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Archive for the ‘by New Author’ Category

The bag, the jar, the box by Rachel Tremblay

In by New Author on January 18, 2018 at 9:35 pm

The list was long
As soon as you ran out of one
You added another
Seeing the bottom of the bag
The jar, the box
Shelves clean and empty
Ready to be clad
But that clang in your pocket
Was just rocks
And your bowl was full
At least once a day
With grain and hot water
You should be glad
You told yourself
Instead of bemoaning the way
Life kept you whole
Despite the holes
That drained you
drained you dry
But you still have a list that’s long
You still have your endless desire

And that’s worth something


Just getridofit by Vincent J Bracco

In by New Author on April 24, 2014 at 7:16 pm

It was spoken that swiftly, as if he’d said it a million times before and she, having heard it that often, continued walking as if someone might take their favorite cafeteria table. The eavesdropper wondered, just what did he want her to get rid of? Certainly not that.  No one was that heartless. What then? Evidence of some kind? Drugs? Intriguing, but they weren’t the type. And what type were they? Normal, like everyone else. Bad habit then, pack of smokes bought out of weakness.  Crème donuts.
“I’m sorry,” said eavesdropper to their astonished, waiting looks, and, without explanation, left.

March 21st 2013 by Keith Wood

In by New Author on March 29, 2013 at 10:53 pm

The rabbit brush begin to show tiny green nubs along still grey stems. Soon the native garden at Bluff Lake will sweetly stink from tiny yellow flowers. Bore holes will appear in the galls. Who will emerge? I’ve suspected rabbit brush beetle but am not sure. Before today the galls were white–yogurt covered raisins. Now some have turned into wasabi peas. I clumsily split one with my nail finding a rice sized larva. The day holds a chill and the small beast rears ever so slightly from my thumb. The adult? Research reveals small “picture winged” fruit flies: Aciurina bigeloviae.

Wine by Craig Towsley

In by New Author on March 15, 2013 at 10:18 am

“Do you ever kind of wish your house would burn down?” Mouse asked.

Rabbit sat beside her on the dock, their toes dipping in the lake. She swallowed a mouthful of sweet wine and turned to her friend.

“What?” she said.

“Oh. Nothing,” Mouse said and waved the words away against the night sky. “Maudlin drunk talk, that’s all.”

They sat there and finished the wine and listened to the sound of the lake in the dark.

“I guess, I just have so much useless stuff I drag around,” Mouse said. “It would be nice to get rid of it.”

Art by Craig Towsley

In by New Author on January 26, 2013 at 4:42 pm

I watched a man bleed out and die in my kitchen. I mean, yes, I shot him. I Killed him, I suppose. Eventually, he died. It wasn’t quick like in the movies. He flopped around for a long time. Tried to crawl away. I watched. Horrified and at the same time wishing I had a bowl of popcorn. I watched as his blood ran out of him and seeped into the raw wood floor.

My kitchen floor. It’s a conversation piece. People say it’s morbid, macabre and gruesome even. I say, isn’t all art really, and chuckle along with them.

Truth by Claudia Leger

In by New Author on September 24, 2012 at 12:17 pm

There is no escape; only endurance

Panicked but continuing with daily routine

Seeking peace but loading ammo

The planes, the bombs, the death

Will life continue for the crying babe

Struggle to feed, to work, to learn, to teach

The madness swirls, the world watches

An old woman peeks from her curtain

Tattered and crippled she limps to the curb

Alms workers dive into the rubbish

The old woman is drawn down with them

Alarms, sirens, screams, cursing and prayers

Mingled together, mistaken for normal

Pride and anger stretch mentality to unknown limits

Questions unvoiced, answers never expected.

Suddenly by Claudia Leger

In by New Author on November 20, 2011 at 11:40 pm

My brain still functions the same now as in my youth. Yet I am different; I do not look the same or believe as I did but I am still me. Still planning, waiting, hoping, and dreaming but now there is a disclaimer statement attached to all I say, do or think. I sense the innocent recognition that there has been an alteration in my very being. My ‘’forever” is suddenly narrowed; my personal timeline is more carefully threaded. I brood over the fact that life is short, reality fleeting and my contribution to this world trifling yet buoyant.

Giving Up The Tyrant by Ricardo Calzada

In by New Author on September 29, 2011 at 4:35 pm

My life has revolved around a vision I developed in my childhood. A
mature boy, I made my vision objective and devoid of overly
speculative details. The wider the target, the straighter the arrow.
The future me and how he would form my life was well envisioned. This
formulation was an escape from bounds suggested by my predecessors.

As I steer towards becoming the man I created, the vision gets grainy.
The surety that helped me bud in the poorest soils is no longer there.
The tyrant that propelled me beyond life’s joys is no more and I am

The Library by Charlotte

In by New Author on August 13, 2011 at 12:44 am

Handing the librarian my thick plastic card, I can’t seem to discern that she remembers I was in here two days ago. If she’s impressed at the stack of books I’m returning.

I want her to be impressed. I need a partner, a cheerleader in this race I’m in. Only a lifetime to read all these books. And who knows the dimensions of this life I’ve got.

What have I left behind, in this book? Fingerprints, eyelashes, the crumbs of my lunch, a bit of my soul. Will its next reader think to look for the traces I left behind?

Untitled by Kimber London

In by New Author on July 15, 2011 at 12:00 pm

The nano micro organisms chillin in my dirty kitchen beg me to unlearn the lessons from my less than pure perception of a sweet, demure projection r’membrances of daily lessons, that i learnt so earnestly by courtesy of thanks, and please, and “mother, may I” fantasies.

As I stop to think about it, mama never had to shout it, clout the rod over my head, all she had to do instead was lead the life she knew I’d choose, if I could learn to wear her shoes.

Even to this very day, I clean and think and act her way.