by George Freek I stare at my unmade bed.Outside, a chilling breezerustles the dead leaves,as if they were feathers.The moon is a ball of lead.I gaze at distant stars,lost in the infinite sky,as if they hadnowhere to abide.A torn shirt, hanging froma tree, waves in the breeze,like an abandoned flag,now…
by Nancy Machlis Rechtman She feels her way through the dappled landscapeCradling the memories of a time when it was filled with lightAnd hopeAnd dreamsInstead of this endless echo chamberOf lonelinessWhere she now resides. The sun has yielded to the moon’s prowessSinking slowly across the Western skyBut this is no…
by Dakota Jackson The Office of Eternal Collections—better referred to as purgatory, both literally and figuratively, especially to Luci—is becoming quite hectic these days. As the head of the Decisions Department, Luci, (known in his past first as Lucian and later as Lucifer), is in charge of the recently deceased….
by Nancy Machlis Rechtman He told me that my eyesWere stars twinkling in the nightAnd when he kissed me he murmuredThat my lips were the sweet petals of roses. My heart became the flutterOf birds’ wings soaring through the treesAnd his wordsWere the silky balm on my wounded soul. “Your…
by Lisa M. Gott Heavy clouds creep acrossforgotten lands — a storm is coming,blowing the tumble weedsof my own destructionacross the never-ending fieldsof a place once called home. Parched, the soil cries out,O, clouds, rain down on me,wash away this decay so that blades of glory may rise up and reachtoward possibility. Blackness circles — a…
by Parker Fendler They lay intertwined in the crib, Spencer gnawing on his Binky and Fred flicking his tongue. I’ve no idea how the seven-footer got out again, but ain’t this the cutest thing? I’d snap a shot for Roy, but he’d throw another hissy-fit. A dozen times he’s said…
by Lisa M. Gott Dried tendrils of overgrown grasssing out into the wind — We have a story to tell. Tucked beneath their blanket,spotted earth painted with blood and tears;droplets of dew encase secretsof battered and bruised indentionsfrom heavy steps scarring soil,but like a seashell, their cries remain;head to earth,…
by Michael McGrath When I received my first report card in the fall of 1967, I was afraid to bring it home. Unlike most of my friends, who had a collection of As, Bs, Cs—and the occasional D—to show for their efforts, the only grade featured prominently on my card…
By Shane Hibdon This story contains substance use. The rain fell steadily, soaking the ground and all things it touched. From inside the RV they could hear the droplets pounding against the roof. It was a steady sound that the television could not drown out, especially for the occasional thunder…
By Omolayo C. Akinlosotu Koya For International Women’s Day, Southern New Hampshire University students were invited to submit essays in celebration of women’s contributions to society, with a focus on a particular woman who inspired the writer. This essay was selected for publication in The Penmen Review. Thousands of film…