Featured Writing

Flowers in vase on table

Sod

by Maggie Swofford We watchedthe flowersfold underthe summersun—105°windchill—we lookedout my bed-room window. I baked andcaked mymakeup on bythe windowsillonly to haveit drip off. The flowervase toreoff itsstandduring aviolentstorm,and wethrew ourlaundryat eachother asnights grewdim andhot. The nextday, everyday, we’dcross ourlegs andfoldthe wrinkledfabric backinto somethingwe couldwear.

read more...

Poetry Posts

Flowers in vase on table

Sod

by Maggie Swofford We watchedthe flowersfold underthe summersun—105°windchill—we lookedout my bed-room window. I baked andcaked mymakeup on bythe windowsillonly to haveit drip off. The flowervase toreoff itsstandduring aviolentstorm,and wethrew ourlaundryat eachother asnights grewdim andhot. The nextday, everyday, we’dcross ourlegs andfoldthe wrinkledfabric backinto somethingwe couldwear.

read more...

Hands writing on typewriter

Between Commas

by Brandy Christiansen Place commas on both sides of meso that I may be omittedI am just a minor detailand to me you need not be committed.Do I truly fit in your life story?Or would I just be out of place?Would you leave me out of your memoir?Or put me…

read more...

Brown box on table

Somewhere on Sycamore Street

by Darcie Raridon Need for a fatherfelt like a pox.So, I buried minein a box-top-box.It’s stuffedfull of lessons,he never taught,wrapped in clotheshe never bought,and I scribbledhis obituaryon the first, andonly postcardI ever got.

read more...

Flowing stream in forest

The Stream, The Soul and The Immersion

by Eric Obezo The cool rushing water                                               splashes and swirls,                                                     playfully dancing                                            around my skin.                                                 All of the dirt                                                                          I carry flushes away,                                                                                                               dribbling downstream,                                                                                                            revitalizing my body.                                     This pure elixir showers                         my matted hair, releasing the             clumps of grime…

read more...

Smoking floating in the air

My Decoration (The Janitor’s Monologue)

by Ron Dowell (This story contains drugs/addiction.) Agent Orange tainted weed fucked me up in Nam.Back in the world, drugs retarded me. Ihallucinated and failed a four-way stop sign.My road dog crashed the windshield.           I’d go back and changeif I could.                               Please help me, Jesus.          Nobody had told me shit. Lies…

read more...

Hillside stream in the winter

Smart’s Brook in Winter

by Russell Rowland Dressed in layers much like us, exceptwith lengthier robes of ice and snow,the stream is concealed, though there.Cold day, yet it means to keep moving. It has swept away an autumn of leaves,cleared out jammed tree trunks, evenstripped a moose carcass—year’s workwell done, by nature’s John the…

read more...

Trees branching skyward

Psalm of Mere Being

by Ray Corvi The funeral parlor opened its front doorOut flew a dandelion’s wind-borne seeds Mourn the way the trees have thrownLimbs branching skyward into leaves

read more...

Lit torch in the dark

People Get Ready

by Ron Dowell                                                                        after “(Don’t Worry) If There’s a Hell Below,                                                                        We’re All Going to Go.”                                                                                 Curtis Mayfield                                                                        Mayfield lit the torch in black dark,                                                                       said Keep on Pushing when kept apart                                                                       from parks, restaurants, movies.                                                                       My face turned black-hot when called                                                                       a nigger. So, I love music                                                                       that interrogates ears, tastes                                                              like conflict, has disorder’s stench,                                                              a…

read more...

Firewood burning

Ceremony of Trees

by Amy Brian Having faith in my socksI leave my shoes scattered somewherein the home’s warm core—underthe tangled feet of the dining room chair, maybe? And step out into the breath of a January eveningto gather in the split timbercontentedly piled by foreseeing stiff and chilled fingersto adorn our front…

read more...

Messy bed from sleepless nights

He Lost Ten Pounds

by Amy Covel He lost ten poundsand has slowly foundwhere he left them. He left one in his bedduring those sleepless nights,wondering what was wrongand what was right. One he found in the bathroom,carved into the floorfrom all the morningshis feet stood thereas he battled upset stomach. Two more he…

read more...