Archive for “Literature”

Literature

Poetry by Bobbi Dykema

My father was a Catholic jazz musician

Say one Our Father, two Hail Marys,
and listen to twelve recordings of John Coltrane.

Dip your fingers in the font of holy water,
cross yourself,
make your way to a pew,
genuflect, take your seat,
and meditate on the perfection of Thelonious’ chords.
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Literature

Short Fiction Contest-winning story #18: “The Notes,” by Brian Greene

The first of my notes read I’M IN A STATE OF DISBELIEF. I left this one on top of a counter at a place where many of the thousands of people who worked in the same building as I did went to get their coffees and pastries in the morning.

The second note went AN ANGEL GOT IN BED WITH ME LAST NIGHT — OR MAYBE IT WASN’T AN ANGEL. I taped this one to the inside of the door of one of the stalls in the public bathroom of the same building.
[…] Continue reading »

Literature

Poetry by Taylor Gorman

LIPS OF ORPHEUS

Orpheus-
that bony black Jazz player
inhales slowly, his aged, tarred lungs
sip the pre-melodic air,
he fingers the cold brass scythe,
prolonging the moment
for his lips to buzz;
and they will, Emily,
they will.
[…] Continue reading »

Literature

Poetry by Ben DeMike

Hip Hop Flavored Preachin’

Ya’ll better check your roots
You bunch of brutes
Cause you ain’t got no soul
Respect and you don’t roll
This is rhythm and blues?
Man, I don’t know
Back when we had dancin’ shoes
And things to lose
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Literature

Short Fiction contest-winner #17: “Mountain,” by Mark Kerstetter

I can’t fight. I’m not made for it. When I’m backed into a corner I can run, and that’s what I’m good at. I can’t gather myself to put up an opposition. I begin to quake and crumble and the parts of myself split into ever-smaller parts that want to get away as fast as possible. I’m an explosion, a spectacle to momentarily confuse the enemy. Also a physical wreck. The only movement that suits me is flight. My parts will converge into a fluid line of energy, but only in movement. It’s the way I’m made. If I held my hand out, lengthened my fingers for you and attempted to keep as still as possible, you would marvel at the trembling. But then give me a guitar and this same hand will produce a line no less marvelous in fluid grace. […] Continue reading »