Search Results
Below are the results from your search. Looking for free contests? Please login here.
Page 79 of 112 pages. ‹ First < 77 78 79 80 81 > Last ›
The Queen of the Sea
She has no castle, this queen, but coral reefs, No crown but woven weeds and shells, No crowds of waving love, nor chiming bells, No folds of silk and satin, no marching bands, No company but the Sultan and his reverent band To pay her tributes one day in a…
South Sea Odyssey
I Elusive treasure is my quest Glimpsed but as halo in the haze Stray eyelash caught in sunshine dust A fistula from long lost days Loose fragments from a fragile world Where time has leached through porous stone Kaleidoscope of patterns laid From memories so deftly hewn An Aztec temple,…
Miss Worthington
I saw her one last time. Erect and hating her condition she rolled her chair a little closer to the windows of her winter garden: “The elms will have to go, you know. The elms are sick… “I climbed them as a child.” There was that catch of hidden sadness.…
10 P.M. by the Singapore River
Night, illuminated by the multitudinous fragments of a thinking city. Languid giants tower over cruising bumboats breaking through the river's reflective reverie. The waters, skirted seductively by vibrant shophouses, stir closely-guarded memories; and people, going about various little lives. He looks around. Solitaire in that cubicle. Gossip at the pantry.…
The Bewick’s Wren
The nest of the Bewick's wren consists of twigs, hair, leaves, and grass, placed in a cavity, such as a mailbox, fence post, hole in wall, or birdhouse. Such nests have been found in greenhouses, garages, and sheds actively used by humans, which suggests a relatively high tolerance for disturbance.…
Morning
I woke slowly with the dawn, and the pale, rare light of early morn felt its way across the floor and clambered up the curious wood and danced on top where night had stood. A boy in my life's own morning, I woke to find that night had ebbed and…
I Am a Fado Song
Disguised beneath a shawl of antique lace or within a black shirt of the required style, I have the gift and its curse: my tradition is to perform miracles. I raise the dead. Melody and memory conjure my spells; I croon reluctant shadows back to life. My rhythms seduce stilled…
Jerusalem of Heaven, Jerusalem of Earth
I I think this place may break my heart. Around a corner lies the golden dome, burnished to a postcard glow; there a minaret rises like an amazed breath But that's not where I am. I am in these streets, narrow as a curse. The buildings crouch like beggars, their…
Uncovered
I prayed for months to Anthony, the patron saint of all things lost, to return the lace mantilla—white-thread netting interwoven with roses, pearl-like beads—that I'd worn to Mass each Sunday. I prayed and waited, in a sort of test. What sort of saint would deny the devout request of a…
Spinning Pearls
Nandi sits alone, untended, Quiet time at her command. The silent moments Slip on by her, One by one; A string of pearls Made deftly out of fossil moonlight; Nandi sits alone. Her thin hand draws A languid arc all spindled out of Rainbow promise; See it spill Picasso petals…
On the Border
1. Over hills once named in Phoenician someone upstairs is moving furniture, heavy stuff it groans massive over stone floors, encountering bombed roads and bridges it makes detours through cobbled streets, hides in cellars and tunnels, under schools, places of worship, hospitals. Someone is calling for blood, transfusion offered but…
Fragments From Crete
Anemones and cyclamen grow wild on Kríti, fine-veined, blue, pink and mauve. A house hangs on the cliff face with bright blue shutters thrown back against lime-washed walls. Scarlet geraniums tumble down small steps and bare feet brush terracotta tiles. On a table a silver necklace, spiralled and shining, is…
Papa Bill
My grandfather was a great man. My sister used to mix his drinks for him when she was six A pint of bourbon every day. Smoked the walls gray He was a good man. Worked hard every day, waxed his black broad Plymouth till the paint ran thin, My sister…
Kristopher Smotherman
Remembrance
Do you remember my voice? Whispering hushed breathlessness, soft, polite, but pointed. Elocution elicited eloquence. It was evocative, at times, provocative. Do you remember my tone? A mélange built from mortar of Miss Porter's, purrs preferred at Vassar, and Parisian poets salon songs picked up at the effete elite Sorbonne.…
Island Matinee
The raucous early ferry carries swarms of sun-seekers all planning to be ingénues again acting out their dramas on a pocket handkerchief patch of sand. Battered and paint denied, a line of beach huts stands like lone sentinels surrendering to the invading horde, as a rude harshness of sound swirls…
Du Temps Perdu
1 April is taxation month, trimming Hedges, tidying up the lawn, fixing Paths and fences, packing Compost round the roots again. Winter, central heated, steamed up The Thames past Westminster Bridge. Summer we booked at Torremelinos, Insured against the rain. We took a villa, Strolled through the sunshine to the…
Raymond Southall
Love’s Labor Found
a romp through retrieved forms and loves Prologue He—shallow, callow with no rightful truthful name, He—trapped and shackled in the white man’s sinful rule, without the chance to laugh or understand, so lame I was—society’s begotten shameful tool, while learning how to be a god-damned simple fool; sweet innocence already…
Osmond Benoliel
Weather Report
I used to long for rain: blue skies in childhood arraigned me like a disapproving judge: they sentenced me to obligations I could not fulfill. Invariably, they made me ill. Suburbia's idea of play was onerous: the promised feast of Little League and summer days pursuing, hitting, catching, throwing (mostly…
One Man’s Legacy
It was a long and exhausting ride on my bike; a straight run over four hours and not knowing if I would make it in time, or even if I wanted to, had jarred my mind as well as my body. It was almost sundown. I stood in my father's…
Cicadas
It was not so much that they were unsightly, Sybil told her husband. Their simply being under her nose all day long made her uncomfortable as if she ought to go out and do something. But if she did, then they'd be underfoot forever, on her hands. Hugh laughed. “Dear…
Remembering August 20, 1969 on Memorial Day
An intriguing chain of events began with a story titled “The Postcard”, by Rocky Bleier (with David Eberhart) in the 2001 edition of Chicken Soup for the Veteran's Soul. It caught my attention as I was browsing through displays in a local bookstore in Lincoln, Nebraska. As I glanced at…
Bailey Is in Heaven
My name is Carly Ann. I live in a very small rural town in Georgia, in the great USA. Our town is not on a famous attractions map, but we do have a beautiful lake and abundant fishing ponds. Our weather is decent enough and seldom do we have to…
The Balcon
The stranger came for the first time to Mass on Tuesday, along with the few elderly women from the village of Las Barrancas who daily attended the almost empty church. He sat alone up in the rickety wooden balcon that hadn't been used for years. There was something disturbing about…
Hall of Fame
Standing in the middle of Main Street, Cooperstown, New York, was like stepping into 1950s America. At least that's what my son, Jeff, and I thought when we arrived at the Baseball Hall of Fame in late September 2008. The day was spectacular with oaks and maples ablaze in brilliant…
The Brave One
Acts 9: 1-19 The young boy saw the Temple Guard coming and dodged down an alleyway, hiding behind a pig pen. The foul odor of the forbidden animals filled his nostrils, but he made no sound. He prayed in his mind for the guard to pass by him so he…
Paper Daughter
Jing-mei's sixth and final interrogation fell on August 12, 1940. Sunlight cut through the Angel Island fog and streamed through the window directly into her eyes. She blinked but dared not move. One slip meant deportation back to China. The moon-faced officer approached her, and his shadow blocked out the…
The Right Eye of Justice
Audra Stern shot Ollie Kovak in self-defense. At least that's what the court decided, after a week's worth of deliberating. It had been building to that point for some time. Some said as far back as VJ Day. The nation had barely closed the door on WWII when we found…
The Phone Call
It was the phone call that would alter lives forever. We had talked so many times. Well, in reality I had talked—hoping that she was listening. We had talked about drugs and alcohol. She said, “Geez Mom, I'm not stupid, I would never do that.” She joined the SADD group…
Attachments
I don't remember where I got it, but I think it was the Saugus swap meet. Nevertheless, it was her favorite—her tickle. The butter yellow squares of the quilted blanket were patched together by machine, not by Great Grandma, whose stiff fingers could no longer piece together remnants of her…
The Buck
He's out on the hill again today. I can see him from the kitchen window; those pointed antlers and that bright, white tail. He stomps his feet and a silver mist forms around his snout. Whatcha looking at? I think as he stares down into the valley where our cottage…
The Promised Land
Moisés Ramírez had not made his decision lightly. He knew very well the risks he ran, to attempt to enter the United States with nothing more than the shirt on his back and his eighteen years. Certainly, without money, without English, and, above all, without permission. All that, however, would…
Romanos
I was seven when I first went to the haunted violin shop in West End. I didn't know Romanos was haunted. Not then. Well, really, thirty years on I can't even say for sure that it was. Perhaps that assumption was just another “gap filler” between seeing a chunk of…
The Bridge
(Northern Goiás—1987) 1. Nobody dreams as a kid that they're going to grow up and live in the Central West of Brazil. Rio de Janeiro, maybe, or the rainforests of the Amazon. But not the hot, flat grasslands that stretch between the Tocantins and Araguaia Rivers, lands of huge cattle…
All Things Considered
It is Monday. The memorial service was this morning. I have heard the words “I'm sorry for your loss” and “every day will be a little better than the one before” so many times that I could scream. As if the ticking of a few hours on a clock, or…
Maggie O’Toole
Maggie O'Toole is a recent university graduate and a veteran short story writer. She has placed in several other writing contests and hopes to soon publish a collection of her stories, as well as her first novel. Maggie draws most of her inspiration from Irish mythology and culture, as well…
They
The dogs know it's time. They have been baying non-stop for hours. In the concrete compound between their quarters and ours the black wolf rears on its chain, mad eyes glinting like blood in the glare of the spotlights. I no longer fear its ferocity as I did at first.…
Visiting My Father’s Office
I grew up in Charlotte, North Carolina and though my father's office was only about fifteen minutes away in one of the few office towers downtown, my mother and sister and I rarely ever visited him there. He was an electrical engineer and worked for Duke Power, the local utility…
Primary Day
I had 20 minutes to kill before I met the girls on the 43rd floor for breakfast; so without a moment's hesitation, like a little homing pigeon, I limped up the last subway step at Cortland Street, tossed my cell phone back into my jacket pocket and took off for…
Phantom Feelings
“Excuse me, sir?” The voice came from far off, yet extremely close. He tried to focus, to see the speaker. “Sir? Lieutenant?” A slender hand gently shook his shoulder. He sleepily looked around, finally bringing his unconscious conscious, and gazed into the bright blue eyes of the flight attendant. “I'm…
Naxos Nights
No single incident in my life has been so strange, so hard to grasp, so totally lacking in feasible explanation. I came to Naxos by mistake, but maybe there are no mistakes. Maybe sometimes we're meant to be led here and there, to certain places at certain times for reasons…
Geraldine Fitzgerald & Saint Patrick’s Day in Pittsburgh
Geraldine Fitzgerald, the red-headed beauty of films from long ago, was coming to Pittsburgh. I expected her to be demanding and petulant like most actresses. After all, she had been a movie star, of sorts. Why in the world would she be touring with a cabaret act at this point…
Lissa Byers
Lissa Byers, a native of Colorado, currently lives in Arvada with her husband, two teenagers, and two incredibly spoiled miniature dachshunds. With a degree in Theatre and a career background in computer instruction, she has shifted her efforts back to her passion—writing. Having published mostly short fiction, she is currently…
Chocolate Covered Crickets
I have acquired the concentration of an ant. The rising tension in the room can only be cut by an ax. A knife would simply knick it. I don't know where to look. Two days ago I was looking up. I was looking up into the ceiling above the 17th…
Mica in the Rock
“Thought we'd see a change by now,” Doc O'Neill says to Mom. “Better keep him home another week, Ruthie, then bring him back on Friday.” My brother's sitting on the end of a silver cot looking out the window. Doc O pats his head like he's a lonesome retriever, but…
The Guernsey Doll
Hauteville lived up to its name. When Victor Hugo was exiled from France, he set himself on a pedestal. The shops and pubs on either side of the street leading up to the Hugo house looked as though they were about to tumble into the sea below. Monica climbed the…
Watching Time
I never imagined that a broken wristwatch would destabilize the universe and set me beside God outside time and space. At 9:38 PM on Saturday, September 17, 1993, I was winding it before bed when something snapped. In a silence like that between the heart stopping and death, I stared…
