Most read stories

SERVICE

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a girl with wolves, dogs and a bear

Wink

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It's just another night in the old city, perched in the skeletal radio tower with my collection of telescopes

THE RICH RIVER

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I must have been six years old at that time, but the events of…

Mississippi

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“I won't live here,” Beth said, waving her hand to indicate the small Southern town in which they were having dinner—the most delicious fried chicken either of them had ever tasted—in a restaurant located in an antebellum mansion. She looked…

match point

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two roses her eyes aqua-blue no, blue-green

The Well

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It was by the well on one cold early spring morning

Thanksgiving

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When our kids were very young, my wife and I believed it was important to give our children traditions that they could grow up with. One such tradition that we shared each Thanksgiving was to walk down by the cliffs along the ocean. We'd all go, our kids…

Mercury Unbound - 7

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a song jolts my memory . . .

Chalk, Fish and Monkey

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She picked the fish out of the box leaving a pool of mucus and blood slowly congealing on the shelf and dripped it toward the kitchen table. Outside the wind lashed the tops of the poplar trees together and rain sprayed from the barn roof opposite.

What We Know but Can’t Describe

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We know them just enough/ to recognize them when we find them.

Moony Star Moony Star

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a lost children…

Where They Have to Take You In

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Sunday morning beginning with a bang. Accused, found wanting, sentenced.

Residual

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Our afterlife depends upon// what interesting shape

Girl With Glasses And Skinny Fingers

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Girl with glasses and skinny fingers playing with wires

not all scars are the same

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All I wanted to know was: Am I coming close? You could have given me a clue. How was I to know how deep the scar ran? I always thought scars were superficial, but I was young, and willing – what did I know? What would they have done if they had come

Seasonal Poem

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One of the poems in my collection, One Day Tells its Tale to Another, published December 16, 2012. Available on Amazon. My first book!

They're All Bleepin' Poets, Jack

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Occasionally I will pick up a quarterly— As a budding poet, to do what I oughterly, And peruse the pages for helpful examples That I can crib or use as samples.

Peter's Office

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This is Peter’s office. The room is small, and the wood paneling is painted white. Light colors, Peter has been told, make a room appear larger.

Birth of a Tiger

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He was instantly on her, pulling at her nightgown

Larry's "Gonna Die" Parrtayye

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When we started plans for the party, none of us wanted Larry to die, most of all Larry himself. Actually, when we first started plans for the party, Larry wasn’t dying.

The Devil Line is a Violin (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.1)

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Rosea plays a bohemian plainsong for the cosmonauts among us, while her fuzzy apple hips spit glitter, spin strobes: pink shades of pantyline flicker; lip-licked neon hues scrape strings in B sharp, a gloomy clue.

Text Adventure

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Twenty-two tornadoes tore through Toronto, spiraling steel and stone to the streets where she stood, texting her best friend.

That Which Does Not Kill You (Only Postpones The Inevitable)

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Harold Smithe awoke that Tuesday morning precisely at 6 am. He did this every day for as long as he could remember. Even on the weekends when his schedule varied. Well, varied slightly. He lay in bed trying to wake up and mulled over the things he needed to accomplish for…

White girl/boy angst

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I’m secretly hoping for a huge bouquet, a fruit basket, a pickle jar of urine in a lunch bag on my doorstep, even.

Real Talk – A Ghost Story

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Tunnel hobos, all hootched up high, think a sign's all about super powers, mind reading, clairvoyance, dig?

The Tale Of Brave Grinelda

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Once upon a time in the days of old There lived a poor tailor who- I am told- Did brag that his daughter Spun straw into gold!

Bloodsport

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At last one of the men on the line bowed his head in a silent prayer for deliverance from what was about to come, then lifted his head and shouted loudly for his fellows to charge.

Geode

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There is a rock somewhere with the truth of the sky in it, the glitter of otherworldly charms that falsify the ugliness of the literal.

The King's Snit

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Political doggerel.

Not Creative

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a poem about things exploding/burning down/scattering for miles.