Whether or Not
The morning thrush and lark, which greet the dawn or make it, sing no matter who is there to hear. When that resilience is gone and nature herself starts to disappear another Coming will be under way where souls of things and beings shall impart new traits to old forms to attend the day- song; air shall grow ears; soil, assume a heart; tongues, noses, fingertips and eyes shall be affixed to blades, leaves, lakes, florescences, clouds, mist: that all, in all humility, shall listen, taste, feel, savor all that is and its anthem, the morning call of birds, long after you and I are gone, and...
Read MoreThese cool green hills
Text only: these cool green hills the morning’s sunlit trees far journeys complete
Read MoreClouds
The Official Cloud Creator of the Tattoo Garden of Capella traces ink across the vapors in his fire and brimstone cavern, colors the clouds greens and shades of blue, adds a touch of ruby red and lipstick, forms ripe sunset papayas, Mexican yellow, Waimanalo orange, and fleshy Kapoho, gathers the mangos, peaches and pears, dips them deep into his molten liquids, lets them simmer and flame, then opens each lid one after the other, inks the clouds with color and lets them float into the sky. Why must a cloud be a shade of gray? he yells, his arms exuberant, White? Cotton made? Why must the sky...
Read MoreFeatured Works: Week of Oct 26 (Halloween)
In honor of Halloween, this week’s contributors provide some scares and a little fun, as well. Carol Hamilton’s poem, “Eighth Century Horse on Leaf of Handscroll,” responds to a work of art that depicts the essence of animal fear. In “Traitor” by Stephanie A. Hunter, a young girl in a restrictive society befriends an outsider against her own judgment. “A Case for Wrongful Death” by Nancy Bourne addresses the horrors a family experiences in the 1940s because of an illegal abortion. “Sometimes, the Messenger Needs Killing,” a poem by David Thornbrugh, takes a wry look at...
Read MoreSometimes the Messenger Deserves Killing
Once you start stabbing people who deserve it, where do you stop? So many worthy candidates. Macbeth’s problem. At least he had a wife to blame. There are always going to be witches, cackling over cauldrons, to set you thinking, woods to get lost in mid-life, battles to come back from with your mind on chores left undone back at the castle, scores to settle, slights to avenge. The moat needs draining, the murder holes are low on oil, and that distant relative chained to the dungeon wall has a dentist’s appointment. No need to question where these messages come from, this clarity that...
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