© 2019 All rights reserved. Iceberg Tales.

November 6, 2019

today is no different to yesterday

because the shaking in his veins hasn't subsided yet,

because his trousers still crumple (no matter how they are hung),

because he still has a hair for every

thinning, grey year he stays alive.

he wonders if cafes mock him

for always lea...

October 17, 2019

Februaries are made of forgotten things: one glove left on a park bench from overly warm fingers, one lover lying in an empty bed sans the yearly valentines card, one box of Christmas chocolates hidden at the back of the cupboard behind a bag of oats. It was the month...

September 30, 2019

Today, we have just released our first print edition of Iceberg Tales for online pre-orders! 

Thank you to everyone who has supported the project, contributors and friends, and we hope you enjoy our celebration of poetry and short stories in print. 

Pre-orders will...

August 14, 2019

When Smyrna fell, we rose from the chairs

our grandfather made and grew unsure

what to call ourselves. We—who’d always

broken bread with them and stuttered

strange Turkish vowels—

found ourselves nervous at the picture

window watching their horses and soldiers

leaping at the...

July 28, 2019

      There was no doubt he’d changed. People felt repelled by him. His instinct had become rage. He knew it, but pretended he didn’t. Everyone he met felt the heat. Something could go off at any minute. People don’t need that. People seek the shadows when fires burn t...

June 26, 2019

They are never so beautiful as now:

lustrous with light and water,

a succession of small startles

shining in the dun matt sand.

Blown bubbles wander up

from the waveline, skate on waterfilm

which holds the piebald sky,

the adolescent April sun.

I walk on blue-white heavens.

I b...

June 15, 2019

Come The Tide is the debut collection of short stories from Sam Reese and is published by Platypus Press. The collection has received universal praise and acclaim; fellow writer Pradba Yoon claims that "stories like these can make existence feel convincing, and creatio...

June 9, 2019

This country is too flat, she tells me. Maybe it’s because of all the people—like they’ve trampled out all the interesting dips and curves. Maybe it’s the weather. The weight of all that gloom. She has a point; when you’re used to mountains, meadows look depressed.


May 26, 2019

Into your loneliness

we place our voices,

hoping our words

might comfort your wounded heart.

We do not mean

to remind you

of all you have lost

by extolling the manifold virtues

of your husband

now gone, but we are foolish

in the face of grief,

never knowing whether

to share our ow...

May 18, 2019


Stepping out onto the veranda, Zina opens her mouth to the wind, her lips pursing like the surrounding Zhiguli mountains, her eyes closing with gentle surrender. The dusty remains of dry clumps of grain still cling to the palms of her hands...

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