February 5, 2017

Four Poems by James R. Whitley

Four Poems by James R. Whitley

Thirteen Ways to Deny an Ending Position your body between the door and his body, then turn to stone. Spread your tears like thin ice beneath her feet, and then turn to glass. Lecture like a doomsday astronomer—warn against the Earth without the sun, the tides without the moon… Counter with a mathematical argument—perhaps something about the number 2 and natural balance, or the number 1 being too odd. Make up an excuse to leave the theater before the final act—if a curtain falls and you are not there to see it, then… Rub raw onion (or any handy irritant) in your eyes, and renew your faith in chemistry. Imagine that you are merely playing tennis and redefine terms like match, break, love… Rewrite history—especially the darker periods—and try to sell the revision as best…

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February 2, 2017

“Bowl of Peaches” by Kevin Richard White

“Bowl of Peaches” by Kevin Richard White

Bowl of Peaches “So what did she say to you?” Setting: bowl of peaches, napkin holder, salt and pepper shaker, one bottle of Hendricks, filthy glasses, dim light, anger, sadness. Music: Handwritten plays softly in the room over. The gin was poured. “She didn’t say much.” Then: “Well, not anything real important.” Memories washed over his face as rain began to fall, cool wind dancing in through a ratty screen, a threat of a storm on a night where this conversation exists more wonderfully than anything else. Characters: two friends in a near dark room, one girl, one guy. Another girl, way offstage, from another town. “I pulled around the side of her house on the other street. I looked over to her backyard. I saw other people. I assumed that one of them was…

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January 17, 2017

“The Postal Man” by Randall Krzak

“The Postal Man” by Randall Krzak

“Hendry! Will you stop it? Hendry! You’ll hurt yourself,” the eight-year-old boy’s mother pleaded, wringing her hands in desperation. Hendry, better known as Henry to his friends, ignored his mother as he swung from limb to limb, climbing to the top of the mighty maple tree. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed, thrusting his hands into the air in a victory sign. “Hendry!” his mother shrieked. “You’ll kill yourself. Come down this instant!” “Relax, Mom.” Henry peered down at his distraught mother. “My super powers will save the day!” “What you’ll have is a sore rear end when I catch you. Now, be careful and come down. You’ll never amount to anything climbing trees.” Dear God, help Henry down in one piece she pleaded, grasping her hands to her bosom. “What a view! I can see for miles.”…

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January 4, 2017

Paul Jackson’s Eulogy Poems

Paul Jackson’s Eulogy Poems

Fall Farewell We walked that fall day looking at the leaves, we talked that day; Nature, you, and me. “The leaves are so beautiful,” I said, as we communed together, “It’s Nature’s last farewell,” you said, Before the dying weather.” “Life is like the leaves, I think,” You said, almost too softly to hear. “It has its most beautiful moment, When it knows that death is near.” “Too bad it’s not the same, for people,” I replied. You stopped, and turned, and took my arms, And looked into my eyes. “Sometimes, perhaps, it just might be,” You whispered to the wind. “Am I beautiful now?” you asked. As we resumed our walk again. ### And then, that night you slipped from life— To your immortal end. And still, to me, your beauty lasts, my dear…

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January 4, 2017

“The Devil Didn’t Win” by M. James MacLaren

“The Devil Didn’t Win” by M. James MacLaren

I   The Cuban sun baked through Pat’s sweat and blood-soaked uniform. He lay in the tall grass halfway up the first hill, surrounded by dead and dying soldiers, patiently waiting for a litter-bearer that would never come. The hole in his side oozed, the flies already crawling on his hand, biting his flesh. He had swatted at them at first, but now he had no strength to shoo them away. He could not decide where to put his hat. The sun burned through the felt regardless where he laid it. He settled on putting it over his face, the stink of his own sweat tickling his nose as he closed his eyes. His head swam and he felt the urge to be sick. Echoes of gunshots came to his ears, less numerous now than…

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