Come See Augury at the 3rd Annual NYC Poetry Festival, July 27-28


Photo by Dave Bledsoe, FreeVerse Photography

Tomorrow is already Wednesday, so it’s time to prepare your answer for the popular post-hump-day question of: “Hey, what are you doing this weekend?”

We’ve got you covered. “Going to the Third Annual New York City Poetry Festival, hosted by the Poetry Society of New York, on Governor’s Island,” you can say. Why? Because, hopefully, you are just as excited as we are for the two-day celebration of New York’s dynamic poetry scene.

Yes, Augury will be there! Our own B. C. Edwards (To Mend Small Children), David Joel Friedman (Soldier Quick with Rain) and Paige Lipari (Family of Many Enzos) will be reading Sunday (July 28) at 1:30 p.m. on the White Horse stage.

Find out all you need to know at the Poetry Society of New York’s website, including the lineup of over 50 poetry organizations and 200 poets, the times and locations of each reading, and transportation info to and from Governors Island.

Also, check out Coldfront’s fabulous NYC Poetry Festival Preview, featuring interviews from many of the presses, journals, and organizations that will present at the festival — including one from Augury!

Two new poems by Christopher Hughes


We are very happy to present poetry by Christopher Hughes. For your viewing pleasure, this video clip of “The Sense of a City is War” was filmed at the Spiderweb Salon in Denton, Tx.


For your reading pleasure:


Waves Are The Practice Of The Water.


I went to the grocery store for cat food, litter, toilet paper, detergent and alcohol.  I took my cat to the vet and the vet shrieked when she saw my cat.  People only shriek like that in movies.  Movies are more like reality than our perception of reality.  Wet cat food from now on, she said.  I said, Why?  Because it’s real, she said.  So I stood in the aisle, staring at rows of pastel-colored tin cans, wondering which flavor my cat prefered. It was turning summer and the mosquitos were sucking.  I was eating squash and swallowing vicodan and taking selfies of my wounded face for the district attorney, because he wanted proof of my pain.  I wanted to help myself, but the best I could do was repeat the phrase, This is water. I said it over and over until it didn’t mean anything.  Then I wandered around the square and was hassled by evil teenagers with thin mustaches and mild acne.  In the movies, they overdub cat sounds and it never matches the mouth.  I let the sweat come into my eyes as an excuse not to look.  They asked me to share whatever was in the brown paper bag and the orange prescription bottle.  It made me think of when I was their age, and I’d sit on curbs in convenient store parking lots, sizing up adults as they pulled in, offering five bucks to buy me a pack of Marlboro Reds for two dollars and thirty-seven cents.  Or I’d page my dealer from a payphone and he’d pull around the corner and I would enter his lime green Monte Carlo and we’d drive around the block indiscreetly, probably on purpose.  But now it’s different.  Now, we are the high bidders of ingredients and blueprints on eBay, and we bomb city blocks while everyone celebrates humanity, make first-person shooters out of the last moments of our lives, have no idea how to make reality a thing independent of a smartphone or flourescent screen without twisting wires into fluid.  Maybe death means less when you’ve got a Facebook profile that completes you.  Maybe one day we won’t have a use for movies.  It’ll all just be a series of scenes, disconnected, till the day we decide to thicken our plot.




Christopher Hughes is the author of Selected Tweets, a spoken word project and ongoing collection of prose poems based around the idea of giving context to his otherwise vague Twitter feed. He is the singer, guitarist and songwriter for Texas indie rock band, The Calmative, and he produces other artists as well, out of his studio, Miscellaneous Sound. He holds an MFA in creative writing from The New School, has been published in Pax Americana and Omnia Vanitas Review, and lives in Denton, Texas.

More From 2012 Editors’ Prize Finalist Nicholas Hite

Photo by: Dave Bledsoe of FreeVerse Poetry

His name really is Paul


you were

a courtesy,

like hotel pillowmints

from God’s right hand:

like Jesus Christ

were a beautiful Hispanic maid.


you will recall

there was a period of time

in which I was

afraid of staircases and elevators;

for six months I lived my life horizontally;

I wish that time had been now

and that it had been you instead of me.


the last time

you came home,

I hugged you

and for a moment,

I could feel the size of you.

I contained the entirety of your smallness.


Augury Introduces: Nicholas Hite is a 28-year-old attorney living in New Orleans with his vegan boyfriend, their blue-eyed dog, and a pet crawfish.

We will wander through the strange and beautiful landscape of your manuscripts


Our submissions period is now officially closed for the summer and we are looking forward to spending the next few months reading your manuscripts; thanks to everyone who entrusted us with their work! We expect to notify authors by mid-to-late fall, both by privately reaching out to those whose work we’ve selected for publication and making an official announcement on our webpage. Thanks again for submitting your work to us.