Featured

Featured items for the current week.

Rehearsals

By on Feb 21, 2021 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Why do I hold my clean hands under hot water until they sting? My tongue aches from rehearsals. Silver chutes shoot my open eyes. Stiff slanting wings lift our bodies resting above clouds — breathing, dreaming. Trust loosens our shoes, unpegs belts cinched around our expanding profit motives. Trust will settle us down to Earth. Bright shields of elastic goose flesh. Wet maps wrinkle in my hot palms. I would dovetail all my hinges! Lets love our flaws above each wave. Counting freckles until we land...

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The Wrong Kiiid Died

By on Feb 21, 2021 in Essays, Featured | Comments Off

Four o’clock in the morning before the world wakes up; freshness in the air, the light beginning to peek through the darkness of night, headlights on, radio off. Mumbling my lines, I drive reasonably fast. Sixty miles per hour is reasonably fast; no tickets for me. Wind tossing my hair, gray by now, slight elevation of spirit, a sense of purpose in the air, driving to work; not any kind of work. Film work, the movie business, so different from the usual notion of work, offers a certain degree of adventure that most jobs do not. Meanwhile, plenty of time; nerves aren’t frazzled,...

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The Turn

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Though my mother is long dead, my sister estranged, I cannot account for the specter. After over forty years, the image, the memory returns to me lately, haunting my afternoon routine, all its edges garishly distinct. The turn began at the end of summer, nineteen-seventy- two or three, the last tubing and camping trip with the Buskirk and Weaver kids, The Caves at Millwood, along the muddy Kokosing River. After one too many days of fun, fun, fun, of hotdogs and marshmallows, hair and tee shirts reeking of smoke, sticky nights in rank sleeping bags, no showers, no television, the mighty,...

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She Knew

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Although well-versed in leafy academe, she knew they helped her not at all, those skills — to parse, to rhyme a scheme, to sketch a plot, to hear the dying fall of scribbled footsteps echoing in the growing gloom. Though of an age meetly deemed maturing, she knew that mice-like lines which grow along the very bottom of a page signified, at last, quite next to naught; that, frail or strong, old age should rightly rage through the lengthening night, should strive to flame and flare and cut the darkness clean to filaments of light. Though learned in the very rare and rarefied imaginings...

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Ahab’s Crew

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

  — Boarding School, 1980 October flares in western PA. In rumpled uniforms boys mock each other around the oak table, two chairs lean daringly on back legs. The schoolmaster shows up late on black mornings, the beret tipped wide on his high forehead and a tweed jacket dangling from his hunched shoulder. Twice he clears his throat, a voice more trusted than their own fathers, before reading out loud from Moby Dick. Thin smoke rises from the hot ember at his fingertips. Half-listening, they slouch with their hair hurling round their heads, look up at his moving lips, pausing...

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Featured Works: Week of Nov. 16 (Life Stages)

By on Nov 16, 2020 in Featured | Comments Off

The way we see the world can be strongly influenced by our age and our particular point in our life’s path, as this week’s contributors illustrate. “Who I Wanted to Be,” a poem by Judith Ann Levinson, presents a delicate portrait of a child’s hopes for her future. The poem “Wildflowering” by John Zedolik praises the beauty in imperfection that a teenager would overlook. In the short story, “The Bridge to Restitution,” Joe Ducato depicts a group of adolescent friends whose adult destinies draw closer. “For What It’s Worth,” a story by Stuart...

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