by Craig Kurtz Every day I take the stage, performing sundry characters to harmonize with friends and make peace with motley strangers. I wake up without makeup, the script is virgin paper; my closet’s full of costumes and the world…
Posts Tagged creative writing
Mark Writes a Poem for the Woman Who Wore Red in Church
by Laurie King-Billman Mark and I shared the morning shift at the New Beginnings group home. The day he asked me to help him write a poem, we were alone; all the boys had actually gone to school. This was a rare event because, at any given time, one of…
The Ghost in the Coffee Shop
by Melissa Blank You never believed in ghosts. But if ghosts are not real, how do you explain what is right before your eyes? Are you losing your mind? You blink, hard. The man who could be your father sits in the corner of the coffee shop. You watch him…
Antlers
by Michael C. Keith Be a good animal, true to your animal instincts. – D.H. Lawrence The white tail buck moves its snout a millimeter beyond the oily grass line and is assailed by a torrent of unfamiliar scents. “My mother will love those cloth napkins. She’d have everything…
Anne Sexton’s Winter Asylum
by Christy Bailes Silky froth seeps through the window cracks and battles with a 1950s cast-iron radiator heater. The smell of vanilla frosting wakes Anne from two-hour’s worth of slumber. Still dressed with last night’s clothes, she sits up in bed. Vodka and pill bottles tumble off her legs and…
This Measuring
by John Grey Is it just me or are the summers growing shorter, the winters longer? Have I become nothing more than an inveterate weatherman, disbelieving what the television, newspaper says, believing only . in the forecasts of my flesh, my bones? And I’m being loved shorter, unappreciated longer. And…
These Anthropomorthic Days
by John Grey Raccoons stare at their reflection in the clear edge of the pond. “Wow we really do look like bandits.” Deer find an old water-logged paperback of Felix Salten’s “Bambi,” lick through its pages, never until then knew how capable they were of sorrow, despair and redemption. Thanks…
Push-up
by Margaret McNellis Rose’s elbows trembled. A drop of sweat splashed onto the red jigsaw mat beneath her face. She scrunched her eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. She tried to remember that this was what she wanted. She tried to remember that she signed up for this,…
a poem was written about Sappho instead of a play
by Ali Znaidi Prologue Aroma of honeysuckle. —Dust particles falling through her hair. Scene Snowflakes were falling on the street. —Sappho was in her balcony experimenting w/ throwing jasmine in all directions. Epilogue A thick fog appeared. —A halo of Sapphic scents covered all the city.
She Left in Night
by Christy Bailes Inspiration has black eyes that cut colors, floating in aged wisdom so ripe others misunderstand dark for evil, when it is light, missing enormous heart pouring warm knowledge so silently, so slowly, so perfectly that only once she has gone, can I see what she left in…