All posts tagged with love

September 13, 2024

Two Poems by Joe Bisicchia

Posted by Malik White in Featured Posts, Writing

*Featured Image courtesy of Eric Ward on Unsplash* This week, we have some lovely poems by Joe Bisicchia. They may be short, but they pack an emotional punch. Enjoy! Venus de Milo Hold me. Don’t be a stone heart. Be real. That simple. That plain. Hold me. Even if just with your eyes. Canvas My father’s hands were calloused from his plastering tool, his hold on his trowel, his carrying of mortar board before he would be lost in a cloud, lost in a Renoir brush, as weather patterns are wont to do. He always said see art in all the blank space. My father, an immigrant, had labored so many facades, long halls and tall vestibules with plaster of Paris, smoothing over surface of every wall to get me through school. Illiterate, yet, the…

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June 14, 2024

6 Poems by Marissa LaPorte

Posted by Malik White in Writing

*Featured image courtesy of Ian Deng on Unsplash* We have a nice collection of poems this week by Marissa LaPorte. Marissa evokes a lot of emotion in her writing, which we were immediately drawn to. Let’s give her a warm welcome to the community! Smoke and Nostalgia on the Underground City Train The city smog was suffocating Air purifiers blasting noise like static on the underground train Those purifiers didn’t have a chance against the thick city air It swarmed in like hordes of black flies every time the train stopped and dared to open its doors to the harsh conditions of outside Silly us for thinking we would be safe underground Sillier that people still believe it is a long-term fix I stifle the urge to laugh in the face of the absurdity Maybe…

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May 22, 2024

Book Excerpt: “The Last Train to Chicago” by Michael Gray

Posted by Malik White in Writing

*Featured image courtesy of Mado El Khouly on Unsplash* Michael Gray has given us the honor of publishing an excerpt from one of his upcoming pieces. Check it out and tell us what you think in the comments below. I’m just back from the dumpster, the Chicago train’s horn blaring its warning, as Hundley waltzes in with his load on and orders the blue plate special. It’s getting late and we only stay open until ten now because there’s not enough traffic. The blue plate is all we’ve got left, a mishmash of creamed corn or potatoes. Sometimes fries if there’s any in the fryer that haven’t drowned in oil. He’s not picky, Hundley. What drunk is? He stops by to soak up the alcohol with whatever we put in front of him. And of…

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April 16, 2024

Introducing PS Conway, Poetry Writer-in-Residence

Posted by Malik White in Member Writing & Art, Writing

We are excited to announce our third Poet-in-Residence, PS Conway! He is a prolific writer who posts his poems on his website, Facebook, and X (formerly Twitter). Last year, we invited him to submit his poems to The Fictional Café. We enjoyed them so much; we nominated him for a Pushcart Prize. His poetry collection, Echoes Lost in Stars: Poems by PS Conway, was published in March. It is his first solo publication and hit Amazon No.1 Top New Release three times in its first three weeks of release. He was also kind enough to give us a few poems from his book, which you can read down below. Please join us in wishing PS a successful residency! A Note from PS: I am so humbled to become a member of the talented Fictional Café…

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April 15, 2024

National Poetry Month 2024: 5 Poems by Charles Rammelkamp

Posted by Malik White in Member Writing & Art, Writing

We continue this week in NPM with another frequent contributor, Charles Rammelkamp. This collection of Charles’ poems will take you on a narrative journey through the eyes of an interesting and very notable character. Cab Driver Of all the people to almost run over! Anybody else, I’d have shrugged an apology, been on my way back home to Baltimore. I’d come to the intersection of H Street and Jackson Place, maybe took the corner too sharp, veering in toward the curb, but I didn’t hit him, didn’t even come close to running Coolidge over! But then the secret service guy, a different one from the one who grabbed Cal’s arm, jumped onto my running board, startled the hell out of me. “Who are you?” I demanded. “A secret service agent.” He called over to a street cop, had me arrested, charged me with cutting corners, failing to give the right…

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March 13, 2024

“Switch” A Short Story by Yuan Changming

Posted by Malik White in Writing

*Featured image courtesy of Shelby Deeter on Unsplash Love can be many things: intimate, passionate, and also . . . complicated. Read along for Yuan’s take on an interesting and unique love story. Before they joined each other in Zhuhai, Ming often complained to Hua that her love was like a loach in a rice field, full of splashing vitality, but really hard to catch, let alone hold it firmly in his hand. Given the fact that theirs was an unspeakable extramarital relationship, he knew that she had every reason to hide her affection even from herself, but since they began to honeymoon as temporary elopers on October 12, Ming has become increasingly aware that there seems to be an invisible switch that controls her emotional being. “What do you mean, what kind of switch?”…

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June 26, 2023

“No Man’s Ghost,” A Novel by Jason Powell

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Book Reviews, Interviews

The Fire: Is fire alive? Does it possess intent or emotions or is it simply one of the four forces of nature, indifferent to human life? What would a fireman say if you asked this question? We asked Jason Powell, author of No Man’s Ghost, a brand-new, engrossing novel about a rookie New York fireman. See the interview with him following the Chapter 1 excerpt where he answers this question. No Man’s Ghost: This may be the most popular quotation among firefighters: “Let no man’s ghost ever come back and say his training failed him.” The Tale: Charlie Davids, freshly graduated from the New York City Fire Academy, is starting his first day at the firehouse. He’s considered on probation and thus called a “probie” by the other firefighters at Engine 99 and Ladder 88,…

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February 10, 2023

“Café Chimera”

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Writing

A Short Story by Bill Suter Fictional Café may be getting upstaged by the goings-on at Café Chimera, and that’s a good thing. Calvin yawned, barely functional, as the road crew shuffled into the cafe before their morning rounds. He needed a path back to the land of the living, but this muddy cup of coffee wasn’t helping matters. “Too strong?” the server asked. “Chewy, but it will do.” “I’m sorry. I’m new here.” “Yeah,” he forced a smile, “I can tell.” “I could always cast a spell over it,” she suggested. “I’m better at that.” “Beer flavored?” He forced another smile in spite of himself. “Elderberry,” she said brightly. “It’s already in the syrup on your pancakes. I just need to activate it.” She gently waved a hand over his plate and stepped back…

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April 12, 2022

“Night Skies” — Poetry by Gopi Kottoor

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Night Skies And love turned me Into a fish, swimming in your eyes, And I was content, As though your small pools Were more than ocean. And so I swam. How you turned me, just a body, To all of colours, How you blossomed out your heart As a sea flower For its clown fish. And you had me there, Brightening myself for you Over and over, Forgetting the splendour of red sunsets Turning to loss, Eternally in the tossing high seas, Forgetting, That love is but imagination, Put to test for truth In dying night skies. ** Eyes Take away from me The nibbles you made on my flesh. All the whispers you made as we sat by the river bank Making paper boats. And when I came closer, you said, careful Even the leaves Have eyes. We let the sundown Turn to goldfish And sink down to sea. Back in the car It is me All about you All over you And your words Breathing poetry Into my face And…

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February 14, 2021

Laura Carter – Poems of Sensations and Memories

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

I pull away from the bruise. There is no bruise. It’s been said that language itself is a bruise, a collection of things to be feared. There is no bruise. I put off the pain. The pain returns. The body burns, as if in a fire, largely having been heated in winter by the obsolete feeling of the no. There is no no. I pull away from the no. The no, not having been part of the story, can’t really comment on anything. There are no people. There are people. Someone lights the proper way forward, as if in modernity, and I pull away from that. Why go? Someone on the other side of the ocean would pen a marinade and drink it down for dinner. I eat. There is no food. I see. There is no sight. I put away the bruise. Then, all…

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