This is a Dove This is a dove, I think. I’ve never been good at bird identification. That’s funny, now that my job is picking up dead ones killed by the windmills’ spinning blades. There are 60 windmills in this “wind farm,” lots of dead birds. I think I might get a book. I mean, […]Read more "This is a Dove"
Below is Part 8 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 7: Twist: In Parts What happened to those swell analog T.V. game shows with big-box prizes—Oneida ware, chinchilla furs, avocado-green refrigerators? Plenty of work remains for Mother, but Queen for a Day with host Jack Bailey […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Holding Patterns: Dowries"
Crown Shy crown shy trees leave a space between so their neighbors can feel the sun, the rain, a breeze they do not compete for these resources no throwing shade breaking limbs in winter winds there are no winners there are no losers crown shy trees leave room at the top I look up and […]Read more "Crown Shy"
Amor Fati “you cannot flee from yourself.” C. G. Jung, The Red Book Hello imp, Hello demon, tormentor, friend. You are dear to me. I wear you like a cap of wires, live snakes that needle me, jam fire down each nerve, make me hop to. You are a match, scraped up and down my […]Read more "Amor Fati"
It was a birthday gift, sent alone the day before your heart leaves for a place that’s safer—a book on travel, what to listen for, by yourself in walls that let you look back while your shadow is taken away —it’s too soon! the ribbon is still splendid will spend the night the way a […]Read more "Untitled"
Signature Theoretically, if I were to put my hand against that tree and keep it there for years and years, the bark would continue to grow until it enveloped my hand send leafy tendrils along my arms and under my flesh. But if I were to stand here for a little less time I could […]Read more "Signature"
Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk We are quiet and courteous. The woman with Tylenol lets the bent-over woman go in front with a cart full of incontinence briefs. A man tends the scanner and register. His shirt tail needs tucking in at the back and his hair could use a slicking […]Read more "Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk"
Fridge Magnets Fridge magnets make the family. Remove one and memory fails. See them linger on the broad door. A museum of trips and pics. Each moment one reaches for wholesome milk the past does its best to please. Tim Kahl is the author of Possessing Yourself (CW Books, 2009), The Century of […]Read more "Fridge Magnets"
The Elephant with the Bright White Toenails Oregon Zoo, Portland In the dust of her summer days, trudging with the whole troop of her adopted family from feeding lot to waterhole in the expanded enclosure, swaying with measured steps as elephants do, trunk curled up, her large ear flaps sweeping the air like paper fans […]Read more "The Elephant with the Bright White Toenails"
Bones Where I am from, women have broken fingernails that dig in the dirt like badgers, looking for bones. Bones mean yes, a lovely spot for pansies. Plant two there. We scrub our hands before dinner. We get the dead dirt rubbed off our palms like it was bad, what we did in the garden. […]Read more "Bones"
Becoming Winter has summer become your winter does sun on your skin make you shiver do happy voices and laughter drifting in sound like a howling north wind to you do you shut shutters close windows pull down the shades curl up inside while leaves and flowers are unfurling hibernating June, July and August just […]Read more "Becoming Winter"
It’s Been Years I wasn’t expecting a voice from the clouds which was why I didn’t look up when I heard my name called on that busy city sidewalk. Nor did I peer into mail boxes or lift the lids of trash cans. Or peer down at the cracks in the pavement in case I […]Read more "It’s Been Years"
Below is Part 7 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 6: Rosemary Tisane: Cautionary Aura Divisa in partes tres, divided into three parts, Gaius Julius Caesar Most folks hear the word Caesar and think salad, but Gaius Julius (100-44 B.C.) was a conqueror talking all Gaul—France, […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Twist: In Parts"
The REDRUM of Gray Matter and Oxidized Crows Postmodern dinosaurs can now read fluent Times New Roman and the New York Times, the idiocy peninsula is surrounding me on all three sides, information is the enemy now, the body, the devil, the mother, the degeneration of it all, the passion of past restraining orders and […]Read more "The REDRUM of Gray Matter and Oxidized Crows"
brink and teeter nominal approach amidst the expected disarray empty vessels side by side softly into the heavy night as blank screens stare back wide and beauty seems beyond reach in the blue darkness of our lost ways all the ways up and more to fall these walls climb my dreams down from mountains the […]Read more "brink and teeter"
Earworms The noise was driving him mad. No, worse than mad. It was driving him so far around the bend he couldn’t think crooked, let alone straight — not even enough to find a word for just how crazy the sound made him. It hadn’t been so bad at first — just some catchy tune. […]Read more "Earworms"
Stick-Me-Tights Embraced by weeds, I harvest boards. I’d rather embrace the young bride who will scrape a bungalow to build a mansion but this old fence, precious like barn wood, weathered yet strong, they’ll use for decor, perhaps the front door. Decades ago in a rougher town I set these posts, nailed these planks for […]Read more "Stick-Me-Tights"
Animal Rage Howl my grief, roar my rage. Shake the bars of my technological cage. Hoo, hoo, like an owl. I blink at a never-changing screen. I want to pummel the keyboard and anything in between. Rip the serpentlike phone cord right out of the wall. My new Internet provider isn’t fastest at all! The […]Read more "Animal Rage"
St. Oswald’s Day Buying a ticket to ride the first ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge, the ticket seller’s window sign screams: “Leap Day!” I ask her. Then latte makers, the cigar-smoking pug walker, and the policeman with a bomb-sniffing beagle: “What is Leap Day to you? A holiday for card makers?” “If your birthday is […]Read more "St. Oswald’s Day"
A California Street I had a vivid dream at nine, living by the California coast, walking down a wide street, past palm trees and Spanish-style houses. I marveled at the warmth of the sun, the clearness of the turquoise sea and how beautiful the birds-of-paradise were. Then I woke from the dream and walked a […]Read more "A California Street"
Personify Me The trees speak in Shakespearean sonnets; The tulips write short memoirs. The honeysuckles smell of metaphors and similes, Vines are smirking complex sentences. The sun has these exotic eyes— The moon tells of faraway lands; The ocean never leaves you… Grass has flushed secrets. This earth keeps you stirring coffee. The seeds have […]Read more "Personify Me"
Mongering what is the space between the brackets when the sky bruises easy? I am tired of pretending pink where much is grey. There are no lions this side of the fence yet we carry knives, whisper the beasts asleep like he himself. I want to rest the dust, quell the stampede that makes animals […]Read more "Mongering"
The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet The trending of past negative scars, the warzone isn’t out there it’s in here, the armed militant swans of the underground resistance have bad credit and worse mannerisms, ghetto apartments inside of the unknown and Terminus City are doorways to the abyss and anti-social personality disorders, funerals for forgotten […]Read more "The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet"
Heavy Flowers The hairbrush waits patiently, bedside. The mirror is off-duty. There’s a plane of quilted flowers. Breath is heavy. You feel loosely-built. The soft music of the body rocks you in the room’s warm coat. The world, large and lost, vast and wondrous, diminishes. Years will come, sweep you away. But this is where […]Read more "Heavy Flowers"
Below is Part 6 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 5: Gulled: Flights of Fancy Peeved with William Shakespeare, I login my password, Motleydots, and google backstory on the pungent potherb, Rosmarinus officinalis. For remembrance, says sweet Ophelia to Hamlet, a Danish prince and the lousiest […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Rosemary Tisane: Cautionary Aura"
I’ll be your blood, your taste, your touch In my head I hold a mental map of all the pipes beneath these streets because I laid them there and in my fingers, spark of all the wires on those poles because I strung them there and in my muscle, lift of lumber — stud, joist, […]Read more "I’ll be your blood, your taste, your touch"
Inappropriately Dressed I wasn’t dressed for snow, or clouds, or wind, or for walking at all, if I were being honest. But sometimes you just have to give it a go and trudge through the clouds, kick up the snow in passing, challenge the wind with the size of your hat. It wouldn’t dare to […]Read more "Inappropriately Dressed"
A Boxer’s Bell Arty was born in the coal mines, hands blackened by the hardness of a coal miner’s life, a tough guy who learned how to street fight. Like a boxer, he took a boxing stance at the sound of the bell, any bell—even a cowbell or a school bell. He threw left hooks […]Read more "A Boxer’s Bell"
23 collected like sweater thread into his script floor gathers elephant trunk smolder knot at the neck and fissure what was discovered not a skeleton key but skeletal completed over the length of a conversation about spouses the weight of the wool is still there though our language is not pictorial but this is one […]Read more "In The Orchard | 23"
Nature is Calling Grass of mysterious light, Do you become dry from lack of love? Nature has this bearing on all of us, Take out a white paper. Draw the red cardinal bird Singing wet songs for your neighbors. Purple lilacs left a trace of dry dirt But for once They were alive with love […]Read more "Nature is Calling"
Permeating with Cockroaches the bathtub water runs constantly but only cold now, the cockroaches scurry, a Make America Great Again inspired nationalism pride parade, crossing the Atlantic, in lonely plastic bottles wrapped in corporate ad slogans and drifting hate, a last call to: a last stop in: Morocco Albania Ghana Argentina, suicide seems like an […]Read more "Permeating with Cockroaches"
The Middle Verses the past bleeds, a black river the future stretches out, a winding sheet, and all that lies in the sun bears witness to the soft vowels of the earth the sky is a radiant flower a camellia rain falls like petals like broken bones chasms open mountains echo a lost word in […]Read more "The Middle Verses"
Naming of Parts After Henry Reed Spring eased the almond blossoms open and promises of cherries while we named parts left over from winter. Collusion. Taking away, reducing, throwing in the trash legal widgets that keep the water pure, air open to the cherry’s pollen flight. We named parts with words round to our tongues, […]Read more "Naming of Parts"
Eulogy, Old Pine This plank in my hand feels warm. My fingers, cold. I am alone in my wood shop with pieces of a working class tree who was sticky and rough, who could be prickly when pushed, who whistled, who drank only rain, who manufactured cones at prodigious rate, who sheltered the nesting owl, […]Read more "Eulogy, Old Pine"
Overnight Mom’s short-term memory no longer tethers one moment to the next, so I’m at the hospital to stay overnight with her following breast cancer surgery. Though she still has moorings in the distant past, recent events float quickly to a further shore, so my job is to keep retying her to a drifting present. […]Read more "Overnight"
Andreas Block is a young transfeminine writer based in the Chicagoland area, pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Beloit College. They enjoy exploring a wide range of genres in their writing, from poetry to sketch comedy. They are also a performer, having acted in a number of theater productions throughout their collegiate career. Kid Pat Have […]Read more "Kid Pat"
21 flesh color absence lineation and left alone in favor of foliage clogging foreground my inaccuracies never become forests like this winter helps the artist covet sky less it’s honest a gray third call it good Justin Runge is the author of Plainsight (New Michigan Press, 2012) and Hum Decode (Greying Ghost Press, 2014). […]Read more "In the Orchard | 21"
Valarie Smith studied English, Creative Writing and Journalism at NYU before moving to Portland, OR, where she’s worked in corporate communications for many years. In between, she was a subway courier, a literary agency assistant and the manager of the personal ads at an alternative newspaper (and yes, she could tell you some stories). Getting […]Read more "Getting Played"
Below is Part 6 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 4: Moister Oyster: Transport Gulled: Flights of Fancy Is the Pursuit of Happiness help or hindrance to orderly life? Tired of speed bumps, I, Dot Motley, have become pro-active against time’s assault. I now wear a […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Rosemary Tisane: Cautionary Aura"
Cliff Saunders has an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Arizona. His poems have appeared recently in The Wayne Literary Review, Pedestal Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Pinyon, San Pedro River Review, North of Oxford, and RipRap Literary Journal. He lives in Myrtle Beach, where he serves as co-coordinator of The Litchfield Tea […]Read more "Welcome News"
Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, “Soon” was nominated for a Pushcart. Mir-Yashar’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in journals such as Fiction Kitchen Berlin, Johnny America, Silent Auctions, City. River. Tree. and Ariel Chart. Deconstruction […]Read more "Deconstruction"
Anum Sattar is a recent graduate from the College of Wooster in Ohio, USA. Her poems have been published in the American Journal of Poetry (Margie,) Notre Dame Review, Meniscus Journal by Australian Association of Writing Programs, Lullwater Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Triggerfish Critical Review, Coal City Review and Florida Review. She won the first […]Read more "bitter tea"
The Little People Three little people hang out on the the edge of my bookshelves quietly reading the life history of corvids the courtship of red-tails light on yoga a book of Celtic legends and Anglo-Saxon riddles. They cross their feet in zazen, permission granted to enter the narrows, follow the ways of shelf elves. […]Read more "The Little People"
Clyde Kessler, poet and naturalist, lives in Radford, VA with his wife Kendall and their son Alan. Several years ago they added an art studio to their home and named it Towhee Hill. His latest book of poems, Fiddling at Midnight’s Farmhouse (Cedar Creek Publishing), was illustrated by his wife, Kendall Kessler. Gloves You reflect […]Read more "Gloves"
Jacqueline Hampton doesn’t believe in coincidence. When the former biochemist turned high-tech exec discovered she’d worked with not one, but two murderers during her career, she started writing stories laced with poison and humor to remind people that the “things that never happen” – just might. Exeter The bottle explodes at our feet, spraying Denise and […]Read more "Exeter"
Andreas Block is a young transfeminine writer based in the Chicagoland area, pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Beloit College. They enjoy exploring a wide range of genres in their writing, from poetry to sketch comedy. They are also a performer, having acted in a number of theater productions throughout their collegiate career. If God & […]Read more "If God & Satan Were Pals"
Cliff Saunders has an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Arizona. His poems have appeared recently in The Wayne Literary Review, Pedestal Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Pinyon, San Pedro River Review, North of Oxford, and RipRap Literary Journal. He lives in Myrtle Beach, where he serves as co-coordinator of The Litchfield Tea […]Read more "The Strongest Love"
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: Hobo Camp Review, 322 Review, The Opiate, The Right Place At The Write Time, Blue Hour Review, Whimperbang, After The pause, Midnight Lane Boutique, North Of Oxford, […]Read more "Into the Blue"
Below is Part 4 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 3: Camo Stripes: Arcus Eyes Moister Oyster: Transport In Florida, people call me Miss Dot or Miz Motley. In grade school, I longed for a shorter name than Dora Motley. I tried on Ot and Dot […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Moister Oyster: Transport"
CB Droege is an author and voice actor from the Queen City living in the Millionendorf. Recent publications include work in Nature Futures and Science Fiction Daily. The Lone and Level Sands Earthlings, We regret that you are too late. You call this a “first contact mission” and I understand your excitement, I assure you. […]Read more "The Lone and Level Sands"