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10

Amos stood on a thick, muscular knoll on the shoulder of a dark river. He shivered, soaking wet from his silver hair to his leather shoes, and stared, disoriented, at the pines across the river. They seemed to stand with their backs to him. Amos felt his heart racing and realized he was out of breath. He turned. Behind him lay a rumpled blanket and an overturned bag of sandwiches. He turned again, still lost, and watched the swift surface of the river reflecting an apathetic sky. Somewhere in the tall pines a crow called. Amos heard a voice. His phone lay in the grass below him, and there was someone on speakerphone. The screen said Nina, in red letters. Amos picked it up.


"Hello?" he said.


"Daddy? Did you call?"


He paused, "I don’t know."


"Are you alone? Where’s John?"


"Not sure," he said. "I mean… I don’t know. I’m… there’s a river. I’m alone… and," he looked at his hand. "There’s blood."

1

Earlier that day John Faraday, husband of Dr. Nina Faraday, lifted their four-year-old into his brand new, overbuilt car seat, sufficient to protect the boy from almost any accident. "Dylan, time to hop-in strap-in. We’re going to get Grandpa," he said. Dylan sat, compliant, his curious eyes studying his father as he strapped him in.


"Gram-paw?" Dylan's voice squeaked, the second syllable a higher pitch, eyes widening as he finished the word.


John nodded. "We’ll pick up Grandpa Amos from memory care. Head to the river for lunch. Mommy will meet us there. Here’s your ball." She can help with Amos while we picnic by the river, he thought. Watching Dylan, and Nina's father Amos, who suffered from dementia, would be a handful without help.


"Otay," said Dylan cheerfully. He loved his grandpa, thought John.


John climbed in and shifted into reverse. In the mirror, he saw the boy again, long lashes, eyes luminous and so dark they were nearly black, just like Nina and Amos.


John gave silent thanks that Dylan could spend time with his Grandfather before Amos’s dementia worsened. It had progressed quickly. At times Amos seemed like his old self, then his confusion would swallow him, although he had frequent moments of lucidity which his doctor said was unusual for someone this advanced. Better to make the most of the time they had left with him.
Dylan and John collected Grandpa, stopped at the deli for sandwiches, and drove toward the river. Twenty minutes later, John's tires crunched over a gritty gravel parking lot along the river’s edge, a quiet place, away from crowds. John set Dylan free with his black and white mini soccer ball. Dylan sprinted around the car and tumbled into the dirt below his Grandpa. Amos lifted the boy and dusted him off. They both smiled, no tears, and Dylan touched the old man’s aquiline nose. Amos kissed Dylan's miniature hand.


For a time, Dylan and Amos kicked the ball together nearer by the river’s edge, but a minute later the ball skittered past Dylan, into the river. The three of them stood and watched it whisk powerfully into the current, then halt, bobbing just below the surface, pinned to a submerged branch. As a younger man John might have attempted retrieving the ball from that straining branch, but not today, not when the river looked like this. The ball was lost; it lay in plain view, but it was lost all the same. Dylan ran the other way and didn’t seem to care.


John checked his phone. Where was Nina?

2

An hour earlier, Nina crossed an auditorium stage toward a podium pulling a squeaky mop bucket, and the shuffle of two hundred students fell silent. The click of her mop handle against the podium echoed in the lecture hall. All eyes on her, she held up, of all things, a milkshake and took a long sip. She looked at the now silent crowd and unceremoniously tossed the milkshake across the stage. Pink goo sloshing out. Everyone gasped then laughed, and Dr. Nina Faraday, professor of physics, began her lecture.


"Bang," she said and smiled. She was a woman whose dark, bohemian features flexed into brilliant harmony when she smiled, making her look ten years younger. Now, the laughter died down. "What a mess," she said, shoes clicking across the wooden stage. "Though that’s not the point I’m trying to make. The point is not the mess, but the kind of mess. That’s what I want to talk about today." Nina flicked a switch, and a slow-motion replay appeared, projected on a large screen on the wall that made up the rear of the stage. First was the cup, then the impact, and then the milkshake spreading across the stage floor in pink, slow motion. As the sequence ran, she saw her grad student Charles Nogales looking at her from the audience, but at second glance she saw it was someone else, not him. Mildly disappointed, she continued.


"When I drop the cup, it hits the floor," Nina gestured behind her. "We see the violent action—beautiful really—and then the liquid spreads in all directions. There’s no resistance, so it just spreads evenly until its viscosity brings everything to a halt, like gravity and—" The video stopped. "There you have it. A perfect mess, just like our universe, but with a few important differences." The video changed to a bright, multicolored image of whirling galaxies and stars.


"This is our mess. We are here," Nina tapped the picture of the universe. "And just like the milkshake, it’s pretty equally spread out, except for…here. This is called the 'Cold Spot.' There’s really nothing there—no stars, no planets, no black hole, a whole lotta nada; which is interesting."


She took the mop and touched a spot in the pink puddle, and then she sloshed the mop back into the bucket, both images projected side by side on the screen. Everyone leaned forward.
"If our universe were an apple, the Cold Spot would be like a bruise. But how do you get a bruise in the universe?" She paused. "Something touched us. But what?" The audience shifted. "What could possibly touch our universe except… another universe?" Nina laughed. "Just look at the size of this area. Imagine the damage that occurred. Clearly, even simple perturbations in motion have enormous consequences for celestial bodies. A tiny diversion here or there and disorder blossoms out like streams from a river." Nina continued her lecture for the remainder of the hour, then a door closed in the back of the lecture hall, and Nina looked up to see Charles. There he was, here to meet her for lunch. She ran her eyes back over the crowd and smiled again.


"What happens next? Well, we don’t know yet. In fact, we won't know for thousands of years until the light reaches our planet. Maybe there are more bruises? Maybe we’re next?"
"That’s all for today, but remember there will be a quiz on Monday." The auditorium erupted, making her last words inaudible. Papers shuffled, students filed out, and Nina started to mop the floor in her high heels. Charles walked down the stairs and took the mop from her. She saw his eyes. He didn’t want lunch.

3

John set the bag of sandwiches down on a patch of grass at the river’s edge. Shaking out their blanket, he heard Dylan laugh again. The boy and his Grandpa stood tossing little rocks into the river. It was called the Willamette, which meant "swift river." It was summer, but the river looked uncharacteristically swollen today, dark, lead-colored. The wind pulled the corner of their picnic blanket, but John didn’t see it. His attention was on Dylan, who had just waded-in one step too far.


"Dylan, wait. Amos, can you grab…" but as Amos turned toward John's voice, the bulldog wrinkles of his rusty smile washed into a blank, void of understanding. At the same time, Dylan tripped and fell hard, the way four-year-olds sometimes do.


Except this four-year-old was in the water, and the current swept him out.


John knocked over the sandwiches as he raced toward his son. Amos looked startled and then turned to see Dylan in the water. Amos took a few steps and managed to pull his grandson up, onto his feet. John breathed a sigh of relief and slowed to a walk. "Oh, thank God. Let’s play away from the water."

4

Nina sat close to Charles as he drove off campus and across town. Neither spoke. It began slowly, just spending time together. She'd felt drawn to his keen mind and clever charm. Then, little by little she'd felt herself drifting toward him emotionally and physically. He pulled into a nondescript hotel, stopped, and went inside. She waited in the car, and he returned holding a key. The fact that she’d planned to meet John and her father at the river drifted out of reach of Nina's memory. She was coasting now, absent of volition. If asked, she may have forgotten her name. Charles opened a heavy door with the number twenty-three in worn metal hanging on it, and she crossed the threshold.

5

John returned to their picnic spot to straighten the blanket, but then Amos said his name. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Amos struggling to walk back through the water. Amos faltered and inadvertently released Dylan who slipped back into the water. A moment later the boy was out of reach, and Amos, focusing on staying upright, took two sloshing steps toward John.
John leaped into action. Splashing across the riverbed, water flying, he lunged for Dylan, just as the water went deep. They slipped under, came back up, and drifted about ten feet downstream into the submerged branch where the soccer ball was pinned. For a moment the large branch felt soft, but the current enveloped John and Dylan, straining them against the thick wood. Dylan’s head slipped underwater, and his cries fell silent after a quick bubble of sound escaped.


John pulled hard to get Dylan’s head above water, but it was too deep to stand, and the current was relentless. It covered John’s mouth and nose, and he groped to find purchase on the slick branch. He thrashed and found a crook where he could use one hand to push up while lifting Dylan with the other. Dylan’s head rose above the surface, and he gasped, choking, eyes wide.
John and Dylan were trapped close to the river's edge where the thick, grassy shore dropped off into deep water. Amos saw them now. A moment later he was on the shore, alongside them. Amos reached into the river and grabbed John by the shirt. He pulled, but the branch lifted with them, the current pinning them like a vice. Their heads rose out of the water, then they drifted back down, water hovering just over John’s submerged face, his eyes fixed on Amos. Amos pulled again. John’s head rose above the surface and he spoke.


"You have to get help. You have to call--," then John was under again. Amos pulled out his cell and nearly dropped it in the river. He let go of John. Amos’s hands shook. He pushed a button to call Nina, and her name appeared on the screen.

6

Nina and Charles lay on the bed. She’d dozed off after their lovemaking ceased and dreamed. Later she would recall her dream in fragments, unable to tell if she’d created the memory of it. In it, she floated, submerged in water but able to breathe. She felt peace. In front of her, and this was the part she was unsure of, she saw Dylan also floating underwater. His chestnut hair drifting weightless, the irises of his eyes sparkling as he gazed into hers, inches away, within reach. He touched her face. She never moved a muscle. The sun filtered through the liquid with soft light illuminating Dylan’s ears, translucent and pink. Then the light went dark. Nina awoke.


Clothes lay scattered across the floor. Charles sat next to her, silent. They hadn’t really spoken since leaving the auditorium. Nothing to say. She turned over. Charles opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, her phone rang somewhere in their discarded mess of clothes.

7

Amos dropped his phone on the grass growing along the riverbank after intuiting how to put the call on speaker phone so he could use both arms to help John. With all his strength he pulled John and Dylan up, pushing down on the thick branch with one soggy leather shoe. John started to slide up toward him, and the straining rictus on his face relaxed. Then the branch cracked and Amos lost his balance.

8

Nina got up. Her phone stopped ringing, but she searched and found it. Why was her father calling? Then she remembered he was with John. And Dylan. She touched her hair and felt Charles' eyes on her back.


She gestured at the phone, and Charles nodded then walked to the bathroom. The shower started with a cough, hiss. Nina walked outside.

9

Amos fell sideways off the narrow shore halfway into the river. He thrashed and managed to climb out, then struggle to his feet atop the knoll. John remained pinned to the branch underwater for too long. Fear emptied from his eyes, and he went limp, releasing Dylan who drifted through the branches and disappeared downstream.
Amos looked at his hands. The tabula rasa of dementia washed over him again, and he could not remember where he was or what he was doing. He saw blood, crimson on his hands. He touched the back of his head. It was warm and sticky. Why was he here? Behind him a crow called, then he heard a voice coming from his phone laying in the grass. Someone was on speakerphone. He picked it up.


"Hello?"


Amos looked around at the quiet river, the pines, and a crow passing overhead. Below him, the surface of the water was opaque, like the back of some silent green beast, reflecting only an indifferent summer sky.

###


Bio: Cedar White is an independent author writing deep in the Oregon woodland near Eugene. His two young boys love to play in the Willamette River.


Yearning - F2k WINNER!

by

Noel



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Flamenco

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Marbles

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Ruler of the House

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The Decision

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Swiftwater

by

Cedar White

10

Amos stood on a thick, muscular knoll on the shoulder of a dark river. He shivered, soaking wet from his silver hair to his leather shoes, and stared, disoriented, at the pines across the river. They seemed to stand with their backs to him. Amos felt...

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Minerva Shield

by

Frank Richards

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Seinfeld Moment

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Frank Richards

I have studied martial arts all my life: Karate, Judo, Kenpo Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, and Hsing-I, but as I've gotten older, I pretty much stick to Tai Chi. I used to study Tai Chi at a park in Washington, D.C. called Glen Echo Park. It's an old...

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Wedding Portrait – Life Portrait

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Glennis Hobbs

July 20, 1942


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Salvation

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Teresa Crowe

S is for Scintillation. 

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The Explorers

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Glennis Walker Hobbs

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Beckett – you asked for this

by

Joy Manné

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Reconciliation

by

Brigitte Whiting

Mattie opened the front door. "I'll be back in a while, Henry," she said, then stepped onto the porch and clicked the door shut.

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Road Trip

by

David Snyder

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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.
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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.
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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.

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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.

 

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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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Of Heroes and Holiness

by

Angela Hess

What does a hero look like?

 

George Bailey is a hero.

 

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George Bailey gave up his dreams to care for his family and community.

 

Rudy left his family...

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A Red Squirrel's Narrative

by

Brigitte Whiting

This past summer and fall upturned me. The birdfeeder, usually so generous, abdicated her job, and I had to scrounge for food during the long wet season. My mother told me it was unusual to have such a rainy August and October. She would know. I was born...

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Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

by

Joy Manné

This essay is part of a Talk-Back series – I owe that title to Karen. A Talk-Back is my response to a chapter in a WVU textbook, my communication with its author.

This Talk-Back is a response to the exercise in Lia Purpura’s chapter, ‘On Miniatures,’ (Flas...

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Reunion

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

“Why the F--- Do I want to see a F—ing alligator jump up to eat a F—ing chicken hanging on a clothesline?”

 

The last time I hung out with my Uncle Dan is when I dragged him to Gatorland to do something touristic. ...

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A Fear of Broken Things

by

Angela Hess

“Does he look at you?”

 

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Wild Roses Growing in the Ditch

by

Louise E. Sawyer


It is a joy to hold a lovely scene, a delightful moment, in memory.
~Marjolein Bastin

Frank was four and I was five and getting ready to start school when Dad and Mom moved us into a new house on Glasgow Avenue—a three-bedroom home that wasn't quite finished—in...

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Hazardous Happenings

by

Albert Orjuela

At some point, everything comes to an apex.  Status quo can only persist for so long before the natural balance of the universe calls for consumption, and then it all comes down to a choice.  That’s it, a lone decision that ultimately leads down a pathway to a higher level...

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Dealing with Rejection

by

Carolann Malley


Sending your writing out into the world can be scary whether you write poetry, fiction, or nonfiction. But, at some point, if you are a serious writer, you will do it. Getting a rejection letter back can be more devastating than asking a girl out as a teenager and...

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Backyard Neighbors

by

Brigitte Whiting


I took an hour to walk outdoors in my yard, first to clip dead honeysuckle branches, pluck dandelions, and then to fill the birdbaths and feeders. And to ponder what to write about one of my backyard neighbors, the gray squirrel, Sciurus Carolineses. Its name is derived from the...

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Betrayal

by

Angela Hess


My four-year-old son has a friend over. I overhear my son’s friend tell my two-year-old daughter, “Gracie, you can’t come in here.” Then my son’s voice: “It’s okay, she can play with us. Here, Gracie,” he says, presumably handing her one of the toys they are playing with. My mama...

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The Weight of Emotions

by

Angela Hess

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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.

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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...

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Boardwalk Stroll – A Prose Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

My morning stroll leads me to the east end of Flinty’s Boardwalk by Del’s Cairn. A replica of ...

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Adventuring — An Unrhymed Heroic Couplet

by

Brigitte Whiting




I've been where no red squirr'l has gone before,
toheights and depths, despair. Until an opened...

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Ode To A Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

you start as a blank screen
or a sheet of pristine paper,
words elude me, then
tantalize, taunt...

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The People’s Princess ~An Elegy

by

Louise Sawyer

There was a day never forgotten
When the world, including me, watched from afar
the fairytale wedding of...

Read more: The People’s Princess ~An Elegy

 

 

 

Crystalized Fog ~a Pastoral Poem

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh

Of cold air hitting a warmer ground
Yesterday ended in a rising fog
Or was it the other...

Read more: Crystalized Fog ~a Pastoral Poem

 

 

 

Elegy for Judy

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh


I try to hear her voice; its sound has faded.
I see her hair, shining dark, brushing her...

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Becoming a Writer ~ Prose Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

How does a person achieve success as a writer? The answer is fairly simple. One should work in...

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Elegy for Dad

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

Easter, 1996

that year we began to plan a tea
for Dad's ninetieth birthday,
insteadhe landed...

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Sestina

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

my passion in life is to write
perhaps I should start with a poem
to rhyme or not...

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To RBW: An Elegy

by

Brigitte Whiting

You've been gone for a long time now,
and I think of you, reminded beneath
the autumn skies...

Read more: To RBW: An Elegy

 

 

 

Last Cigarette

by

Belinda Moutray

Under the shaky match’s sulfurous flame, the last Marlboro’s tip blazes brightly, dims and flares.

Broken, quivering...

Read more: Last Cigarette

 

 

 

Writer's Prayer

by

Margaret Fieland

Bless my paper, bless my pen,
bless my keyboard, Lord. And then,
please keep track of all those...

Read more: Writer's Prayer

 

 

 

Unmutable

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

She’s unmutable beauty in life and death.
Endearing spirit, smile warm as sunshine and everlasting.
From birth’s first...

Read more: Unmutable

 

 

 

Spiders Are My Friends

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

From the breeze, I saw the glistening web.
The big, cozy spider stared out at me.
I wonder...

Read more: Spiders Are My Friends

 

 

 

Serial Killer

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

Hide behind an actor’s mask and prybar;
Some humans are born with souls as dark as night.
Abduct, ...

Read more: Serial Killer

 

 

 

Resembled His First Love

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

All victims resembled his x -first love, Stephanie Brooks,
Long middle parted brunettes with small framed feminine good...

Read more: Resembled His First Love

 

 

 

Phrasical Subordination

by

Margaret Fieland

The main clause of the sentence names the thing you mainly do
but it can have subordinates and...

Read more: Phrasical Subordination

 

 

 

Passing Through

by

Margaret Fieland

Morning sun shimmers through gray clouds,
etches shadows on cracked sidewalk.
Empty beer cans surround broken fire hydrant.
...

Read more: Passing Through

 

 

 

Library Book Group

by

Brigitte Whiting

I don't believe in Dracula,
don't even know his story,
Count Vlad the Impaler of Romania, circa 1400s...

Read more: Library Book Group

 

 

 

If I Set A Clown On My Lawn

by

Gerardine Baugh

I doubt I am noticed, behind trees, that line of pond, in my front yard.
I turn...

Read more: If I Set A Clown On My Lawn

 

 

 

Falling in Love

by

Margaret Fieland

My mother
sank into cold lake water
bit by slow bit,
first up to her ankles,
then her...

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Ever Wonder About Ted Bundy?

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

I wonder how many others are like Ted Bundy.
He bludgeoned his victims so they couldn’t make a...

Read more: Ever Wonder About Ted Bundy?

 

 

 

Dreamscape

by

Margaret Fieland

Dreams and nightmares roll around,
fantasies I weave at night,
land of dreams I cannot share,
panoramas to...

Read more: Dreamscape

 

 

 

Blueberry Jelly

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh

Blueberry jelly
Splattered across the table,
Ingrained in the rug
Flowing patterns spattered on the wall
Sitting in...

Read more: Blueberry Jelly

 

 

 

Dandelions

by

Brigitte Whiting


We discussed dandelions in my poetry group. Some grow so tightly their stalkless stems have to be dug up with...

Read more: Dandelions

 

 

 

TAN RENGA and NÎGUIN: : Japanese poetic forms for two or more writers

by

Carol Neillon Malley, Cynthia Reed and Sharon Ammerman

INTRODUCTION
During the recent MFA314 Japanese Poetic Forms class, WVU students had an opportunity to explore six forms...

Read more: TAN RENGA and NÎGUIN: : Japanese poetic forms for two or more writers

 

 

 

Dump The Core!

by

Gerardine Baugh

A Prose Poem

It is just after ten at night. Michael changes the channel so Captain...

Read more: Dump The Core!

 

 

 

The Guinea Pig’s Obsession

by

Louise E. Sawyer


I watch Joy munching on her cat grass, head down she gobbles without stopping. Down one row and up the...

Read more: The Guinea Pig’s Obsession

 

 

 

Tomcat Under Nine Antennas

by

Gerardine Baugh

I stretch out over the back of the couch, lounging soft, boneless skin, soft fur stretched so far...

Read more: Tomcat Under Nine Antennas

 

 

 

Words Done Gone

by

F. Michael LaRosa


F. Michael LaRosa wrote this piece for MFA376. He tells us, it is a blues song in prose that laments...

Read more: Words Done Gone

 

 

 

A Dream: Must Have Been Something I Ate

by

Gerardine Baugh

A pickle meets the side of the barn. Ignoring the rats. With arms like tendrils, it sneaks its way...

Read more: A Dream: Must Have Been Something I Ate

 

 

 

Stormy Weather

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs


Thunder rumbles, stops and starts again when lightning jags across charcoal coloured skies and splitsinto forks. Raindrops dance...

Read more: Stormy Weather

 

 

 

Frenzy

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs


Norva hosts an open mic musical fundraiser two days after Christmas so that people who are home for Christmas can...

Read more: Frenzy

 

 

 

Wearing a Coating of Ice

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Long Way 'Til Spring

by

Brigitte Whiting

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Late Bloomer

by

Brigitte Whiting

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Kenji Snuggling

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Santa Joy

by

Louise Sawyer

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Joy and Neuron

by

Louise Sawyer

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Bullfrog and Black Butterfly Koi

by

Gevera Bert Piedmont

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Animal Paw Prints

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Milky Way Bonaire

by

Miranda Mulders

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A Dark Welcome

by

Albert Orjuela

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The Big Rock Candy Mountain

by

RJ Hembree

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Fog in the Adirondacks

by

Albert Orjuela

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Smew

by

RJ Hembree

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Roadside Attractions

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Rock Formations at Point Lobos

by

RJ Hembree

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Hot Air in the Hudson Valley

by

Albert Orjuela

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Rock and Roll

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Take a Walk on the Wild Side

by

RJ Hembree

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Got Coffee?

by

Albert Orjuela

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Tracking a Tractor

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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One More for the Road

by

RJ Hembree

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Bella in High Key

by

Albert Orjuela

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Chickory

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Patterns in Nature

by

RJ Hembree

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Blowing Away

by

Albert Orjuela

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Morning Shot Great Blue Heron

by

RJ Hembree

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Close Up

by

RJ Hembree

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