thoughts on issue 3 & call for submissions

now that the least horny day of the year, valentines day, is out of the way the editors of HPR can spend some time thinking of what we’d like you to submit to us

as always, we would like your poetry that got slightly too horny, your short stories that are too horny for granta and experimental prose that explores your kinks and fantasies but not in a hyper pornographic way which we know actually isn’t horny at all

pop over to the submissions page to read about all that stuff

but we would also love to have you send us something a bit different, if you have something that suits – for the first time we would like to read your essays on horniness

what is an essay on horniness you ask?

  • it could be an exploration of your own sexuality and how that interacts with the world
  • it could be about porn or pornography
  • it could be a set of instructions for conducting an experiment on horniness
  • it could be personal or academic or semi fictional
  • it could be about sending selfies you and nudes you regret, or don’t
  • it could be about how you spent ages working out how to 3d scan and print your penis so you could send it to someone as a way of commoditising your body interestingly
  • it could be a bit like an Anne Carson short talk
  • it could involve sexual politics, gender stuff and trans issues
  • it could be about sexuality and illness, sexuality and disability
  • you might just have something to say that isn’t a poem and isn’t fiction and it isn’t quite anything

we have written the word “sexuality” a lot above, because sometimes it’s not super horny to be a sexual being, but it can inform part of it

these essays should be:

  • no longer than 1000 words approx
  • free in form and delivery
  • not racist/sexist/all that bad stuff – don’t let that stop you exploring however

we’re just trying this out because a few people have said it’s kind of cool that there’s this sex positive space for poetry and writing

but we feel we can’t grapple with the size of that so we would like us all to grapple together, a groping mass of sexual positivity tumbling towards some kind of satisfying resolution

send us what you have for our sort-of-summer issue

Horny Poetry Review: Issue Two // December 2017

thank you to everyone who read and tweeted about issue two, it really was magical

issue two was marked by a number of interesting choices of form and register, amongst the expected filth

it clearly benefited from going live on christmas day, too – we might do that again for issue three

here’s what we published in issue two


Effects of The Last Unicorn on the Psyche of the Post-pubescent Female – by Mary Coons

Calendar Girls – by Holly Pelesky
in polyamory-land, i think of relationships as pies & i texted this to a hot, beardy musician to entice him on a second date – by Raina K. Puels

Stimulus and Response – by M. Stone

TRI(U)MV(I)RATE – by Ingrid Calderon
Perfect Strikes – by Elisabeth Horan

s’more please – by Christian Stock

My Body & Band Camp and Still Six Thirty – by Nathanielle Dawn

The Invitation – by Jeffrey Zable

THE NAMES – by Kristin Garth

[decode open ends for deeper insights] – by Preeti Vangani

Freddy Something – by @IlanaMiraL


once a month – by Marina Manoukian

Aubade for the Road – by Troy Kody Cunio

Saturnalia – by Tian Tran



she loses her virginity on Christmas Eve
heaving and moaning to the star-crossed night
snow blowing into the manger.
there are those who say it was Saturn
his eyes moon sickles and glowing stars
so when bloody Christ emerges from the womb
he swallows and swaddles him in acid.
little messiah of order and peace
fermenting in the stomach of his God
with only candlelight as misguidance
he cradles them in his palms
swallowing lights into his stomach
and freeing the suns to the darkening void.
she will survive them both
balancing time to entropy to rusted gold
she hides her scale within her veil
grasping the air as she orgasms.
Saturn’s belly starts rumbling.
While she meditates, Tian Tran writes poetry and short fiction. While she clouds the sky, she takes glorified selfies. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition and various literary magazines. Her photography has appeared in TRACK//FOUR, Sugar Rascals, and Rambutan Literary, among others. She would prefer she/her pronouns, and takes her tea without milk.

Aubade for the Road

I am not into public sex


but when both you and the person you’re seeing

live with parents

it’s less a thrill and more a necessity


you get to know every bathroom in town

that has a sheltered entrance and a door that locks


a romantic evening in

is driving 30 miles at 2am to an abandoned boat ramp

so you can do it without having to look over your shoulder between strokes.


you invent positions that are less Kama Sutra

and more bowl of spaghetti


and you pray none of your friends or family will need a ride

because the whole car stinks of passion


even when you’re alone


you start taking the backstreets

so you can be on the lookout for abandoned parking lots


it’s a lot like when I lived in that car

that summer when I got comfortable with loneliness
I spent months bathing in whichever bathroom
had the biggest and most private stall

I’d cover the windows with bedsheets to keep the streetlights out

and the fear in, but if I wanted a good night’s sleep I would drive out of the city

until I could make out Orion again


my neck and back always hurt from sleeping in a Twister position


wouldn’t give rides because the whole car smelled like unwashed stress


and those secluded asphalt deserts were the best
spots to get trashed and pass out in the driver’s seat


Rumi compared love to being drunk

but for me it is more like sobering up


owning a car is a lot like being in love

in that there is so much you can do

inside of it


Troy Kody Cunio lives in Orlando. You can find all his poems and things at

once a month

after masturbating it’ll smell like pennies. make sure there’s no stain. mandatory trip to the bathroom. check the toilet seat for a rorschach pattern. wash and scrub hands and fingernails. maybe even a change of panties. such a shame because you’re so horny and it’s so messy.


Marina Manoukian is a reader and a writer. She thinks language and sex are pretty, pretty, pretty important. She currently lives in Berlin, masquerading as a productive student working towards a Masters in English Philology. Find more of her words at


She showed up in a large, white van.
Her cauterizing tools were kept
within Velcro flaps that enthralled
the vehicle’s essential task.
No discernible hats.
Her talent is concealed,
wrapped astutely out of sight,
in a long coat of lipid gabardine.
She sniffs, my blood is here
love’s wound spilling still.
She searches for a source of power,
plugs into a polarizing orifice.
My anemic blood stalls.
She gathers up her things
and has departed
before I even swell.
Colin James has a book of poems forthcoming from Wundor Editions. He lives in Massachusetts.

Freddy Something

Give me something
Pink, blind and hairless
Something pure and bloody
Murky, fermented
Buried so deep
You barely feel it moving
Shifting as a shiver
That makes your face tingle and ripen.

Something that screams as you release it.

Keep your floss and paper
Cracked and worn offerings
Transparent, thin as skin
Give me the vulgar, vile appetite and venom
Woven tight to your insides
Making you twist and whimper

I’ll force my hand inside
Through the acid of your dark, red dreams,
And yank the beast out by its wriggling tail.
Let it cut and scratch me;
I’ll eat its screams.
This pure, untainted passion
is sweeter and fiercer
Than any other opiate.



@IlanaMiraL is an aspiring novelist and former American who currently lives in London. A piece of her flash fiction was published in the inaugural issue of Formercactus and one of her short stories was long listed for the CWA Margery Allingham Short Story Competition.