February 1, 2021

“Shush Please,” Poetry and Art by Tamizh Ponni

Posted by Mike Rochester in Fine Art, Writing

Shush please On a cold winter night I lay in the comfort of soft blankets and cushy pillows The non-stop titter-tatter against all tangibles mercilessly broke my hard-earned slumber Sliding and slithering over and over Crystalline droplets raced on the glassy tracks without much caution or trepidation. The uncoiled skeins of climatic emotions were desperate to bring glee into doldrums. I woke up, sat up and stayed up leaning towards the window pane, listening to their tantrums All night in silence, eyes closed, ears open It was a performance that clamoured for attention from lonely souls and midnight owls. I wish it came with a volume control The loud clatter and yellow lights, were acting like partners in crime brutally stirring up memories of good times Days that could not be reclaimed Nights and people…

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January 28, 2021

Mbizo Chirasha – My First Year as Poet-in-Residence

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Time has legs: it walks and of course it runs. Somewhere in the cybernetic land of the brave, America, a trailblazing coffee shop is situated, born from assortments of poetry biscuits, flash fiction soups that wink likea jolt of rainforest lightning. The Fictional Café, a buffet of literary commentary and steaming cups of cappuccinos,the sweet aroma of words waft through its glowing virtual walls, beckoning and satiating all sure creatives.Inside the Café, you are welcomed by a band of poetry baristas. I joined the Fictional Café as the Poet in Residence and the greatest blessing is a myriad of my experimental writings have been serialized, featured, and published within its digital pages. Jack B. Rochester and your team of literary champions:I salute you for the Poet in Residence position and for your confident investmentin my writings and mutual collaborative efforts. ***…

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January 25, 2021

Mark Parsons – Poetry in Pieces

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Leg Panel the color of raw steak discoloring once it’s exposed to the air slides on its runner, crosscutting fibres bunched into fascicles sheathed with elastin that shift like amoebas, contract, clinch, then dilate again. Panel after panel, runners underfoot and thickness of panels decreasing. A click, something catches. Or caught, something releases and scrapes to the opposite wall. This fleshly corridor can’t go on much longer: the panels can get no thinner. The thought of hiding once I’m out, the reason not to hide. Never did I present agoraphobia, or tendencies . . . say, vampiric. No symptoms of anemia. Never was a bleeder, in any sense. I have to keep my nerve. It’s all that separates me from my surroundings. My leg feels . . . feels like. Prologue Taking life one rescue animal at…

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January 18, 2021

“The Interruption,” A Short Story by Jason Powell

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Each time is the same as before, but each time feels new. He and Grace hold hands in the hallway and stare at Destiny through the streakless glass. Grace chose the name and to see it written on that little plastic band in official type makes her happy. And why shouldn’t she be? The delivery went great. Destiny is perfect. Everything is perfect. Well, maybe not “perfect.” It’s true, Destiny was unplanned. True, he and Grace don’t have their own place to bring her home to. True Grace’s parents are actively unsupportive of their child and her teenage boyfriend bringing another child into the world. But none of that matters. Grace and Destiny are happy and healthy. That’s what matters. This moment matters. He wishes he could slow time down and stay in this moment…

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January 11, 2021

Maziar Karim – The Poetry of Pondering

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

1. back home every morning alley swallow me and the city digest me I know in this swarm the night puke me and I will back home again 2. empty rifles rifle opening is not scary when every morning with toothless mouth flowing and at the night with empty rifles back home 3. no name cervix was the beginnings and crater was the end of big bang? I wish instead galaxy we observed human 4. curved universe Cloud mass of black whole it bends the galaxy the sun it bends the earth leaf it bends aunt’s feet and pain it bends human’s feet we haven’t been guilty we just born in the curved universe 5. Human Human is a cosmic Between two kisses and a hug 6. To levitate To fall and…

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January 6, 2021

“The Witness” A Short Story by Derrick R. Lafayette

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

I spent the entire day in bed staring at the white ceiling. If you stare at it long enough, it begins to sweat. Mother always said I was an “overthinker.” When she remembered me, before Alzheimer’s. Before the inevitable change where we all wither. I never believed it until now. I scrolled through my phone searching for the app that controls my life. Since my remote’s been lost in the abyss of my apartment, I needed it to tune in and tune out. It was an ungodly hour. I could tell from the pulsating tangerine glow of the streetlights on my white curtain blinds. During particular times in the night, they malfunctioned. I used to think microscopic cameras were inside snapping pictures of me. Aliens sending morse code. Or, that I was subconsciously controlling it with my mind, trying to send myself a message from within. A myriad of paranoid fantasies. I take pills now. I’m better now. I don’t think as much. …

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December 29, 2020

“Prince of Satan,” A Short Story by Mbizo Chirasha

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

A solitary baboon barked throughout the night. The barking sound was the stitch between silence and darkness. Dogs never barked to anything. Owls were ironically trapped in their dark nests. Dawn arrived unexpectedly. My father coughed from the pit of his lungs. My skin tightened because his cough was deep. His incessant loud snores disturbed the silence. Fingers of the sun soon filtered into my torn blanket. Intense heat pricked my whip-lashed back. I felt an irritating pain inside me. I sneaked out of my night trap with a bold start and peeped into the real world through the crevices of my rondavel. I couldn’t believe my innocent eyes. Just outside, next to river, stray dogs whined and snarled amid a leisurely sexual act. I made an embarrassed laughter. They danced in their act as…

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December 27, 2020

“Pirate Ayanna and the Seagulls,” by KJ Hannah Greenberg

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Ayanna, who was already an old salt, licked her right paw. The Curse of the Abandoned Scallywags had visited her. She next licked her left paw and then looked across the boat to the crow’s nest on the mainmast. If only she had believed Cook, she might not be limping. He had warned the crew, after they had dragged him out of the sea, about the curse. More exactly, he had scolded them, while he shook water out of his fur, heedless of who was standing nearby, that blaspheming another soul would bring retribution in the form of conveyance. More explicitly, as he had sucked down the first mug of rum given to him, Cook had declared that whoever spoke words of affliction, upon the furry head of another, would cause their merits to relocate to that other feline and would cause that other feline’s woes to transfer to them. At the time, the assembled cats had laughed and had patted Cook on the back, all the while suggesting that his brain was as waterlogged as was his coat. After refilling his mug and throwing a blanket to him, they had returned to their duties. None had paid full attention to his jabbering. …

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December 20, 2020

Umi and Mori Haikus by Julie Brinson

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Six Umi and one Mori Haiku following bright sun alone, he surfs a strong wave with a young dolphin seen in clear water bright life on a coral reef illumination a tiny seahorse sleeps in tropical sea grass and moonlight falls down drifting on currents wishes lost in old bottles many horizons in cold waters deep sad songs of the lonely whales mourning lost ones loved sea salted sands shift into the greens and blues then the yellow sun bright sun warms noon day overripe apples hang low –sticky, drunken bees *** Julie Brinson has previously published random poetry in numerous independent, underground literary magazines and journals in the 1990s. She has written various Internet articles and essays in the years since. Two short poetry collections: Courage…

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December 17, 2020

“Squid Eyes,” A Short Story by Lisa Sita

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Every time Amanda cried black ink, people thought it was her mascara running. Sometimes a concerned fellow female, in trying to be helpful, would recommend that she try a waterproof variety, since there were so many on the market and were actually quite effective at preventing embarrassing smudges. She always tried to explain after politely thanking these women that she was not wearing any makeup, but they never seemed to believe her. Amanda’s parents first noticed the color of their daughter’s tears when she came slipping and sliding out of the womb at Lenox Hill Hospital one early winter morning. As soon as the cord was cut, little Amanda’s eyes spouted like tiny oil wells that ran and dribbled into the creases of her new baby flesh. The doctor who delivered her and others who were consulted could find no reason for it. Thinking first that the black tears…

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