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The Animals
The expert on training search dogs said the dogs should not suffer the aftermath of disaster, they will not show signs of post-traumatic stress, that animals do not know one building from another or associate the pain of events with place. They do not remember what happened on Tuesday. They…
C. Lynn Shaffer
C. Lynn Shaffer is a former winner of an Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) Intro Award in poetry and a semi-finalist in Louisiana Literature's poetry competition. She has published poetry in journals such as Clackamas Literary Review and Wind magazine, as well as book reviews in Cream City…
Joanna Catherine Scott
Born during an air raid over London, Joanna Catherine Scott was raised in Australia by a mother who had been a radio actress but got saved and became instead a Pentecostal preacher, exorcist and healer, and a father who was very silent. She tutored formal logic and British analytic philosophy…
Carolyn Moore
Carolyn Moore participated in the Green Movement as it struggled to become the Green Party of California. Through both phases, she worked for peace and continues to freelance in that endeavor now that she is back in her home state, Oregon. In the past fifteen years, Moore's poetry, fiction, and…
Victor Lodato
Victor Lodato is a poet and playwright. A 2002 Guggenheim Fellow, he is also the recipient of a 2002 Helen Merrill Award. Other honors include fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, The Princess Grace Foundation, Art Matters, as well as a New Forms Grant (Rockefeller Foundation/NEA). Earlier this…
Elizabeth Howkins
Elizabeth Howkins began to write after winning an essay contest at age ten. She has worked as a foreign language teacher, an antiques dealer and a bilingual counselors' assistant. Currently she is a literacy intern teacher and is working on several plays. Ms. Howkins' short stories have appeared in Spout…
Raphael Dagold
Raphael Dagold is a poet, photographer, teacher, and woodworker. He operates a custom cabinet and furniture shop. His poems have appeared in Quarterly West, Indiana Review, two girls review, Frank, Shirim, The Oregonian, Born (an online mixed-media magazine), and is forthcoming in Bridges. His two fables from Versions of Aesop,…
Kathleen M. Conley
Kathleen M. Conley was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She served two tours as a Navy nurse in Vietnam and worked as a Mental Health Crisis Counselor for many years before becoming disabled with back problems. Ms. Conley has been writing poetry for many years. She won a…
Claire Braz-Valentine
Claire Braz-Valentine is a widely published poet, a freelance writer of both children's and adult fiction and nonfiction, and an award winning playwright. Her poems have been featured in many anthologies. Her plays have been produced in New York, Los Angeles and across the United States, and in Finland, Greece,…
Steve Amick
Steve Amick lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan and received an MFA from George Mason University. His short stories have appeared on National Public Radio, in the anthology The Sound of Writing (Doubleday), Playboy, The Southern Review, The New England Review, The Tulane Review, River City, Story and McSweeney's. He has…
Sasha Returning
He wanted a job as a clown. He walked miles remembering the music. Even in sleep, he dreamed about her greeting him. They might join the circus and learn how to fly the trapeze. She was sleeping when it killed her; she, the child, were still, asleep. He expected to…
The Homecoming
(11/11/01) In subtle fields the casualties of leaves hang yellow. Frost's ghosts graze the bullet grass, Awakening crisp footfall. The boy imagines going home. Dawn's blood, he thinks, robes trees with autumn, But I am going home. For this is death's dawn And crammed with poppy-clots, and memories Of home's…
Give Me Tomorrow
“They were in their 20s but might have been 100. In answer to my idiot question, 'If I were God, what would you want for Christmas,' one tried to answer and failed until, looking into that unpromising sky, he said, 'Give me tomorrow.'” - David Douglas Duncan, about American soldiers…
To Home, Winter 1943
“Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear? The father it is, with his infant so dear; He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm, He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.” [1] I can scarcely hold the bottle, these rags that hold my fingers…
The Near Occasion of Sin
To Miss Marianne Moore Hairy face, skin wings, eyeteeth of bone, black thought of it swinging from the chandelier, upside down above me in my bed: I too dislike it. I hear whirring and its squeaky voice in my dreams: it wakes me, years after. He says be grateful, you…
Patti Patton
Patti Patton's short story “Gas Lines” won the 2002 Truckee Meadows Writing Conference Fiction Prize. She has an MFA in playwriting from the University of California, and in June she had a staged reading of “Chiophobia (fear of snow)” at the Edward Albee Final Frontier Theater Conference in Valdez, Alaska.…
Nicholas Green
Nicholas Green hails from Great Britain. He writes, “I have copy and screenwriting websites, but not one for poetry. I am represented by Blake Friedmann—a London literary agency—for screenwriting. Nothing as yet produced (sore point!).”
Ginny Lowe Connors
Ginny Lowe Connors is the author of two poetry collections: The Unparalleled Beauty of a Crooked Line and Barbarians in the Kitchen, as well as a chapbook, Under the Porch, winner of the Sunken Garden Poetry Prize. In addition, she has edited several anthologies. She's won numerous awards for her…
Geoffrey Clay
I only started writing poetry a few years ago, less as a serious foray into creative writing and more as a means by which to put on paper a number of things I wanted to forget (all of it rather pedestrian in hindsight). I was bolstered by what F. Scott…
Laurel Blossom
Laurel Blossom's most recent book of poetry is The Papers Said (Greenhouse Review Press, 1993). Earlier books include What's Wrong (Cobham & Hatherton Press, 1987) and Any Minute (Greenhouse Review Press, 1979). Her work has appeared in a number of anthologies, and in national journals including Poetry, The American Poetry…
From L.A. to New York, Cadiz, Marseilles, Frankfurt, London…
you see them on buses heads bobbing with fatigue as they ride one hour or more each way to jobs in garment shops in electronics factories in meatpacking plants in old people's homes in construction cleanup mopping hospital rooms making hospital beds as domestic servants as busboys as dishwashers as…
Tamar Diana Wilson
Tamar Diana Wilson has published poems and/or short stories in Struggle, Thema, Blue Mesa Review, Saturday Afternoon Journal, and Anthropology & Humanism, and in a volume edited by Terry Wolverton. Her collection of one poem and six short stories, entitled Tales from Colonia Popular, will be published in 2009 by…
Return to Mount Ayliff’s Childhood Home
Dust, like parchments of ancient skin Covers the lopsided garden gate. The familiar sidewalks Now unfamiliar, etched in weeds and concrete cracks. Yet the artifacts I remember my life by I try rebuilding Stone upon stone. Rose garden, oak and maple trees Climbing tough and twisted branches A cat on…
Hickory Dickory Dock
Along the harbour it stands White-faced, in a deep puzzle. Tick, tock, tick sweeps its black hands Spontaneously as usual. Mounted there it does not comprehend When it has become suddenly special. Splashed by waves, confronted with gales, For decades it stations at the dock. Hickory, dickory, dock. Hickory, dickory,…
The Attic
Slats of sunlight peek through the high narrow window Shadows fall on an ancient rocking chair It creaks like an arthritic joint As she sits, rocks slowly Surveys the crowded, cramped space It seems smaller somehow Tiny dust particles dance to a silent tune The hazy light against the dark…
The Assembled Waiters
We all sit and wait. We wait in a room designed for waiting. We wait for our names to be called. Some wait nervously, fidgeting and checking their watches. Some wait patiently, reading old magazines. Some even doze off to sleep. But we all wait. We sit on chairs not…
Do Not Be Kind to Robots That Love Humans
You say, “Poor dears, they can't help it.” True. But how much sympathy should you spend on machines that act like a remote lawnmower? They lack the introspection circuits to examine and recode their core directions to more objective ends. Their course is set, their path pre-programmed. They follow automatically…
Another Street, Filled with Too Much Rain
Only time can seal the divide Between us now, the space That gapes At all the wrong things in the way, The unspeakable disagreement That has replaced The face of love I used to see Everytime we met. Now, just another street Filled with too much rain To take the…
Max West
For Landon
Who died before the Madden Basketball Playoffs Punch the buttons on the phone. Halfway through I forget You can't play Madden Basketball today so I do. Set on two-player I play your game for you. I think you let me win again. Pull into your driveway just to see how…
Aline Taylor
Remembering Miss Baker
Evelyn Baker, now enthroned in the pantheon of great English teachers, stood straight as a declarative sentence in front of our class. Not uncomely, but not beautiful, yet not without form, she was slim, maybe one size up from petite. A proper noun without modifiers. Everyday she wore a long-sleeved…
Seawoman’s Caribbean Writing Opps
Markets and tools for Caribbean writers
Tiferet Writing Contest
Enter the Tiferet Writing Contest: Awards for best story, poem, and essay
Explaining the D to You
It sprouts like bindweed or rattlebox across a field and covers anything decent between us, like the seasonal burnings where only smoke and ash exist over the once fruitful yield. The harvest will rise without us, or perhaps, despite us. The geometry of barns equates a mathematics we choose to…
M.E. Silverman
My Mother Spoke Volumes
I. My mother told me stories when I was young the cadence of her voice is what I remember when I grew up my mother told me stories in a single sentence she spoke volumes in that short space one day she waxed nostalgic over suitors that came to her…
Norma Roth
Signature
Bruised with dirt, The light-green Goose-pimpled wall Supports a lonely Slanted oil painting, Thick embossed Gilt covered frame, Quietly peeling. Seascape of Blue curling waves Breaking, White tipped. Driftwood, spongy seaweed, And broken shells Scattered on the grainy shore. A pair of seagulls, Puffed up, crops bulging, Perch contently on…
Suspended, February 8, 2007
It was blue today when I left the grocery store. My blue car was blueberry. Green cars were teal. Red cars were purple. Everything white was a watery milk-blue. I stood in a painting. A layer of steel slicked the street. The underside of each leaf on every tree was…
Elizabeth Pessl-Rossi
Dance With Me
It is frustrating trying to lure this fearful fellow to the floor: He lurks in crooked corners uncertain whether to stay or stray. Why will he not depart if he cannot anticipate and participate? I was occupied, consistent and content until he consumed me With this tripping tune that tremendously…
Glory Odemene
Crimson Lady
I An iridescent cherry-colored wanderer lingered on the bedroom windowsill. She displayed pepper sprinkle spots and feasted on the fruit flies that stowed away with the market's jade pears. The lady beetle crawled across the sill, climbing over last winter's neglected cobwebs. (So many more important things to do than…
Heather Nicaise
In the Dark
I'm having this problem, see, changing a light bulb in the ceiling the ladder is a bit wobbly, the window too close to the ladder, so I flatten the ladder against the wall but then I can't reach the light bulb, I could stand on the counter but I might…
Coffee House Confessions by Ellaraine Lockie
Buy Coffee House Confessions by Ellaraine Lockie
Mimi Moriarty
My Sweater
Like an old ghost, empty Rumpled, collar and hem askew, My brown sweater lies Forgotten on a chair A sleeve, drooping down, Throws a shadow like a bruise On the rug The cuff rolled back, where Your small, tender arm poked out When the sweater Was full of you When…
Grape Vine Dream
By the westward-facing wall of home, A tunnel of grapes on a green summer's day In brown paper bags to ward off the bees. Anointed by hedge clippings, dusk gathered round— Wheel barrow pushed to a backyard of dreams Past a red cement veranda where ants up and down. One…
