The Darkening Summer’s fruit is rotting. I will use it to fertilize my seeds. When the world terrorizes me, I will hold up the mirror & ask: How do I terrorize myself? My path is strewn with bones. I will make a flute to play! Is magic, then, all in your head? wondered the initiate. […]Read more "The Darkening"
Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities. But due to illness, her main jobs now are to hang out with her family and write more poetry. Her work has appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her […]Read more "Minimal"
This is the last in a series of three installments for Visitant featuring collaborative works from poet Dennis R. Kolakowski and artists Bruce Pipman and Charles W. “Bud” Gibbons, III. Biographies and back story below. No Creek Up Here Every beer I ever swallowed has been a fair investment in this moment, but Lord what I wouldn’t give right now […]Read more "No Creek Up Here"
A spring morning much like others, some daffodils rain-beaten, some perked. Daphne’s lemony fragrance when near enough. The outdoor little library bookcase at the neighbor’s frames the same mythologies, travel guides, and who-dun-its that got us through winter’s downpours. At the abandoned school, morning changes. A man rakes the baseball diamond, listening on earphones that […]Read more "Kindling"
Madeleine Johnson is an actress, filmmaker and writer from Portland, Oregon. She attributes her appreciation for many of the best things in life—black coffee, dinner parties, roadtrips, rock music, laughing til you cry, trashy tv, pop art—to her late, great mother. Madeleine’s blog, Dear Mama, is a collection of letters written to her mother since […]Read more "Dear Mama PART 2"
“I’m sad,” I tell her, looking for analog in a world of constant digital connection. “I know,” she said, “you used to write great letters, too, and you know a lot of people, but you just need your roots.” “Go outside and listen,” my mother advises. Outside, I see all the life looking for hands, all the […]Read more "go outside and listen"
The weather was a lot different and Hawthorne Boulevard was a lot different. 6/29/08 I’ve finally indulged in a Moleskine in hopes that having a fancy notebook will actually get me writing again. This particular one is the perfect size for the purse I bought at Last Thursday. Today there was an unusual thing in […]Read more "June, 7 Years Ago"
I was looking at an old Moleskine and came across a “2 Line Journal” project I had done for June 2011. It looks like I wrote two sentences each day starting on the 5th, or that was the goal. I was in Maryland helping my family because my father had contracted life-threatening MRSA and was […]Read more "June, 4 Years Ago"
This guest contribution comes from Melissa Parietti. Melissa is a writer and finance professional from Long Island. This is her first work published online by an independent journal, with more to come! When she’s not educating herself about investments, she enjoys learning about economics, and everything else too. Gold melts in the July heat gold sizzles on […]Read more "The Haze"
we live in body storage stacked bedrooms and balconies under grey summer skies. tufts of wild clouds hang an old man’s silvery eyebrow over the jaundiced eye of dimmed sunlight threaded with black and tangled storms. amber-lit, square windows filled with soft, rounded people in a North Chicago apartment building. multi-lingual televisions yell behind doors […]Read more "Rainy Chicago Summer, 1980"