japanese yew, Florida yew, Mexican yew, Sumatran yew, Himalayan yew, European yew beside the ancient, recording angel recording demon of death, the Angelystor.

Julia Rose Lewis, excerpt of ‘The Red Tree’. Published by The Missing Slate. Special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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this sorrow-of-home-girl this river-of-bees-girl this blood-honey-girl this night-singing-girl this throat full of ghosts

Sarah Lubala, from ‘Portrait of a Girl at the Border Wall’. Published in The Missing Slate’s special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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We're bringing our short story writing competition to Pakistani writers writing in English! Entries must be no longer than 5,000 words and submitters must be located in Pakistan. See our event page here for more details!

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hope is a sea- storm’s kindling. fire in the mouth of waves and mistral.

Khairani Barokka, excerpt of ‘Mediterranean Lyric’. Published in The Missing Slate, for the special Poems Against Borders issue.

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: Borders will be broken cords. : Will we dream the same dream in another life? : Probably. : Will we desire the same person at a different time? : Probably not. : Who belongs together? : Who undresses their wounds? : Those with a roof. : Those without.

- Nathalie Handal, from ‘Your Mystery is the Milky Way’. Published in The Missing Slate’s special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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he translates the moon Qamar – the drowned face hanging in the sky

Usha Kishore, excerpt of ‘Refugee Child’. Published in The Missing Slate, special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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Every dress she ever sewed had a secret pocket: for dreams, memories, the faces of the beloved forever falling away into the distance —

Ottilie Mulzet, from ‘Seams’. Published in The Missing Slate, special issue: Poems Against Borders.

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This is not the moon chanting or the scarlet blue. This is not rain or lies tearing down. This is not a suitcase or a fleeing day. This is not Arabic jazz or a city of lights. This is not a mind wiping a past. This is not a muted mouth or a dare. This is not a praise outlining a body about to commit a cry, a cry about to define a life, a life about to contract chaos to wind itself of the fever in its memory.

Nathalie Handal, excerpt of ‘Borders’. Published in The Missing Slate, special issue: Poems Against Borders.