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Skippy Graycoat woke up early to the chirping of birds. It had been a long night for the young squirrel. He spent hours fixing up his new apartment, a fancy little hollow inside of an old, maple tree, and he was happy to finally have some privacy. No more annoying parents to lecture him about survival in the forest. He stretched out his arms and legs, then peeked his head outside for a breath of fresh, autumn air.

 

“Well, time for breakfast,” he mumbled to himself. He noticed all the other residents of the Maple Grove Complex gathering acorns and getting ready for winter. “Bunch of fools,” he went on, “working so hard when they don’t have to.” He chuckled then ran towards the bottom of the tree. When he reached the ground, he headed straight to his secret food spot: a large, white house at the edge of the forest.

 

You see, even though Skippy’s parents warned him not to rely on humans for food, he always ignored them. When they showed him and his siblings how to gather and store acorns, he never paid attention. In his mind, he’d always have his secret food spot to count on, but on that particular morning, he was in for a rude awakening…

 

“What the heck!” he shouted when he climbed the fence and noticed all the bird feeders in the backyard of the house were gone. Even the bowls of peanuts they usually left outside were gone. “What’s going on?”

 

“They’re gone, Skip,” said Chadmun the Chipmunk, who’d snuck up next to him on top of the fence. Chadmun was Skippy's lonely partner in crime, the only one from the forest in on their little secret. His parents were taken by a hawk months ago, and Skippy felt bad for him. “New people moved in the other day," Chadmun continued, "and I don’t think they’ll be feeding us. Plus, they have a cat!”

 

Skippy’s beady, dark eyes widened. “A cat?”

 

“Yes. I came here to warn you. Ain’t safe for us here anymore. Time to start gathering our own food from now on.”

 

“Gather our own food?” Skippy’s heart sank. “I don’t know how to do that!”

 

“Well, you better learn soon my gray friend. Winter will be here before we know it!”

 

In a state of panic, Skippy rushed back to his complex to look for his girlfriend, Gwendi Frizztail. He had planned to marry Gwendi soon, now that he had his own apartment, and he wanted to surprise her that morning with some tasty peanuts. Unfortunately, things didn’t pan out that way.

 

“Hiya Gwendi,” he said when he saw her sitting on a branch outside of her parent's nest. “What are you doing?”

 

“Waiting for my father,” said Gwendi. “We’re going on an acorn hunt today. Supposed to be a long winter, and someone’s been stealing everyone’s acorns!”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. I already made a complaint to Herbie Halftail. He’ll be sure to get them back for us.”

 

Skippy narrowed his eyes. “Why were you talking to that buffoon?”

 

Skippy and Herbie were enemies. They both had eyes for Gwendi, and ever since Herbie became a member of the Knights of The Round Tree Stump, the local law enforcement of Maple Grove, Gwendi bragged about him constantly.

 

“He’s not a buffoon," said Gwendi. "You’re just jealous because he’s an admirable knight.”

 

“He’s not so special.” Skippy tried to conceal his jealousy. “I bet he doesn’t have a fancy nest like I do.”

 

Gwendi rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Skip. Anyway, what do you want?”

 

Skippy fell silent for a moment. He was too embarrassed to ask her for anything, but now that his secret food supply was gone, and winter right around the corner, he was desperate.

 

“Ummm, you think you can spare a few acorns for me?”

 

"Certainly not!" Gwendi scurried down the tree, glaring at him. “You expect us to work hard all day just to feed you? You have some nerve, Skippy Graycoat!”

 

“Sorry I asked, sheesh!”

 

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to gather acorns," Gwendi went on. "Your parents tried to teach you, but you ignored them. And to think I was actually going to marry you!”

 

"What's that's supposed to mean?" Skippy frowned. "You don't want to marry me anymore?” Sadness filled his eyes.

 

“It's over, Skippy. You're lazy and I don't want a lazy husband! Herbie Halftail proposed to me yesterday. He's an honorable knight and a good provider. He has more acorns than everyone else in Maple Grove.”

 

“You're going to marry that jerk instead of me?”

 

“It's none of your business who I marry!”  Gwendi scowled at him. “Go play with your lonely little chipmunk friend and leave me alone.”

 

“Who told you I don’t know how to gather acorns anyway?”

 

“Oh, Skippy.” Gwendi sighed in frustration. “You think I’m that stupid? You never worked a day in your life. I figured out your little game. Sneaking into that backyard, taking all those free seeds and nuts while the rest of us spent hours gathering our own food. You’re despicable!”

 

“Now wait just a second!” Skippy’s little nostrils flared. “You didn’t mind it when I brought you all those tasty peanuts. The ones we can't get in the forest.”

 

“I didn’t know you were stealing them from someone's backyard!” snapped Gwendi. “Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if you and Chadmun the Chipmunk are responsible for all the stolen acorns around here.” She shook her head. “You’re nothing but a lazy thief, and I wish we never met!” She turned away and started to cry.

 

***

 

Later that night, Chadmun the Chipmunk paid Skippy a visit in his new pad. Skippy couldn’t sleep anyway, so he didn’t mind the company. Chadmun brought him a few acorns and his eyes lit up. He was starving.

 

“Where’d you get the acorns?” Skippy asked, gnawing away at one of them. “They’re delicious.”

 

“Well, I stumbled upon a whole pile of them just outside of Maple Grove,” said Chadmun. “And you’re not going to believe this, Skip... but I saw Herbie Halftail running back and forth to the same pile, adding more acorns to it each time. He’s been stealing everyone's acorns at night!"

 

"What!!" Skippy dropped his acorn.

 

"Yes, he's been hoarding them all for himself and—”

 

Before Chadmun could finish the story, Skippy darted out of his apartment to hunt down Herbie Halftail. Anger welled up inside of him, and he was determined to expose the “knight" for what he was. Chadmun quickly followed behind, to show Skippy where Herbie’s hidden stash was, and Herbie was standing on the acorn pile when they arrived.

 

"What are you fellows doing up past curfew?" Herbie asked them in a stern tone. “As a knight of The Round Tree Stump, I demand you go back to your nests at once!"

 

"You're no knight!" shouted Skippy. "You're a thief and a fraud, and you've deceived my girlfriend."

 

“You think you can take this guy?” asked Chadmun. “He’s a lot bigger than you, Skip.”

 

Skippy didn’t even think about backing down. He would prove to Gwendi that she was making a big mistake if she married the fraud. In a fit of rage, Skippy lunged at Herbie, and the two squirrels engaged in a vicious brawl. It was a long and close fight, but Skippy was victorious. He made Herbie tell everyone the truth, especially Gwendi, and all the stolen acorns were returned to their rightful owners. Gwendi apologized to Skippy for all the mean things she said to him, and everyone praised Skippy for his heroism.

 

“Guess he’s not so admirable after all!” Skippy said to Gwendi, but he loved her too much to stay mad at her.

 

***

 

The following morning, Skippy woke up to someone shouting from the ground below his apartment. He looked outside and couldn’t believe it was Sir LanSquirrel himself, captain of the Knights of the Round Tree Stump.

 

“Skippy Graycoat!" Shouted Sir LanSquirrel. "Come forth at once.”

 

Skippy, a bit nervous, immediately ran down the tree to meet with the legendary knight.

 

“Mr. Graycoat,” continued Sir LanSquirrel, “your courage and willingness to face harm for the sake of our community have impressed me. Many squirrels would’ve starved this winter if not for you. We need brave squirrels like you in our knighthood.”

 

“Umm, thank you sir...but I wouldn’t be much of a knight. I was a careless youth, and I ignored everything my parents taught me about survival.” Ashamed, Skippy could barely look him in the eyes. “I don’t even know how to gather my own food!”

 

“Then your first lesson begins today!” said Sir LanSquirrel. “By next season, you’ll be a skilled acorn hunter and a true Knight of The Round Tree Stump.”

 

And so, it was, Skippy Graycoat became a proud member of the knighthood, and he and Gwendi got married on Winter’s Eve. They even made a spare room for Chadmun the Chipmunk in their apartment, so he wouldn't be lonely anymore.

Bio: Peter is an avid lover of the fantasy genre, inspired by the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Robert Jordan to name a few. He resides in Westchester, New York, and has been a steady member of WVU for the past three years. He’s been an active member of the Kidz Korner  Writing Group, and the World Building Group, where he’s been posting and working on a Middle Grade/YA Fantasy/Superhero novel series. He has finished the first book and is currently almost finished with the second book. His dream is to become a successful fantasy author, to create exciting worlds, with family-friendly stories.  He's also an artist and enjoys bringing his characters to life using various media.


The Impostor

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Mick Clark

I was amazed by how many people were stuffed inside my uncle Henry’s corpse.

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21 Days of Lockdown

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Donna Abraham Tijo

Day 1:
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A five-year-old declares, 'I wish to always have my favourite pancake in my world.'

Day 2:
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Sugar Daddy Dreams

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Chickens

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Joe Cappello

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The Anointing of Mary Ballard

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Hope Held My Heart

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Chel Talleyrand

We were isolated that summer from the rest of the world. The excessive rains had pounded the fields into mosquito-infested pools, destroying our harvests of corn and beans. We heard it was worse in the cities. As food supplies depleted, guns decided distribution. Friends and families banded together...

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Chel Talleyrand

As a little girl, I had this recurring dream that would cause me to wake up in a cold sweat. A grand celebration was going on in a great hall, where my mother and father sat on gold thrones at the end of the room overseeing their subjects...

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The Tattoo

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Donna Abraham Tijo

Red Bull is engraving the Eye of God on your chest. “It’s a private tattoo over my soul and conscience,” you murmur. “I’m an atheist, bro,” you continue, thinking of the Chotta Bheem rakhi on your wrist eons back in time. I will be brave like Bheem someday, ...

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Booklovers’ Paradise

by

Donna Abraham Tijo


‘I am a writer, but I wish I could write like that,’ said Durga, seated at the head of the rustic green, rectangular table. There were nineteen women on the sides, who turned to look. Then, some picked up their beverages and sipped them. In the background, a...

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My Car, My Friend

by

Leona Pence

Tony Spencer applied the first coat of wax to his prized possession, a 1973 Pontiac Grand Prix. Oh, sure, it had flaws, like a smashed door and a dragging muffler, but the interior was a beaut. It had bright-red bucket seats with a gleaming silver gear mount between...

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Brother Bastion

by

Linda Murray

The rain that had pelted the high mountain jungle all morning stopped abruptly, and the sun gradually dissolved the lingering clouds. Insects hummed again, birds burst forth in joyous song and flowers lifted their dripping heads, spreading their petals wide to receive the sun’s bright blessing. The People, ...

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Standard Police Report

by

Frank Richards

Standard Police Report - Inventory of Possessions - Portbou, Catalonia, Republic of Spain

27 Sep. 1940

Location: Hotel De Francia


Noted contents of subject’s hotel room as follows:


- a large steamer trunk containing books in various foreign languages, for example, Les Fleurs du mal, ...

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Starburst

by

Brigitte Whiting

We sat, you and I, alongside the lake, watching the sky spread above us in an immense starburst, the Milky Way threaded through its center, seeming to beckon us to follow it.

"A reverse inkblot," you said.

I thought, no, no, nothing as mundane as that, but all...

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There Are No More Pets in My House

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

 

There is death in my house.

“It's gone to a better place,” she says. "Now flush it down the toilet and wash your hands. Breakfast is ready."

Like that, she cans Juju, our goldfish. She did the same with Didi, Ma’s parrot, ...

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Revenge of the Fishy

by

Leona Pence & Tom Whitehead

 

 

 

Tom Whitehead: (In the deep husky Marlboro movie guys voice) HEEEEEEEEEEEER FISHY, FISHY, FISHY!

It was an early Saturday morning. He thought it was just another day of fishing, then all of a sudden out of nowhere he...

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Temp-Tation

by

Leona Pence

 

 

David Porter watched his wife and two sons as they played on the monkey bars at the park. He smiled in contentment as peals of laughter rang out. Two short weeks ago, he’d been in danger of losing his family.

...

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Free Range Souls

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

Samael and Malachi, two brothers working for different bosses, sit on the fence dangling their booted feet each on their side of the divide. One pair of boots is caked in white droppings; the other scrubbed clean. It’s like a dare. Trespassing? Not quite. ...

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Einaudi

by

Luann Lewis



An elderly woman shuffled up the sidewalk and took a seat on the bench across the way from me. I watched her slow steps and noticed her feet stuck in matted slippers and her swollen discolored ankles. Breathing a sigh of relief, I felt grateful...

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Campfire

by

Brigitte Whiting


We sat around a campfire in the backyard that evening, our parents and us four kids, aged four to fifteen. Dan, the oldest at nineteen, was in the Army serving somewhere that Mother didn't want to tell us. "You don't need to worry," she said. "I'll...

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Jack and the Beanstalk

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

The global wealth distribution has been heavily off balance, the scales of capitalism have plunged so far into disproportion they will fall before they will be fair again.  Jack and his widowed mother have economically crammed a century of mourning into an egregious year but failed...

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Lost and Found

by

Brigitte Whiting

Smelled: a gamey odor downstairs in the basement. Searched for its source but couldn’t find it.

Found: one dead mouse with reddish-brown legs and a white underbelly in the basement bathroom. A deer mouse. Picked it up with tongs, took it outdoors, and tossed...

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One Hundred Yards

by

McCord Chapman

 

 

A deep sigh came just as Jason was pulling off the highway onto Route 11. He was close and could feel his back tingling as if his whole spine had suddenly fallen asleep. This happened every time he headed into a small town, no...

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Cocoa and Biscuits

by

Penny Camp

Saturday mornings were special occasions at our house when we were growing up. My friends begged to spend the night so they could be part of the Saturday morning ritual.

Mom would take out her green plastic bowl and splash in a little water, a little cocoa powder, ...

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Livin’ the Dream

by

Holly Miller

When I was a child, my mom and Aunt Leona would pack us six kids into our blue Chevy Belair and drive to a local mobile home dealer (they were known as trailers back then). We would walk through the new homes, just for something to do. How...

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Fall in Maine

by

Brigitte Whiting

Autumn is falling in Maine, harder this year than I remember over the last few falls. We've had two nights of close to freezing temperatures, not enough to ice over the birdfeeders or kill any of my plants yet, but cold enough to turn the furnace on. My...

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Best Laid Plans

by

Penny Devlin

Every year shortly before spring, the Gurney’s Seed & Nursery Co. catalog shows up on my doorstep. The cover is plastered with a WARNING label in big black letters informing me that if I don’t order now, this will be my last catalog. It also has coupons: $100...

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One January Morning

by

Brigitte Whiting

Mornings, I like to have a Kindle eBook open on the dining room table so I can read and look out into the backyard to see what might be happening. 

I live in a raised ranch with an attached two-car garage. My deck, which is off the kitchen...

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The Ruins and the Writing Technique of Negative Space

by

Sarah Yasin

A book club I’m part of recently discussed The Ruinsby Scott Smith. It’s not a book I would have finished reading based on the first 50 pages, but sticking with it afforded me insight into what a narrative voice can do. The story is about a group...

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A River of Words

by

Penny Devlin

Go to work every day. Do your job. Do it well. Always learning, getting better every day. Soaking in the letters that become words, that lead to success.

Meetings, instructions, to-do lists, directions — the words start to drown like a river of brown muddy water rushing through...

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Canada, Marty, and The Exorcist

by

Jen Lowry

On our homeschool adventure today, we dreamed aloud of the places we would travel to if we could. My kids and I agree: Ireland and Scotland are our top two places to visit. We played music from Spotify and sang aloud to the merry tunes of the Irish.

...

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Monarch Butterflies

by

Brigitte Whiting

I had no idea what milkweed looked like because I'd never seen it, but I'd always wanted it to grow in my yard so I could see the monarch butterflies.


For the longest time, I've hoped the patch of wonderfully fragrant plants with pale purple flowers growing...

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A Monarch Chrysalis

by

Brigitte Whiting

The monarch caterpillar couldn't decide where to turn itself into a chrysalis. He wandered across my front stoop so many times I was afraid I'd step on it so I stopped using the front door. One time, he'd be crawling up a post of the front railing. Another...

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Truth

by

Angela Hess

I am twisted, bent, and deformed on every side. Everyone trying to use me to serve their own purposes, to justify their own beliefs and actions. Their eyes constantly sliding away from my pure, unaltered form, too brilliant and painful to behold without their chosen filters to dim...

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The Goldfinch

by

Brigitte Whiting

On a Monday afternoon, I carried a bucket of water outdoors to refill the birdbath. A male goldfinch jumped down from the bath’s rim, and hopped away as quickly as he could to creep beneath a nearby spruce branch. I thought how odd he was...

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Of Heroes and Holiness

by

Angela Hess

What does a hero look like?

 

George Bailey is a hero.

 

George Bailey dreamed of traveling the world.

 

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

 

Rudy left his family...

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My Desk

by

Luann Lewis

Another rejection letter and I feel like a loser. Yeah, I know, I’m not trying to make a living doing this. I even claim to be “writing for myself.” Butwe all want validation and, let’s face it, us writers want readers. So here I sit, ...

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My Mobile Space

by

Janet Harvey

 

In June, I will expect to find my special place in Townsville, Queensland. Last year it was in Darwin, Northern Territory, and today my place is in Hobart, Tasmania.

 

 

We live in a truck, a 2004 Isuzu 350NPR turbo automatic...

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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...

Read more: Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

 

 

 

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?”

 

My cousin’s innocent question triggers a flashing red warning light in my brain. My baby doesn’t look at me. I assumed he was too young still, but my cousin’s baby is only four days older than mine, and they are...

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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

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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

  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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With Emily on the Death Carriage

by

Nitin Mishra

After a hard day of labor
As I was hurrying my way back home.
A black Carriage stopped...

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2020 Time of Haiku

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

DNA's protein coat-
Stripped me of maskless days, now
I eat popcorn alone


Are you kidding me!
No...

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The Nature of Time

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

Time flows from infinity to infinity,
with no beginning or end in sight,
unlike men and women who...

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Some Heart-felt Emotions about My Motherland

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

Oh! My motherland, my heart and soul,
as I watch dark clouds hover in your skies,
my eyes...

Read more: Some Heart-felt Emotions about My Motherland

 

 

 

A Dream, A Fantasy, Flying into The Unknown

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

I am once again a youth in my teens,
dreaming of flying high up into the clouds.
I...

Read more: A Dream, A Fantasy, Flying into The Unknown

 

 

 

Missing Miss Pickle

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I miss the way
you sat on your stool
by the kitchen window,
meowing goodbye when I left,
...

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Surprised by Joy

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I stare outside my window
as snowflakes swirl,
cover my garden
with another white blanket

my Vancouver Island...

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Definition of a Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

A poem is a spark sprung to life.
A poem is a magic inspiration.
A poem is a...

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Lessons from History

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

reading about the 1918 Spanish flu
shows mistakes made by history:
parades, train trips, troopships,
overcrowded hospitals
pandemics...

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I Go Picking Seashells

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

I look at the deep blue sea,
stretching endlessly before me,
as I sit on the sands, alone, ...

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Moments of Silence

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

sometimes social isolation  
is a requirement
to write a poem
 
in times of self-quarantine,
loneliness hovers...

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The Lockdown Cyber Trip

by

Louise E. Sawyer

I.  New York City

Around the world, we few gals hunkered down
around our computers, tablets, and phones,
...

Read more: The Lockdown Cyber Trip

 

 

 

On the Farm

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

Greene’s’ farmhouse
took on smells of hay and silage
cow and sheep scents brought in
on men’s overalls and
...

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The Estate

by

KG Newman

One day after I die I’ll have a shiny dedication plate nailed to a bench
along a trail...

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Thankful

by

Samantha Vincent

I can taste you in my coffee,
So I no longer drink it black.
I can feel your...

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Our Neighbourhood Playground

by

Louise E. Sawyer

We neighbourhood children gravitate
in the late afternoon to the large empty lot
at the corner of Scotia...

Read more: Our Neighbourhood Playground

 

 

 

Immediate Action Required

by

KG Newman

It’s 100 seconds to midnight
with nuclear arms re-normalized and
climate change addressed by fine speeches,
while on...

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About It

by

KG Newman

For years I tried to remember the moment
as less heartbreaking, somehow —
the day a dad realizes...

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American Refugees

by

KG Newman

At the foreign arboretum
we zigzag among species
which may or may not
be poisonous to our love
...

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Monday/Wednesday/Friday And Every Other Weekend

by

KG Newman

Half the week you live a very full life. The other half you pretend not to care, swallow...

Read more: Monday/Wednesday/Friday And Every Other Weekend

 

 

 

Sadness

by

Michael Scanlon

Oh, what I'd give for a peaceful soul;
my mind at rest I'd want no more,
content amid...

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First Impressions – Walter

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

today I meet Walter
for the first time

I know my brother-in-law
only through pictures,
from his mother’s...

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Abandoned House

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

lichen covered, grey
boards, paint free,
the old house sits
surrounded by poplar trees,
and overgrown grass

doors, ...

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Good Intentions

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I sat down to do my work today,
but a visitor came calling
and distracted me

I meant...

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How to Define a Cat

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

(with input from Farley, Yanni, Glory and Blake)

A cat is a stylist who licks your locks.
A cat is...

Read more: How to Define a Cat

 

 

 

I Am Old Now

by

Chel Talleyrand

I am old now.
I drag myself to greet my day now filled with the fog of medicines...

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The Wind Excites Me

by

Chel Talleyrand

The wind excites me.
It speaks of adventures
I dare not journey.

It visits me
to speak to...

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listen to the wind words

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

we learned to lie
in the garden
behind the mask
discarded innocence
aware now of space between

bride...

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Commandment VIII Hiawatha/Geronimo/Sitting Bull

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

I will be the people’s tears

I cry for justice
freedom
respect denied

I cry for lies
told...

Read more: Commandment VIII Hiawatha/Geronimo/Sitting Bull

 

 

 

Submontane Home

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

I followed the familiar trail
through maple and pine
along old logging ruts
crossing Plank Road at the...

Read more: Submontane Home

 

 

 

Awake

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

the day I under

stood

the birds echoing chirps to the squirrels
chittering to the trees and to...

Read more: Awake

 

 

 

Think

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh

You cannot take someone else's land,
because you stripped and overpopulated your own.

You cannot spew poison in...

Read more: Think

 

 

 

Reflections

by

Paula Parker

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Jack

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Hollister

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Evelyn

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Curiosity

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Rebecca

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Hazel

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Working Hands

by

Paula Parker

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Maya

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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The Birds in the Flower

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Pst... Hey

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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The World in Her Hands

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Oak

by

Craig Gettman

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Flower

by

Craig Gettman

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Berries

by

Craig Gettman

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Winding Road

by

Craig Gettman

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Sunset - April 2020

by

Craig Gettman

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Portrait of Her

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Beach at Dusk

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Lonesome Horses

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Get Out the Penitentiary

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Tulips or Three?

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Rock and Roll

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Garden of Hearts

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Evil Eye-pad

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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