by Joan Mazza You are the master of your unspoken words, but a slave to the words you have spoken. ~Winston Churchill To hold a small treasure hidden in the palm or pocket,to know no one knows what you know, the delicate,intricate details of lacework, net of devious deceptions, distractions,…
by D.R. James A butterfly’s flapping over Costa Rica,it’s sometimes considered, could initiatethe chain that leads to tornados in Toledo,hopping and ripping the heartfrom every-other quotidian home. Or maybe its deft stretch-and-glidecould instigate the violent Mississippi’ssurprising rise beyond its subtle, stolid realm—the dainty queen behind that vast rebellion. So I…
by Blake Kilgore I teach my students the SocraticMethod – questions on questions, thepickaxe, the shovel, the digging down, downto the truth. An honorable path, onethat can lead to some light. I also introduce Mithridates, the Pontic Kingwho drank poisons, day after day,against fear of lovers, assassins,anyone who might harm…
by James Croal Jackson we need not gatherrice in the trash stickywith friends’ handsstill friends their handsa question of study whatwe collect with these rakesour long limbs in themuddy puddle of breath
by D.R. James Life has been a grand migrationto where you are today! –well known wisdom I didn’t know! Otherwise,when those raggedy squadronsclamored overhead last evening— three V’s disarrayedlike frayed arrow feathers, their leaders insistent as clownswith braying horns, honkingfor plane geometry— I would have…
by James Croal Jackson The blue plaster walls are crackingwhich we should have been able to see as long asthis house has stood. I catch us looking different directions on the highway, cars zippingthrough; we nearly collide something cosmic. Meaning our souls are ready to ascendfrom our bodies to some…
by Peter Mladinic My dog’s life with eyes closed seemsmore comfortable than with eyes open,I thought, this summer morning, recallinga fall afternoon I looked into those eyesand saw eternity, and felt eternity’s warmth.What is forever? That momentthat not even memory will bring back.
by Phibby Venable blue ridges, path loose with mud,a halo of fog grayingin a new daythe old womanlaid out her firethe night before,in the rusted woodstove,that still spokeout flames each morning,and sang out cold,as she listened, trembling the newspaper toward warmthe old woman, always in smoke and daydreams, worn outand…
by James Croal Jackson I found you at the bottomof the stairs looking up to whatI thought was me but past metoward the white ceiling thatconceals the sky where wehave watched the birds oftengo to a better place whenthe temperature dropsI held you in my handsstill warm in your finalmoments…
by William Heath Beware the strange attractorthat bubbles in the pot,makes the smoke curl upfrom the butt in the ashtray.Have you wondered whythe weatherman so often getsit wrong, or the healthy heartbreaks into wild fibrillations? Chaos is a far cry frommere randomness. High above our headsa tempestuous ballerinaperforms upon a tightrope,she…