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Mollybee Welkin
Mist Wraiths
At night clouds escape the bonds of wind whose magnetic charm and white gloved hand kept them dancing in rosy shoes twirled in silver grey and mauve tulle skirts and lacy stoles flying cirrus waltzing in a jet stream of music At night they slip off secretly climb down drainpipes…
The Great Secret
Echo: All is Grace, the marvel of delight; And Glory fires you to return to fight. I. The Miracle that Speaks no Word They say that dwelling near the cataracts Of Aswan, or Niagara, one can't hear The thunder or the tumult, only facts, The silent memories of sounds of…
Doug Died
“Been to the best doctors around, and they mostly agree,” he said. We met every year for golf—sixteen of us, sometimes more, chasing fulfillment of a sort. The date was chosen with precision—crisp fall days and chilly nights, leaves of every color on a canvas of evergreen, a Renoir on…
Mavillette
The last of the mist burns off with the strength of morning sun resembles heavenly curtain rising to reveal sky, sea, shoreline. The tide is out—way out in Bay of Fundy leaving behind tide pools and rivulets that sparkle applause in sunlight while waterlogged sand absorbs warmth drying in degrees…
Leaf Fall
Whatever winds encountered soon resolved to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall. In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each dry leaf into its place and built a high, soft bastion against earth's gravitron— a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright impediment to…
Patterns of Breath
It is evening and chilly and I am walking home standing now at the intersection of Agron and King George I wait for the traffic lights to change engaged in nothing more intellectual than observing the patterns my breath makes on the night air An ambulance streaks, its sirens hysterical…
Service and Set
One of my first loves is playing tennis. On my list is helping old people cross intersections or packing wheel chairs for invalids into car trunks; I love garlic cloves—straight, and kippers and fried brown eggs and rough green spring onions that have a life of their own. My eyes…
Peanuts
On a tour of Europe's history this man is eating peanuts fingers dipping with regularity into paper bag, with skins, without skins mouth opening closing, expressionless Barcelona: Gaudi's masterpiece of the century perhaps forever, eight monumental figures human, superhuman, hymns of reverence to the creator, stretch skywards above the city…
Popcorn Neuroses
Ghost Writer Monologue: They call my anxiety a border crossing. But really it's how ordinary everything starts looking. That's what's ruined my Valentine. When the muse leaves you for dead, you only have an abyss. I say “That's when you rent horror movies.” Or writer's movies that make you want…
David J. Goss
Presently enjoying a much-deserved sabbatical in Liechtenstein, David J. Goss, a self-professed pacifist, ruminates on the intertextuality of his personal statements. He loves symbols, and views almost everything as quasi-metaphorical. His life has become much harder thinking that way.
Paved with Diamonds
I. It was 1963, and my parents were moving to Jacksonville, Florida. Why me? Cheerleader, in the 7th grade in love with the boy of my dreams. I practiced writing my name-to-be: —Mrs. Lynn James Benoit— But what did it matter to parents bent on their own way? A southern…
Linda Dousay
Linda Dousay is an Administrative Associate at Lamar University. She began writing in the fifth grade. Over the next 10 years, she played with the art while her friends shaped the world of southern rock. Years later, when a freshman composition instructor taught her to study poets' lives, she recognized…
Central Park
Close by the window of my second-story flat runs the El. Pigeons walk carelessly along the tracks fluttering away just in time. You can adjust to violent noise, room-shaking vibration, rude interruptions. Well, maybe not completely, all the time, but repetition dulls your senses. The colors in my world are…
Lobsterman
He sat there on his haunches for hours, perched on flat coastal rock Long ago fashioned by Nature, black unforgiving surfaces known to claim Credulous lives. Poised like a gull gussied up in red-plaid coverlet, he sat Staring at the harbour, and remembered: Rhythm of tides, ceaseless surge of sea…
The Leather Suitcase
They don't make suitcases like that any more. Time was, when voyage meant train, steamship distances unbridgeable waiting for a thinning mail weeks, then months, then nothing Time was, when this case was made solid, leather, heavy stitching with protective edges at the corners. Children's train, across the Reich stops…
Award-Winning Poems 2014
Award-Winning Poems
The Wishing Tomb
By Amanda Auchter
All the Heat We Could Carry
By Charlie Bondhus
Best of New Resources: Spring 2014
Highlighting recently added resources at Winning Writers
Barking Sycamores
Journal for poets on the autism spectrum
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Our Wergle Flomp Poetry Contest - The Poems that Started It All
The origins of Wergle Flomp, the inspiration behind the humor poetry contest sponsored by Winning Writers
CUTTHROAT Online Writing Mentorships and Manuscript Evaluations
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Silent Night
Buying a Christmas tree, I reminded myself, was not going to get any easier no matter how long I procrastinated. I lost track of how many times I'd passed the tree lot without stopping. I could not miss the display. It stood next to the post office where I picked…
The Remembering Dreams
I know that I dream often, because when I wake up suddenly, I can still grasp the shreds of what my mind was creating. Or occasionally something I am doing or something someone says will jog my mind with a flash of deja vu. Whatever those dreams were, they quickly…
Elizabeth
I knew the minute it happened. The sudden tears, the intense pressure inside of my chest and the struggle to breathe told me something had gone terribly wrong. I asked my husband Joe to call my sister. She was my twin and as far back as my memory goes, we…
Back Story
Imagine a wide wild garden, sweeping lawns edged by banked flowers, azaleas and showy rhododendrons covered in pastel flowers, then behind them the deep green of billowing oaks and at the back, tall dark conifers, like spears shooting into the wide blue sky. White clouds adorn this sky, and never…
In Defense of the Book
In a typical mall there's usually a computer store hawking the latest and fastest products on the market. The atmosphere is chaotic, noisy and fast-paced. Customers dart around like lizards on warm rocks looking for just the right router or a specific upgrade. The salespeople are young and brash, chatting…
Sea of Dreams
In early summer of 1998, my second film story—Snowmen—was about to be optioned for the umpteenth time. This was finally it, I was sure. After months of close calls, the story now had a popular star, a highly respected production company, an up-and-coming screenwriter, and even some financial backing attached…
Penny, The Police and Professionals
Cathy, with limited schooling, battling it out on a single-parent pension with three kids to raise in a little old asbestos house she'd one day call her own, was excited about the new job she was about to take on. She was set to become a Foster Parent. The State…
It Happened in Monaco
The names Monaco and Monte Carlo evoke images of beauty and wealth, warmth and sun, and romantic fairytales of princes and princesses. Edith's story took place in this lovely Principality during World War II, when even the beautiful blue Mediterranean Sea and the pretty stucco homes dotting the mountainside couldn't…
Challenge the Wind
I walk out to the barn with a combination of enthusiasm, apprehension and fear—an odd mixture of feelings just to go for a ride. But nowadays riding on Milady is never normal…never like it used to be. Milady will be 36 in the spring, and for a horse, 36 is…
The Swan Goose
The lake near City Hall is quiet. There are no ear-splitting honks or loud shrills to break the monotony. The big white Asian swan goose that graced our city park for years is gone—his remains found near the cemetery he grazed, a pair of goslings by his side. He would…
The Train to Harare
To a child, everything is new. So, in Africa, we are all children, for all of it is new. And all of it is old. The sapling sprouting among the creepers is new; the forest, old. Though the baby in the sling is new, his tribe is old. The daybreak…
Black Saturday: What We Went Through
It's been over two months since the greatest peacetime disaster in Australian history turned my world upside down. Not an historical event that anyone wants their name associated with. “Black Saturday”, the media is calling it. I remember it as “Hell on Earth”. The bushfires that devastated Victoria on the…
Fern Langmead
8 Missed Birthdays
Prologue People often ask me what it is like to be a Holocaust survivor. They often call me “Super Jew” or “their hero”. I don't get it. I am not a “hero” and for heaven's sake I am no “Super Jew.” I'm not anything or anybody anymore. The Nazi's took…
Indian Train Journey
Chennai[1] Central railway station burgeoned with Indians “camped out” on the floor amidst mounds of luggage, stacks of boxes and sacks of rice. As the elongated Coromandel Express slid leisurely in along the platform, the multitudes surged forward, jostling to get to their coach, even before it came to its…
Fish Publishing Flash Fiction Competition
Enter the Fish Publishing Flash Fiction Competition
Tupelo Press Snowbound Chapbook Award
Guidelines for the Snowbound Chapbook Award from Tupelo Press
Ode to a Fallen Sparrow
By Helen Leslie Sokolsky
Subscriber News: February 2014
Recent honors and publications earned by our newsletter subscribers
Summer Friends
I met him in the summer of 2002. It was one of those perfect July days, bright sunshine, yet not too humid or windy, which is rare in Chicago. A deep blue sky and puffy white clouds reflected in Lake Michigan, while young people played intense volleyball games in the…
Taste of Dirt
When I was a child the world went mad standing on its head shook dark and evil forces from secret pockets I was five. It was autumn, harvest time. In the orchard the branches of trees, heavy with ripe fruit, hung close to the ground. Apples, pears, plums warm from…
A Death on 33rd
I whisper “death” several times and sigh. I look through the tips of the fronds of an adjacent, short pineapple palm from the balcony of my two-bedroom apartment in The Desert Springs Retirement Center. To the west, I see a line of tall palms etched across the golden, twilight sky…
Boston Public
When the words on the page began to bleed together and her eyes stung from fatigue, she closed the book and leaned her forehead against the spine to breathe in the musty smell of years on a shelf. The weary one, orphan of the masses, the self. The library was…
The Suffer Fest
From around the next bend in the road, a shriek of metal, a cloud of smoke, and a bus comes careening at our van head on. We both swerve madly for a near miss. Then I see the accident: a blue truck in pieces; a body lies in the road,…
The Pennington Scarabs
It was a mistake to leave Uncle George in Grandfather's old room, the one with the Blakelock landscape over the Sheraton chest. When I brought him his midnight medications, he would stare at the painting in the glow of the nightlight and weep. The moon over the river reminded him…
The Prophetess of State Street
The line to the shelter was ten-bodies deep as it wrapped its way up and down the side street. Everyone was nervously marking time, shifting their weight from side to side and rubbing their hands together to generate some warmth. One man's voice rung out above the crowd, “What's going…
