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Archive for December, 2010

December 8th, 2010 by admin

Albuquerque, New Mexico, Sunset 10, by Lanette Jaynes

Photography Comments Off on Albuquerque, New Mexico, Sunset 10, by Lanette Jaynes

December 8th, 2010 by admin

Bitter Thirst, by Marian Y. Brooks

Poetry Comments Off on Bitter Thirst, by Marian Y. Brooks

magnolia whispers

seasonal fires–working

like deep swamp mosquito breezes

picking the antebellum harvest

swallowing hard

my share of rural produce

rancid in summer’s heat

plucked

 from crooked branches

that blossom my race like apples

and I

surrounded by southern stock

discover my glass

and

have me a sweet drink of tradition

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Meal for One*, by Marijo Giblin

Poetry Comments Off on Meal for One*, by Marijo Giblin

Scrambling

in the back of the freezer

for the ice cream

she knocks down

one of those TV dinners

with the calories listed on the front

and the corn rattles against its plastic compartment

like a maraca

reminding her of the

Latin Dance class finale

and how he snuck off

with the instructor

even though she was wearing

her favorite red dress.

*Voted the favorite in the 2009 National Library Week Poetry Contest

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

I Believe in Pickles and Strawberries, by Lyndsey Weyker

Creative Non-Fiction Comments Off on I Believe in Pickles and Strawberries, by Lyndsey Weyker

I believe in families being close and getting together as much as they can. I have been blessed with 106 relatives on my dad’s side of the family. He has twelve brothers and sisters. Having 13 children was a huge advantage for my Grandma and Grandpa Weyker since it helped them keep their strawberry and pickle fields running for many years. Unfortunately, when my Grandpa Weyker died, the family decided to get rid of the fields that they had owned for so long. After all these years my dad’s family is still proud of their hard work and what they accomplished, which is why the words pickles and strawberries are still brought up all the time at family gatherings.

One gathering in particular is our summer party which is held at my grandma’s house in a small town called Dacada, WI. During this party we have our official strawberries versus pickles softball game. We have the sisters and their families against the brothers and their families. The sisters are the strawberries and the brothers are the pickles. My family goes all out for this event. We have my Aunt Lori sing the national anthem and do the cheerleading, my aunt Lisa announces the game and my little cousins who are not old enough to play, do a sausage race. The children’s sausage race is followed by my aunts doing their own sausage race as well except they like to wear funny costumes. These races usually take place towards the end of the game. The winning team gets a trophy and bragging rights. I look forward to these strawberries versus pickles games every summer. I get the chance to see people I love and play the sport I love all in one gathering.

I feel that families need to hang out as much as they can because you never know when a loved one may pass away. I urge families to have some kind of tradition for relatives to look forward to every year because it will form a bond like the one I have with mine, which is one of the best feelings in the world.

 
 

 

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Sober, by Dolores Klitzka

Poetry Comments Off on Sober, by Dolores Klitzka

 

the simplest thought of you sickens me.
i can’t get it out any other way, i’m sorry.
i don’t know what you did to me
the signs were all there
that you hated my longing stare
you never once wanted my touch
it was you who made me give in
this sin around me i have created
and fumbled with somehow
will swallow me whole
as the pill i swallow now
take a reliever for pain
show no remorse for your gain
i promise never again
to fall victim to sin

stuffed away in a locket
i will hide my feelings in my pocket
they have no use now
i attempted to bow out early
but i could never leave your side
i guess i was the fool
whose heart never died
it was the last thrill
that killed my last will

you tempted me
you stole my sanity
you left me hollow
you left me begging
you thought you could see
you never believed
you sicken me

i tempted myself
i stole my own sanity
i left my self hollow
i left myself begging
i thought i could see
i never believed that
i could be
the one to sicken me

if in this you find darkness
you are not looking for light
follow the words, don’t think them precise
quit projecting what you think
it would be like to be me.
because within this simple gift
i was granted sobriety

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Lament for Bill and Lindsey, by Rory Gallagher

Poetry Comments Off on Lament for Bill and Lindsey, by Rory Gallagher

In the silence of each night

I hear the screams of those unquiet souls

Just lost to me

Screams of struggle and sacrifice

Screams of regret and malcontent

Mine or theirs I do not know

They took their lives away

So stricken they, keening,

My tears fall such that I must swim

And take deep breaths amidst my sobs

For sadness covers me like clouds

And holds my soul in tight embrace

Where have those bonded to my heart

Escaped where I cannot

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Purdy, by Adam Bucholz

Short Stories Comments Off on Purdy, by Adam Bucholz

            Jim got up. He put his robe on and walked down the hallway past the dog. The animal snored. You could see her eyeballs move under her eyelids. A dog dreaming in the hallway ain’t a bad thing, Jim might’ve thought had he hung around and assessed the beast, but Jim was in the kitchen frying eggs on the General Electric stove.

            While the eggs crackled, Jim pulled the pepper and salt from the cupboard. He put them down, grabbed the oven mitt hanging from the tequila-bottle-fridge magnet and walked back towards the stove. Jim watched the pair of yokes change from yellow to pink. He slid his weathered hand in the mitt, took hold of the cast iron pan and spun his way towards the table.

            He tilted the pan over the plate so the eggs would slide off but they didn’t. He tilted it more and more but the eggs hung to the pan like a baby to a boob. He looked around for a fork or knife, something within arm’s reach he could use to scrape the eggs off the goddamned cast iron but there was nothing.

            Jim flipped the pan right side up and walked towards the silverware drawer that was once full of silverware but was now full of plastic McDonald’s knives and Taco Bell sporks. At the time his wife Sue had left him, Jim didn’t have any money but he did have silverware and a refurbed fifty-four Ford. With the blessing of a judge, Sue took the truck and the spoons and the knives and the forks. She went to Tucson, married a Mexican and had another kid, Shelby, the half-sister of Jim’s sixteen year old son, Little Teddy.

            Jim grabbed a spork and, pan in hand, headed back to the plate. He scraped off the eggs. The fiery-eyed yokes glared back at him, angry at being dislodged from their warm cast iron bed. With his wife and her bullshit in the back of his mind, Jim stared the eggs down. Under his gaze the left yoke broke and bled yellow over the thin, cool porcelain plate.

            Ten minutes later, Jim was done eating. He sat on the front stoop of the house smoking a menthol cigarette. He watched the five-fifteen sky give way to the five-sixteen sky. The air was cold and Jim could see his breath. Fag to his lips, he took a drag, blew it out and watched it float away, presumably to Tucson.

            Jim looked at his watch. It was five-twenty. He stood up and walked down the stoop’s concrete steps. He stopped, took one last pull off the Newport and snuffed it out on the asphalt driveway. He put the butt in his pocket because he didn’t want Little Teddy to see it.

            Jim made his way to the side of the garage. Detached from the house, it sat at the back of the lot. He opened the door, walked through the workshop and shimmied his way in between the sheetrockless wall and “Purdy,” Jim’s big rig. The garage was dark, poorly lit, but the truck glowed purple. It was a mean truck.

            A single green LED light glowed on the wall. Jim pressed it. The garage opener’s motor growled as it hauled up the door. Jim watched the dim morning light spill on the truck. Purdy seemed to smile as she looked down the driveway towards the road and the world.

            The door was fully open and Jim hopped in Purdy’s cab. He started her up, grabbed his log book from the glove compartment and stepped out. While the truck idled a voice came through its speakers. The radio was on and someone was talking about something or other but Jim didn’t hear it. He was half way down the driveway walking westward.

            Two plastic wrapped newspapers sat motionless about five feet from the street. Jim picked them up, turned round and headed back east. Jim slid the Financial Times out of its bag and looked over the pink paper’s headlines but found nothing of interest. “This is Teddy’s paper. I can’t get into this shit,” he thought. He looked up at the idling truck and could see that she was ready.

            He walked up the stoop of the house and opened the door. He stepped inside, set the papers on the counter and considered lifting another Newport from Kara’s purse. Kara was Little Teddy’s girlfriend, and she had spent the night but Jim thought the better of it. He left her purse and her cigarettes alone and stepped outside and into the humming truck.

            He lifted the brakes, put Purdy in gear and inched out the garage and onto the asphalt. Half way down the driveway the lowest branch of the big front yard pine blessed Purdy’s crown. “Five miles to the trailer and about a thousand to the coast,” thought Jim.

            Jim stopped the truck at the end of the driveway. He spun the radio dial, found an old country station and turned the treble up. He looked up the street and down it. No one to the right and nobody to the left. He pulled his foot off the brake and turned Purdy south.

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Brett Favre, by Brianne Buerger

Poetry Comments Off on Brett Favre, by Brianne Buerger

Brett, oh, Brett, you’re my number four guy

When you left my state, I couldn’t help but cry

Three different teams and one super bowl ring

You were the Packers star quarterback, you were considered their king

I can’t help but watch you on our big rival team

While you throw those long passes, you continue the dream

Of seeing my quarterback play great in the game

It’s too bad you left us, it’s really a shame

December 3rd, 2010 by admin

Dichotomy of Fervency, by Dennis Wiedenhoeft

Poetry Comments Off on Dichotomy of Fervency, by Dennis Wiedenhoeft

When, you see the world and know your part in it

When, you find that you are not the same as others

When, you find pleasure constricts your efforts

When, you know this could be changed at a severe cost

When, you know payment, undermines the principal

What do you do?

When, you have a gift that defines you

When, you have a passion that consumes you

When, you have a knowledge that plagues you

When, it calls in every breath and thought

When, it shows you its potential to life

What do you do?

When, you care enough to be someone’s idea

When, you feel that idea isn’t who you should be

When, you’re scared that it will devalue meaning

When, you see and understand the truth

When, you wish that you could do both

What do you do?

When, you know one is unquantifiable, and the other unattainable

When, one is important, and the other is priceless

When, you believe one is life, and the other makes it worth living

When, one is a prayer and the other a hope

When, both subjugate you to separate paths

What do you do?

When, you see other’s intimacy and know it’s not you

When, you see one in each compromising act

When, you’re not the one you see as the other

When, you want to be and know that you can’t

When, it makes you hurt

What do you do?

When, you know your actions have purpose

When, you hold to it because you must

When, you are its pioneering force

When, you hold parts of the balance

When, it is affected by your actions

What do you do?

When, you can’t determine which has greater value

When, you feel the pain caused by both

When, both take you to a place of bliss

When, others can travel on either side of the path

When, you have to walk the line

What do you do?

When, both want all of you

When, both want more than you are

When, both know you are more than what’s perceived

When, both are uncomfortable with contentment

When, both will always want more than you can give

What do you do?

When, you cross the point of no return

When, you believe in the future of the human race

When, the human race doesn’t believe in its future

When, you care enough to live by what you reason

When, that reason leads you not to care

What do you do?

When, you know the answer

When, you want to change the answer

When, you carry the stain of the past

When, you are wired to love the unlovable

When, you want to give in, but despise the urge

What do you do?

When, one is unfeeling, and the other is uncaring

When, one is set to consume, and the other to absorb

When, one saves, and the other liberates

When, one hates, and the other is ambivalent

When, one is selfish, and the other is tyrannical

What do you do?

When, you can be something wonderful

When, you could have something wonderful

When, it feels right, but appears wrong

When, it appears right, but feels wrong

When, everyday confusion and insight, grow

What do you do?

To live the life you want

To define your path to happiness

To be the person you idealize

To make the choices, leading to satisfaction

To create at your highest potential

What do you do?

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