Original Writing
- Points Elsewhere by Judith Fitzgerald
The ocean a ghost
mirror in denial roaring its growling stamina —
its inexorably seductive pull embattling - Short Story: Maps of the Bible by Jason Sanford
A dead man's Bible. My Bible. Jedediah holds it to his nose as if the acid paper crisp and saddle-stitched decay still keeps me alive.
- Short Story: Little Pixie by Seamus Kearney
When Thomas arrived at his usual place on the café terrace, he still hadn’t decided whether to say anything to the others about the death of his wife. Why didn’t I ever bring her here? Would it have been such a big effort? My darling, impossible Valerie...
- 'PROLOGUE,' Adagios Quartet by Judith Fitzgerald
Palest full moon in the window,
muted blue-grey shadows, smoke coiling within
variegated scintillae of light... - Short Story: Water Hearts by Jason Sanford
Nam jai—Thai—water heart, the flowing heart. Difficult-to-translate concept in Thai culture embracing charity, compassion, altruism, trust, hospitality, consideration, sincere concern, and generosity.
- Poem by Art Durkee: Apokatastasis
A blue afternoon. A clear blue sky, paling to white at the horizon, cloudless; a March sky, though it's still December. No more snow since that first big storm after Thanksgiving. If we don't get more snow soon, it's mean drought come summer. Dust in the air will mean topsoil blowing away before rain
- Short Story: One Side, Two Weeks, One Bathroom by Jason Sanford
Sunday:
I’ve never enjoyed sharing bathrooms. My father—he’s always shared. Can piss a stream like Secretariat cutting loose. No care on looks from neighboring stalls; no words while urinal cakes jump porcelain. When he went to prison, maybe this is what separated him from weaker men. Made murderers, rapists and thugs leave him be while they turned quick on others.
- 4 Poems by Art Durkee
Zuni II
fire ants make orbits and mounds
gravid tower and ravaged soil
circle of devoured earth, inorganic, lunar
the end of the earths, dead seas, plains of fire - Short Story: Cold Pelts by Jason Sanford
There are seven rules of trapping beavers, as told to one Jeremiah Eaton—me—by one Brother Silas Jedediah Stanton—my second cousin. Not rules written in any book. Not folk sayings passed through generations. These rules are purely Brother Jed’s, told to me alone. As he said once, “Rules only get you doing what you ought to be doing anyway.” I guess it’s true. And I have been doing plenty.
- 2 Poems by Whinza Kingslee Ndoro
The False Lords Of Romantic Love
I, too, am guilty of the ancient, air-borne crime
That for spring of woman usurping woman
Perforating senses, she too winters over time. - 4 Poems by Neil Hester
A Reflection on Conversing Mirrors
Intangible glass in tangible glass. They stand
And talk of love which we only touch
The beginning of, and of such - Short Story: Summering (Excerpt from The Winky Tales)
This is a short story culled from my collection of tales for young and old adults called The Winky Tales, about a young teen who tramps abroad, riding the rails in the 1930s. He is a recurring character from several books of mine, and the name spawns from him having lost one of his eyes after the brush with a hot cinder, thus folks calling him 'Winky'.
- 4 Poems by Anthony Zanetti
Dynamite 25
The birthday candle unravels its wax—
unfurling the curve that shatters its graph,
it rockets to Blonde—as man shimmers back. - Poem: Musings On a Lighthouse Near an Eastern Isle
It is bright tonight; this plain, displaced from place
In Time's broad flight, wields nothing to the strains
Of air, no marbled hand unstrafed by rains
Or gales retraced through past days' shaded waste.
Great things may fall; through all life's vagrant seas... - Poem: Persephone In Fall
Her pelvis rested on the radiator. Outside
of her apartment window, as Wanda watched inside,
the autumn twilight gathered stealthfully,
on the ground, a whirl of leaves harvested
from elsewhere. Wanda noticed.
