Fiction: Managan, Long and Jones

Vampires, Ghosts, the Dead returned by Yvette Managan

Carnal Knowledge by Stan Long

I was nine and my sister seven, and we were walking home from the dam that was a favourite haunt of mine, where moorhens nested and herons fished and where will-o-the-wisps coiled over the marshy ground on damp evenings. Visiting with her grandma with whom I lived, she had asked to go with me to see the dam during that late afternoon in the summer of the war when all the young men had been conscripted and both town and countryside were empty of them.

Necromancy by Karen Jones

I971 - Paid to Dance by Nonnie Augustine

The Cleaner by Abigale Louise LeCavalier

The Trail By Abigale Louise LeCavalier

Poetry by Tamara Madison


Prey Drive/ The dog trembles at the window/every muscle tense under his golden coat/as he watches the cat lick/its long, crutch-like leg.

The First Lie

The Musicians/The guitar player watches/the mandolin player intently, with anticipation

My Dead Love Came In by Bill West

Night Maneuvers by Ramon Collins

Moonlighting by Craig Capron

Poetry: Day, Mannone, Pulier, Schwartz

Take It

Perseid Fireflies

Prognosis Unclear

I Use To Think

The Awakening by Jim Parks

Jess' Palace by Yvette Managan

Something's Wrong With Lennie by Nonnie Augustine

Magazines for Sale

Boys of the Playground by Cyndi Gacosta

Texting by Anita S. Pulier

Nevertheless by Davide Trame

The Corporate Current by Gloria Manuilova

Story: West, Fitzpatrick, Fox, Joy

Life's a Beach by Bill West

Under Christian Crosses by Mari Fitzpatrick

The Night of the Fox by Rebecca Burns

Some of this is True by Len Joy

2009 Art and Photo Galleries

Summer 2009 Photo and Art Archive

Fall 2009 Photo and Art Archive

Spring 2009 Photo Archive

Stein (Classic) , Friedrich, Abartis

Tender Buttons

Major Works of fiction

Beauty and the Beast

Archives 2010

Fall 2010

Summer 2010

Spring/Winter 2010

Story: Stein, Conrad

Tender Buttons

Salad Dressing and an Artichoke


It was please it was please carriage cup in an ice-cream, in an ice-cream it was too bended bended with scissors and all this time. A whole is inside a part, a part does go away, a hole is red leaf. No choice was where there was and a second and a second.

CAKE: Cake cast in went to be and needles wine needles are such.

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A work that aspires, however humbly, to the condition of art should carry its justification in every line. And art itself may be defined as a single-minded attempt to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by bringing to light the truth, manifold and one, underlying its every aspect. It is an attempt to find in its forms, in its colours, in its light, in its shadows, in the aspects of matter and in the facts of life, what of each is fundamental, what is enduring and essential -- their one illuminating and convincing quality -- the very truth of their existence.

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Fiction: Castle, Laurie, Wilkinson and Harden

Window-Shop by Chris Castle

Subjectivity of the Always by Bobbi Laurie

Him and Her by Maureen Wilkinson

The Last Marble by J Scott Harden

Poetry: Colby, Yuan, Black


My Crow


Short Shrift

Story: Britten, Joslin, Burton, Robinson

A Bride for Birdie by Charlie Britten

Drawing the Line by Oonah V Joslin

Betty's Visit by Tom Burton

The Courtship of Alma by Bill Frank Robinson

Teeple, Tuninetti and Lorca Illustrations (Classic)


The Old Field House

Things from Life in the Death of a Man

illustrations: Federico Garcia Lorca, 5 June 1898 - 19 August 1936

Poetry by Bill Frank Robinson

Pauite Indian Story

The Cat Skinner

The Bread Man is Dead

Magazines for Sale

Story: Hammons, Harris, Joslin, Press

Beatnik Blonde by Jane Hammons

The Flavour of the Day by Bruce Harris

Renowned Hospitality and More by Oonah V Joslin

Cordoba Station by Tony Press

Story: Haigh, Crossley, Stancek

Of Clouds by Liz Haigh

Being Frank Elliot by Beth Crossley

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Lake Tranquillity by Andrew Stancek

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Romasko, Friedrich, Sky, Landers

Good Evening Berlin by Mark Romasko

Wet, Bleach and Forget by Patricia Friedrich

Fall Baby by Jennifer Sky

Frog Strangler by Connley (Lee) Landers

Poetry by Tyler Bigney



Without Us

Poetry: Maclin, Fitzpatrick, Orel

Stargazer by Stephanie Maclin

Damsel by Stephanie Maclin

A Man who Drank by Marie Fitzpatrick

Postcard from Paris by Brigita Orel

Our Writer's Work

Poetry Prompts

Writing Links

Thursday's Portmanteau

"Doris Attinger follows her husband with a gun in Manhattan one day, suspecting he is having an affair with another woman. In her rage, she fires wildly and blindly around the room and at the couple multiple times. One of the bullets hits her husband in the shoulder. His lover escapes unscathed."

From our
'Everyday Poems Page'

The Day is Done
Who Goes with Fergus?
Strange Meeting
The Darkling Thrush
A Pint of Plain is your only Man
Go and Catch a Falling Star

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Art and Literature from the O

The King of Ireland's Son by Padraic Colum

(Fedelma, The Enchanter's Daughter)

Connal was the name of the King who ruled over Ireland at that time. He had three sons, and, as the fir-trees grow, some crooked and some straight, one of them grew up so wild that in the end the King and the King's Councillor had to let him have his own way in everything. This youth was the King's eldest son and his mother had died before she could be a guide to him.

Story: Linden and Olson

On walkabout from the cafe, tired of city lights, Ma, the shaman, catches a bus from the downtown station to the end of the line. Here, Ma runs with emus through the red desert dust and eats bush cucumbers in full fruit.

After absorbing electricity from lightning, she flies with the magpies to places of desire, waterholes of power, canyons where cave dwellers recorded their first Dreamings. She descends to a land inhabited by tiny rock sprites who bow to the shaman's journey and beg to honor her wish. For inspiration, Ma requests the creation of a sand painting.

The sun was just rising in West Central Minnesota, brazing the horizon a magenta color as upkicked dust lilted behind a Chevrolet truck that rumbled down the long gravel driveway. The truck pulled onto a paved county road that reached out for miles on an even plain. The only signs of civilization outside of Jay’s passenger side window were the railroad tracks running parallel to the road and the high-voltage power lines off in the distance--giants standing above the wheat and corn and beets. Tyler, Jay’s cousin and a year his junior, flipped on the radio.

100000 Welcomes

Review: Flux Lines by John C Mannone

There are two constants in the poetry of John Mannone: love and science… And they are intertwined--his poems flow effortlessly between poles of desire and precious, precise knowledge.

In the world of poetry there is no one who can mine science for metaphor the way Mannone does. Nor move to love so naturally.
--Roald Hoffmann, chemist and writer, professor emeritus at Cornell University and co-recipient of the 1981 Nobel Prize in Chemistry

Frontierland by Norah Piehl

Pa did not like a country so old and worn out that the hunting was poor. He wanted to go west. For two years he had wanted to go west and take a homestead, but Ma did not want to leave the settled country.
--Laura Ingalls Wilder, By The Shores of Silver Lake

Zelnick: Dwindling: the Shrinking Citizen

John Milton never attended a Trump rally, but Paradise Lost depicts satanic demagogy and citizens dwindled to mere onlookers, overwhelmed by giant voices. In the great hall of Pandemonium, the rebels against God gather to decide next steps. Giant angels, now tarnished by betrayal, swarm into the vast auditorium. They are too large to fit; Satan downsizes them

Story: Flora and the Storm

Flora and the Storm

An arpeggio splits: chords trip through clouds. As lightning cracks it stirs the wind that rises fast, and faster still when storm falls in to shake the rain that springs to join the artifice:, the sky elec- trifies what’s put in place, it flits across the scripted lines then runs a spiral through the space: To play a sound, to etch a sense, to stroke an image on a layer, to loose a line that flies through time, an everlasting fishing tine: On land the storm sweeps up the strand. One made by beautiful human hands. That brought fauna, flora and trees together, To create a place for humans, nature, and wild wild weather.

Narrative of New Netherland 1570-1970 by Sean Farragher

"I am the viridian swell and the vermilitm tempest. I am surly beast and have will to rectify murder: my death and other happenstance makes for ironu with miniatures painted without sight in a golden locket never opened and not lost memories of those centuries before whatever instant diseased and bent with pock marked face to how anger stalls without any pleasure or even the protest of strangled fowl. You can watch my stance without eyes and make me move without legs as I am only flood and tempest unbounded my schemes ser down as blasphemed physic and truth."
John Colman (1580-1664)

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