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Hidden Peak Press

Poetry & Fiction Publisher

Category: Poetry

Interrupted Magnolias

Posted on April 3, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

I met a man I barely knew for tea — to see if I might catch the tail of something hard to hold, the way we do when we hear it’s raining meteors. In mere counter-moments we were mourning milestones robbed by frost — promises made mummies destined to summer, tombs on limbs. My insides … Continue reading Interrupted Magnolias →

Poem for my Neighbors

Posted on March 30, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

Listen: there’s nothing that can be done about it. Continents will drift about like bumper cars and the stars will spin drunkenly in the dark and atoms will slowly degrade into lesser atoms and sex and death will jostle for supremacy and it all happens well outside of our grasp. So who cares if my … Continue reading Poem for my Neighbors →

Tagged Matthew J. Andrews

Phrenospasms

Posted on March 17, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

Time becomes a butterfly with a broken wing humming in my hands; like it, I have been subdividing myself, dotting my poems with the blood beading on my cuticles, my mind as the land left on its own, riding out the cold. This is our hard stone over downy pillow, the mint on our palms … Continue reading Phrenospasms →

Tagged KG Newman

Aqueduct

Posted on March 15, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

The dark waters teem with catfish. You might catch one by casting a line and letting it flow downstream, the hook tumbling with the current, hoping one gifts you with a bite before the spool reaches its conclusion. This is the manifest of our destiny: to sponge water from the mountains and cut scars into … Continue reading Aqueduct →

Tagged Matthew J. Andrews

Getting Straight

Posted on March 1, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

A square-shouldered steelworker in a hospital gown, pale as pearl, waddles the hallway pushing an IV pole on wheels, holding it firm as a handshake. His heart is beating in a cage, swelled like a sponge, vitals through the roof. Even though his modern watch doesn’t tick, he can feel his time slipping away, irretrievable … Continue reading Getting Straight →

A Tree Of Such Perfect Form

Posted on February 24, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

All trees are remarkable things. However, just yesterday I noticed a tree of such perfect form, it just deserves to have two people realize they have just fallen in love in the cool shade of its sweeping green canopy. — ANDY PERRIN Andy Perrin is a writer/photographer/cyclist/teacher (not necessarily in that order), from southern Rhode … Continue reading A Tree Of Such Perfect Form →

Acceptance

Posted on February 21, 2023December 31, 2025 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

The hellcats above the ceiling remain warm and busy. But also miffed about firecrackers at dawn. I’ve been bad and good and bad and good and so bad I wanted to die, so good mothers started a charity. Listen, no one has heaven cornered. One day, the kitties will fall through and, appropriately, eat me. … Continue reading Acceptance →

Gaia Talks Back

Posted on February 15, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

You levitate with guilt because you ironed a man’s collars in place of his mother. Pressed yourself into a neat pleat, removing the septum ring, growing out the side shave at his demand. So concerned with how you’ve damaged your daughter by what she has seen. You want to talk about epigenetics? The compulsion to … Continue reading Gaia Talks Back →

Snow Sticks Around

Posted on February 7, 2023January 4, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

This winter I’m trying to find satisfaction in scratching my back on the corner of the fireplace that I can’t repay. A solid outline could solve all my problems but out in the cold first I must learn to be disciplined enough to leave the skin on the bear. I’m calibrating this flaky disgorge; staplers … Continue reading Snow Sticks Around →

Tagged KG Newman

El Cardón

Posted on February 4, 2023January 2, 2026 by Kyle Newman in Poetry

Do not give me roses: delicate tissue-thin skin withering where strewn down wedding aisles. Petal promises arranged in crystal vases. The ferocious heat of me with you too easily swallows scarlett blooms. Give me instead a cactus. A fearless behemoth, a prickled bastion for our battered hearts. A new arm sprouting when life strays from … Continue reading El Cardón →

Tagged Camille Lebel

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EST. 2022

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