Village Square Logo

We hold hands, our palms sweat but we don't let go to wipe them off. Under my right hand is the switch. Once I close it, well...

It was supposed to be a simple rescue. Pull the freighter out of its decaying orbit around the small star, and boost it into open space. Repairs would wait until the freighter itself was safe.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

Vi says it’s probably Karma, and she could be right. At this point, it doesn’t matter as far as I can see.

The freighter’s captain, our old friend Jake Flynn, was quite relieved to see us, as it’s not a lot of fun spiraling into a star. He had one engine operating and its power was sufficient to keep it in place, but not for too much longer. Then we answered his distress call.

We managed to get our MagLines attached to the freighter’s hull with no problem. Flynn had her under steerage behind us and we were making way nicely. Should’ve been a snap from there on.

-----

"Frank, we’re losing power in the starboard engine." Vi’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of worry.

"Can you jack up the Port engine?"

"I tried that. She’s straining."

"Back her off a minute." I hit the Comm and call the freighter. "Flynn, this is the ‘Boone’."

"Go ahead, Boone."

"We’ve got a problem, here, Flynn; we’re losing our starboard engine. Do you have enough headway to pull free?"

There’s a whining groan coming from the hallway, aft of the cabin, that has my hair standing on end. I shouldn’t be able to hear a thing from back there.

"We can just make it. Go ahead and cut the lines, Frank. Thanks for the assist."

"You’re welcome, Jake. Good luck." I punch the control and the MagLines release from the freighter and snake back toward our hull. I watch the freighter surge past us and head away from the star’s gravity well. She should be safe now. It’s our own ship I’m not too certain about.

"Oh, crap." Vi’s face is shiny with sweat.

"What’s the problem?"

"We’re veering off course. Starboard engine is dead, Port engine is losing power, and something’s fouling the MagLines."

I check the tell-tales on her board. We are not a healthy ship right now.

"Jettison the MagLines."

She stabs at the controls.

"Nothing, Frank."

Now I can feel chilly beads dripping down my own neck.

"Hang on, Vi," I tell her as I head out of the cabin, "I’ll do it manually."

I launch myself down the hallway, pulling at the grips along the way. Flying in zero-gee, you might say. The hall is long and it takes a minute or so to sail to the hatch that opens into the Gear Bay.

I tap the hatch control. Nothing. The hatch remains closed. I stab at it again, but the hatch doesn’t budge. I slide open the viewing-port cover and see the crystals growing on my side of the glass. My heart stops dead. Ice on the glass means the bay is open to space. Even this close to the star, the space in our shadow outside is very cold. Condensation means the bay is cold. It should be ship’s temp, just like the hallway.

I rub the frost away and peer through. Every loose piece of equipment is gone. The internal housing for the MagLines is gone, too, and with it a large section of the bay’s outer hull. We’re open to space. The opening of the bay hull, and release of air, has pushed us sideways. Crap.

I slide the cover shut and head back to the cabin.

Vi is doing what she can, but I can see our position relative to the sky changing. We’re heading, slow and steady, back toward the star.

I slide into my chair and hit the Comm. "Captain Flynn, this is the ‘Boone’."

"Go head, Frank."

"Jake, we’ve lost the starboard engine, the port engine is losing power, and we’ve got a hull breach on our starboard side. We’re announcing a ‘Mayday’."

"Frank…"

"Relax, Jake. You can’t help us. Just make sure you let the Company know where we are."

I can feel Vi’s gaze on my neck. I turn my head and wink at her. Her face is pale, but she’s steady as a rock. Another reason I love her.

"How’s that gonna help, Frank?" Flynn’s voice carries his confusion. "You’ll be crisped long before they get anyone out here."

"We’re gonna go into Stasis. Dunno if that’ll work, but it’s our only chance."

"Where’d you come up with the scratch for that, Frank?"

"I’d tell you, Jake, but we ain’t got the time. Just let ‘em know, okay?"

"Wilco, Frank. Thanks again. And good luck."

"Thanks, Jake. ‘ Boone’ out."

I switch off the Comm, lean back, and rub my eyes. A shuddering sigh escapes me and I look over at Vi. She reaches out a hand and I take it. "Sorry, Babe," I tell her. "Guess the engine overhaul wasn’t up to specs. Last time we use Murchison, I can promise you that."

She smiles. "I’m gonna cut that bastard’s fingers off when I see him, Frank."

I chuckle, and squeeze her hand.

"I’ll hold him while you do."

"How long," she asks.

I shake my head. "We’ll orbit for a few hours, and then spiral in. Maybe eighteen hours, I guess."

Vi releases my hand and swats it. "Hell, I know that. I meant how long will the Stasis field hold?"

"I don’t know, Vi. It may fail when we hit the corona, or it might collapse when we get deeper in the star. I don’t know if it’s ever been tested inside a star. But it’s supposed to hold up."

"So we’ll test it, right?" She winks.

"That’s my girl!"

We pull the data logs, and set the ship on ‘auto’. Making our way down the hall, I’m struck again by how gorgeous Vi is. She’s in front of me and I watch her legs, her muscles long and trim. Her short hair stands like a brown halo. I feel a pang of love and desire, and a cold trough of despair. I’ve failed her. We’re both going to die when the ‘Boone’ falls into the star. I can’t imagine the Stasis chamber holding up under the intense pressure and heat. But we’ll never know it. Once inside the Stasis chamber, time will cease.

For some odd reason, my mind seems to focus on Vi’s body, and I want to make love to her right now. I shake my head. There isn’t time, for Pete’s sake. Pay attention, Frank! Can we survive this? We’ll be falling into a star. Heat, gravity of immense proportions, magnetic fields, who knows what else? Can the Company even help us once they get here?

The Company has some pretty cutting-edge ships in its fleet. They might even have one that can fly through a star. Who knows? If they do, and if the Stasis field holds once the ‘Boone’ disintegrates, and if ... well, that’s a lot of ifs. A Stasis field has an odd signature. It appears on sensors as a bit of absolute nothing. It would be easy to spot if a ship can actually get into the star. If the chamber exists once we get too close. It’s supposed to be able to survive this. That’s the theory, anyway.

We arrive at the Stasis chamber and open it. There are two reclining seats, thickly padded, with belts to hold the occupants. A monitor and simple controls allow the occupants to see what’s happening outside until the Stasis field is turned on. At that point, all time ceases to exist within the chamber. So, I’ll hold off until the last moment. We’ll watch it together, Vi and me. And then we’ll stop time.

I close and seal the chamber hatch. Vi floats around the tiny circular chamber as if window-shopping. She’s seen everything in here before. She’s the one who convinced me to spend money we didn’t have at the time on a safety device that few ships have. I watch her push down on the padding and stroke the surface. She turns her head and smiles at me. It’s a shaky smile, but she’s trying to be brave. Hell, so am I.

"We won’t know, will we?" She’s asking the obvious. She’s also asking me to tell her it’s going to be all right.

"Once the field is turned on, we won’t know anything, Sweetheart. Time simply stops. The moment lasts until the field dies or is turned off." I know my smile must look grim to her.

"And we can’t turn it off, can we Frank?"

"Nope. Because that next moment will never happen. I’ll hit the switch, time stops, and ..." I shrug, "there’s no next moment. Someone outside can shut the field off, but we’ll be trapped in that moment."

The ship shakes around us. We’ve been pulled into the star’s orbit. Time is now running down for the ‘Boone’. We both drift to the floor of the chamber as gravity rises. I check the sensors and watch the monitor.

Vi puts her arms around me from behind and rests her head on my shoulder. We watch the interior of the ‘Boone’ together on the small monitor. "No choice, huh?" she whispers in my ear.

"Nope." I straighten and turn, pulling her into my arms and holding tight. She’s been my life for 5 years. I breathe in the scent of her and it’s like the very first time. Somehow, she’s always been a wondrous new discovery for me. I stroke her hair and kiss her ear.

She stiffens slightly. "Look."

I turn my head. On the monitor, the starboard walls of the hall are glowing a light yellow. I’ve miscalculated. That tear in the hull has screwed up the orbit. We’re falling faster than I thought. Burning up.

I kiss Vi hard on the lips and push her toward her chair. I help her strap in, then climb into my own chair and strap in myself. I glance at the monitor. Parts of the wall are starting to run, melting in the intense solar heat. I switch the controls off and pull the Stasis control close. My right hand rests on it. The small, plasticene dome feels smooth and cool under my palm.

"I love you, Frank."

I turn my head and look into her eyes. "Always and forever, Vi."

She reaches her hand to me and I take it and squeeze. We smile. I can’t tell if there are tears in her eyes. There are tears in mine.

I push the switch ...


Jeff Keenan is known as benning around WVU and F2K. He has a single published novel - "Benning’s War" - and more drafts than you can shake a stick at. When he’s not writing, or working to pay bills, benning is renowned for his prowess as a hunter of Mastodon or Mammoth.

Located in Florida.


Road Trip

by

David Snyder

  The eight-year-old 1958 Chevy was purring along through rural Kansas with ease. Don smiled with pride. When it hit 180,000 miles he planned to celebrate with a smoke and an ice-cold Mountain Dew from the cooler.  It was a beautiful late April day with the sunny...

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Why I’m Failing My Innovative Fiction Course

by

Ed Kratz

   

This is from an assignment in the Innovative Fiction Course taught by Karen

I'm just not making it in my innovative fiction course.
What is innovative fiction you might ask? Well, if you have to ask, I'd say you're one of those rubes...

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Dear Don...

by

Ed Kratz

   

The Don, whose real name you do not want to know, ever, has vast experience solving problems. Our organization, Don’t Try to Find Us Press, never advocates violence. We take no responsibility for violent acts committed by those misinterpreting the Don’s recommendations.
Now for...

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Todd’s Miracle

by

Leslie

Todd shivered in the dark, seated cross-legged on the linoleum. Coats and dresses draped gently over his five-year-old shoulders. He flinched as a slit of bright light flashed through the space at the bottom of the door. Seconds later the deep, rolling rumble followed. “Mommy?”

Silence.

“Mommy?” ...

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Mad Hatter Town Planners

by

Margaret Fieland

   

I fell down the rabbit hole straight into the town planning committee meeting. A large basin of Sangria sat in the middle of the scratched wood table in the center of the room, and a keg rested against the back wall. Al, Stan, and Art...

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Dinner at Grandma's

by

Lolla Bryant

You’re at Grandma’s house again for dinner.  As always, the family is gathered together and everybody’s trying to out-talk everybody else.   You ask yourself why you continue to go through this ordeal every week, but you know why; it’s Grandma.  Also, it’s a family tradition that brings you...

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Mommy’s Little Secret

by

Leslie

At age five, Amy told her mother that the thought of swimming scared her. Not surprisingly, her mother poo-pooed the idea, and said that fear showed weakness and stupidity. From then on, Amy said she hated swimming and never admitted any fear to her mother again. I don’t...

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New Age Centre

by

Natalie Knight

I had been in Oz for a few months when I received an emergency call to come back to South Africa. Every émigré who leaves elderly parents dreads this call.

 

But this was worse than death. Our family lawyer called me to attend a meeting...

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"I’ve Been With Willy All Day"

by

Brigitte Whiting

   

The late August sun hung hot in a bare blue sky. Matilda picked up a tattered straw bushel basket and trudged into the garden with it. The rows of beans were dusty green, the corn stalks tall, their leaves edged with yellow. She settled on...

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50 Minutes

by

Allyssa


Nomi stood a few feet from the curb, watching her breath in the November Seattle rain, waiting for her mother. She hated asking for money. The feeling of dread almost compelled her to flee as she saw the silver Mercedes approaching. If only she didn’t need another fix.

“So, ...

Read more: 50 Minutes

 

 

 

Her Fortune is the Future in the Past

by

Albert Orjuela

The toe drags umber, the pressure of holding paint forces the belly to bulge, and the canvas texture causes tired bristles to bend and stretch, casting tinted shadows in their wake. The resulting undertones bring life to the painting. The vitalizing paint bled from the brush is drawn from the...

Read more: Her Fortune is the Future in the Past

 

 

 

The Compulsion of Water Lilies

by

Gevera Bert Piedmont



She was buzzing in his ear again, the world’s largest and most annoying fly.

“This isn’t the beach you promised me. Can’t we go into town at least?”

He flicked a hand over his shoulder at her, go away, and stared into the waves. His eyes sought and...

Read more: The Compulsion of Water Lilies

 

 

 

Lessons In Plot: From Setup To Payoff

by

By Joy Manné (the student) with Help and Encouragement from Karen Barr (the teacher)



From ‘The Road from Setup to Payoff’ by Karen Barr, (Writers Village University, MFA 250-261 Story Focus series based on the book by Lisa Cron)

One of our most hardwired expectations is that anything that reads like the beginning of a new pattern—that is a setup—will in fact, be a...

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Meatloaf and Mashed Taters

by

Art Subklew


Art Subklew is a 55-year-old Paramedic residing and working in The Southern Berkshires, Massachusetts. He began creative writing as a teenager, mostly focusing on fictional short stories grounded in his experiences as a teenager growing up on a small farm. He has attended numerous classes in Creative Writing...

Read more: Meatloaf and Mashed Taters

 

 

 

Found: A $20 Bill

by

Brigitte Whiting


Brigitte lives in Maine and often uses settings and experiences from her yard in her writing. She earned Fiction Writing Certificates from Gotham Writers Workshop and UCLA-Ext and is working on her WVU-MFA Certificate. In addition to facilitating WVU classes, she meets weekly with two local writers' groups

Read more: Found: A $20 Bill

 

 

 

Jesus is Lord

by

Eviano George



“Esu, Esu”, the aged priest in the white skullcap screams, flecks of spittle flying out of his mouth. His Adam’s apple stretches against his reedy, leathery neck as incantations burst forth in a torrent. As if on cue, a monstrous, heavily tattooed novice runs out of the shadows. In...

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The Bus Station

by

Joyce Hertzoff


Joyce Hertzoff retired after over 45 years in the scientific information field. Since then she has published three YA novels. There of her short stories were included in anthologies. She is a facilitator and mentor for the MFA program at WVU.

Read more: The Bus Station

 

 

 

He Looked Like Quiet

by

Kathryn Pollard


An alarm sounded in the distance. I paid it no mind. Instead, I focused on the peculiar man sitting on the park bench. He looked like quiet—the epitome of it. When he breathed, the slight rise and fall of his shoulders did not compromise his placid composure. His hair, ...

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The Curious Case of Solomon Gbajabiamila

by

Eviano George

Deep in the cavernous belly of the hospital, the frail old man was dying. Inch by inch, he contorted his body to rest on the side that did not hurt. He also wanted to avoid looking at the empty space where the other man had been; the only companion he...

Read more: The Curious Case of Solomon Gbajabiamila

 

 

 

Portrait of the Artist at a Hideous Moment

by

Frank Richards

The man sits at a desk, in a garage, under a single light, a stack of white eight by eleven sheets of paper before him. The man sits at a desk, in a garage, under a good old neon light, a stack of neatly typed eight by eleven pages on...

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Zephyr

by

Linda Murray

The winding dirt road abandons the highway five miles south of town. But perhaps road is too grand a term for what meanders lazily into the otherwise untouched coastal forest. Maybe trail would be a better description. Alder and cedar boughs mesh in a green canopy that nearly blocks the...

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The Five-Hundred-Foot Ladder

by

Rob Samborn

“Come on, Dad,” Savannah said. “Whatever happened to relaxing in your golden years? Sipping mint juleps on the porch, listening to U2, or whatever you old folk like?”

“Mint juleps?”

“I don’t know. What do you old folk drink?”

“You’re not funny, sweetheart. And fifty-eight’s not old. ...

Read more: The Five-Hundred-Foot Ladder

 

 

 

Empty Box

by

Albert Orjuela

I’ve lived my whole life and people are still always trying to change me. Especially more so because I am empty. I don’t understand what the problem is, is it my fault? I am not a storage box, a moving box, a shipping box, or even a jewelry box. I...

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Stasis

by

Jeffrey M. Keenan

We hold hands, our palms sweat but we don't let go to wipe them off. Under my right hand is the switch. Once I close it, well...

It was supposed to be a simple rescue. Pull the freighter out of its decaying orbit around the small star, and...

Read more: Stasis

 

 

 

The Fisherman

by

Brigitte Whiting

I shuffle down the path from our house to the dock. I've been on the water for so long, my wife Molly tells me, that I've gotten permanent sea legs. I step down into my seine-net fishing boat, the one I bought from my father forty years ago, slide my...

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The Weight of Emotions

by

Angela Hess

  I can hear my parents’ raised voices upstairs. They are fighting again. I turn on the sink faucet, letting the sound of the running water drown out their voices. I thrust my hands in the nearly scalding hot water and methodically scrub each dish in the sink...

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An Apology

by

Brigitte Whiting

   I'm sorry that I hadn't thought of how I would take care of a puppy. It had seemed like a good idea, accept the gift of a puppy from acquaintances. She had the coloring of a coyote and was named Brindle for those tawny markings. I'd...

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Baby Precious

by

Louise E. Sawyer

It was Christmas Day 1950 and my sixth birthday. Under the tree was an unusually long, large box with my name on it. I was excited to open it. I couldn’t wait. When I finally did, I was amazed to look upon the most gorgeous doll I’d...

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Downsizing

by

M Clare Paris

 
I think about death quite a bit. Not morbidly, nor do I worry about what happens when one dies. Although I enjoy a spiritual life, I am also philosophical about the end of my life. If there is something else, it will be darned interesting. If there isn’t, ...

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Absent But Present

by

Louise E. Sawyer


My father, Thomas George Sawyer, was absent at my birth and absent the first seven months of my life.

It was Christmas Eve 1944 at the two-story white house on Beechwood Drive-my Grannie’s house in Victoria, the capital city of British Colombia on Vancouver Island. Grannie Price, my...

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Gathering: A Contemplative Essay

by

Brigitte Whiting

I'm always looking for ideas to use in writing: for that prompt at which I first gulp and then slowly retrieve some thread of an idea, for the poem I need for the Monday morning poetry group, for an essay that's due in two days.

I've heeded...

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Seasons in a Wild Turkey Hen's Life

by

Brigitte Whiting

Last spring, a wild turkey hen incubated her eggs for twenty-eight days. When they hatched, she scrambled to keep up with them. Poults to scientific literature. Babies to her. She didn't need to teach them to scratch for bugs—they came with that instinct. Nighttimes during their first four weeks, ...

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Lesson in Subtext

by

Joy Manné and Karen Barr

Roles

Teacher – Karen Barr

Student – Joy Manné

Teacher

WELCOME TO WEEK 8 OF SUBTEXT.

There is no word count, but the challenge is to get all ten types of subtext in as few words as possible. Here they are:

Show don’t...

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Teenage Escape Plan

by

Danielle Dayney

I woke to warm, gooey air smothering me even though the ceiling fan was spinning on high. Dangling lightpulls smacked and banged the glass globe with each rotation of the blades. The base of the fan swayed and groaned, ready to jump from its screws in the drywall any second.

...

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Miracle Baby

by

Harry C. Hobbs

The mother and father watched as the sun rose on a cold morning in February 1945, wondering if their four-month-old son had lived through the night. Could miracles really happen? Perhaps this child they had wanted so badly wanted wasn’t meant to survive. His mother was a month past her...

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Ylva the Úlfr

by

Cynthia Reed

When I flew to California in September, the golden archipelago summer, verdant below and mazarine above, still held sway. Twenty-three days and eleven thousand two hundred and forty miles later, if you’d sat here with me on the back deck this afternoon--you’d know, too--autumn now envelopes Sweden in...

Read more: Ylva the Úlfr

 

 

 

Stargazer

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

 A Poem in Free Verse

Stargazer, Rhode Island Red

So much like me,

Always...

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Eagles in Winter Storm "Stella"

by

Brigitte Whiting

A poem in free verse

Before the nor'easter "Stella" arrives here—

weather warnings have...

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Heads I Win

by

Joy Manné

A Chant in Free Verse

Bathed and blessed, in fine white cotton clad,

to...

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Do you wear shoes? Do they make a sound?

by

Gerardine Baugh

I looked up and saw it.  I would have missed it if I hadn’t looked up when I...

Read more: Do you wear shoes? Do they make a sound?

 

 

 

Wakeful Nights

by

Catherine McArdle

A Sonnet

These midnight doubts have power to kill your peace

and numbing...

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Dragons

by

Judy Beaston

A Cinquain poem

 

 dragons

dance on night walls

swift runners, fire breathers

...

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Disquiet - Winner of our April 2018 Poetry Contest!

by

Judy Beaston

   

 A Poem in Free Verse

 

Waves crash, tumble, rumble

upon...

Read more: Disquiet - Winner of our April 2018 Poetry Contest!

 

 

 

Shellina, Part 2 ~ A Fairy Tale

by

Louise E. Sawyer

It’s winter morning at Bullrush Cove 

Where dawn paints with pink.
Shellina opens up her eyes. Last night
...

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Rest In Peace My Canine Daughter

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

 

I don't want a zombie dog,

No pet to rise from the dead,

Up from...

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Ode To A Pair Of Faithful Boots

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

                                        ...

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Sins of Forefathers

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

Sinners

Blood stained hands

Must wash hands

Of my sins and sins of our forefathers.

...

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Conversation At The Checkout

by

Gerardine Baugh

 

“I love black cats with golden-green eyes”

She said, moving the cat treats over the scanner


...

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Night is a Swim

by

Gerardine Baugh

Night is a swim of soundless scribbles, clicking keys

A thrum, thrum, thrumming of deep sensations

...

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Dark And Stormy Month   

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

 

Over cast skies,

  Darkened unrested raccoon eyes,

Now more like those of a hungry night...

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Days of Fall

by

Brigitte Whiting

 

In these first days of fall, I water

my wildflowers. A shadow flutters

past my hat. ...

Read more: Days of Fall

 

 

 

Whiskey Half-Barrel

by

Brigitte Whiting

 

 

Through my back window overlooking the yard

sits the whiskey barrel, shaded by oaks and...

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Mid Seasons

by

Brigitte Whiting

 

I've left the last brown-eyed Susans,

their yellow petals drooped around

dark brown seed-filled cones,

...

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Fruit of Betrayal

by

Katelyn Thomas

 

I am disturbed by the inconsistency of yellow apples -

the way they invite you in...

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Roadkill

by

Katelyn Thomas

 

Asphalt sprouts wings -

all that remains.

Unfortunate crow.


Katelyn Thomas is...

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When Did You Last See Her?

by

Katelyn Thomas

 

 

The visitor pours out the moon,

watches the top crater,

before he realizes one...

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Serenity Prayer, Long Beach, 1956...a #MeToo recollection

by

Cynthia Reed

 

‘Whiskey,’ said my Nana, ‘too much whiskey in that man.’

he was big and his...

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Recipe for Writing a Poem

by

Glennis Walker Hobbs

After reading How to Write a Poem by Billy Collins

Gather the ingredients:

1 bushel of...

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Queen Elizabeth Gardens - Haiban

by

Glennis Walker Hobbs

The Queen Elizabeth Gardens, hidden in the geographic centre of Vancouver, British Columbia,

come as a complete...

Read more: Queen Elizabeth Gardens - Haiban

 

 

 

Bees

by

Gerardine Baugh


Gerardine Gail Baugh is a native Chicagoan who moved into the Northwest burbs of Illinois. Where she...

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9/11 – A Kyrielle

by

Glennis Walker Hobbs

They were days of desperation

and anxious anticipation,

planes hijacked, Bin Laden’s command,

and winds of...

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Farm Field

by

Gerardine Baugh

black dirt in hot sun
pieces of the past calling
seeds sown in straight rows

Sprouting green soft...

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Change Is

by

Albert Orjuela

Change is a boundless mechanism. It is not subject to time,and never seems to have a particular sense of...

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Ragdoll

by

Gerardine Baugh

Ragdoll flopping

Up and running fur flying

Walls, ceilings- my coffee


Gerardine Gail...

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To the Bottle Blonde in the White Car

by

Katelyn Thomas

I thought it was snowing in August until
one of the flakes swirling from your red
tipped fingers as...

Read more: To the Bottle Blonde in the White Car

 

 

 

There Isn't Any Narcan In My Purse

by

Katelyn Thomas

She is
another
woman's
daughter.
She gives
her body,
would give
her soul -
funds
for one
more
hit.
...

Read more: There Isn't Any Narcan In My Purse

 

 

 

Losing You

by

Brigitte Whiting

They said there'd be a new normal
to which others nodded in agreement.
A cliché that implies losses are...

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Twilight

by

Brigitte Whiting

The last hour of dusk, while pine shadows
stretch and lengthen along the rocky shoreline,
and water laps and flows...

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Writing Excuses

by

Brigitte Whiting

I listen to the excuses, all of them finely honed.

He says, I'm reaching for a package of hamburger,
...

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First and Third Person

by

Andrew Dabar

She entered through one door
As he by another
Did cross a crowded floor
Strangers to each other

...

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Halloween Costume

by

Andrew Dabar

Another wolf in disguise
A pair of glowing eyes
Oh, cute little boy
Small as a toy
Let go...

Read more: Halloween Costume

 

 

 

Why Poetry?

by

Luann Lewis

To capture a moment.
The moment a cool breeze lifts your hair.
The moment the scent of lilacs delights your...

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Why Flash?

by

Luann Lewis

Each story is like stepping through a door to an alternate dimension where time is out of proportion. Intellectually, I...

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Autumn Wind

by

Andrew Dabar

Late autumn wind
Whispering friend
You speak to my heart
Again and again
At times with the strongest of...

Read more: Autumn Wind

 

 

 

Shellina ~ a Fairy Tale

by

Louise Saywer

Part I Bullrush Cove

The Bullrush Cove is a seaside nook,
Asleep in fairyland.
This summer eve...

Read more: Shellina ~ a Fairy Tale

 

 

 

Knitting on the Corner in Winslow Arizona

by

Joyce Hertzoff

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Who Me?

by

Albert Orjuela

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Do They Make a Sound?

by

Gerardine Baugh

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Do you see what I see?

by

Albert Orjuela

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Frosty Morning

by

Gerardine Baugh

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Evening at the Beach

by

Kathryn Pollard

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March Nor'Easter #2

by

Brigitte Whiting

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First Morning Light

by

Albert Orjuela

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A View For All Faiths

by

Luann Lewis

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Feed Me

by

Gerardine Baugh

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A Mid-Winter's Summer Dream

by

Albert Orjuela

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Hitchcock Presbyterian Church at Night

by

Albert Orjuela

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Bodie Lighthouse at Sunset

by

RJ Hembree

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Croton Dam Waterfall

by

Albert Orjuela

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Itching for Your Love

by

Karen Barr

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Winter Tree

by

Hugo Janke

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Not So Fast...

by

Donna Sundblad

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First Encounters

by

Karen Barr

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Time To Shovel

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Natural Thoughts

by

Ann Butts

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Super Moon

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

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Get Your Own Flower

by

Albert Orjuela

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Frozen Puddle

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Brickfields, Kuala Lumpur

by

Cynthia Reed

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In Flight

by

Karen Barr

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This Guy Cracks Me Up

by

Albert Orjuela

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Cardinal in the Snow

by

RJ Hembree

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White Tailed Deer

by

Bert Piedmont

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Truck in a Field

by

RJ Hembree

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The Nose that Knows

by

Albert Orjuela

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All Roads Lead to Autumn

by

Albert Orjuela

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