February 1, 2023

Robert Lunday’s Poetic Moments

Little Man I need what I earn and could use a little more. But the little man in me needs none of it. He squats like an undiscovered arthropod and bottom-feeds on my mutterings. He sits in the position known as Lotus with his knees at forty-five degrees. The supposed virtues are his zodiac and if he’s naked you try not to notice. Fragment Please believe in me and do not doubt what I say. This foaming mouth is Aphrodite but the hands are Hephaestus clawing the air as he falls through the heavens in dismay. You break my heart but I take the pieces and make from each a thousand more. Gravel Gravel was on the menu. It was the thing you weren’t supposed to eat. It was there to make everything else look…

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January 29, 2023

“Man Does Not Live By Words Alone”

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Writing

Poetry by Dana Yost Rainbow Through the window the sun blew into a glass of white wine then refracted into a rainbow upon the skin of lemon-pepper chicken as we talked about Nazi death camps and soldiers killed by sniper fire in Vietnam. A teacher dead in the recent derecho. It was such a peaceful setting for death, wasn’t it? The seven of us around the table and one finally mentioned amnesty for draft-dodgers, and no one went berserk, no one even disagreed. We shook our heads at the insanity of war, at the cruelty of death, and my classmate posted photos on Facebook of herself in hospice, ready to die from cancer. “I’ll be here for the end,” she said from her living room couch, under a blanket. I looked for a rainbow but…

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January 20, 2023

“Paper Dolls” by Rachel Gonzalez

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Writing

A Short Story by Our New Writer in Residence He has a collection of paper dolls and a workshop dedicated to them. It’s a perfectly maintained and organized room filled with tools of his trade. Xacto knives and self-healing mats, tacky spray for stubborn pages, creasing tools for the ideal line. There are no unruly folds or crinkled edges in his workshop. He’s a sentimental man. His favorite paper dolls live in a box on the highest shelf. Sometimes he pulls them out to admire them, or to take inspiration for his newest project. His process is very thorough: First comes the raw material. He can spot the potential of a page from a mile away. Be it the pattern or the texture or the pliability, he knows a good page when he gets his…

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December 15, 2022

“Mother,” Poetry by Bharti Bansal

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Mother Sometimes I look at the regrets of my mother trailing along the corners of her eyes As she wonders about her place in the world too often There is no secret to motherhood, I suppose Just a constant feeling of doing it wrong My father consoles her, calls her beloved A sincere way of reminding her of their own vows Yet when she wakes up at night, feeling the clutches of past on her throat, she simply lets him sleep without saying a single word I believe it is when a relationship turns into partnership as time moves along the edges of their bodies, Sometimes becoming a game, as they team up together, shake hands, pat each other’s back, constantly reminding themselves about the love that blossomed years ago This is how I see…

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December 6, 2022

“Monsters Like Us,” by Sarah Normandie

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The New England mid-October air, sharp and crisp, presented itself in a way that said goodbye to summer while promising winter soon. Detective Thicket trudged his feet through the carpet of red and gold fallen leaves as he breathed in the wet, musty smell of the woods. He couldn’t help but notice that nothing had changed since the last time he was here. The trees stood the way they stood each day before, just some taller and stronger while others stood with lost branches from heavy winds or were dying from disease. The squirrels and the birds went about their business on this day, the same way other squirrels and birds went about their business in 1995. If only the forest could talk, he thought, the stories it would tell. Somewhere in Thicket’s mind he…

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Robert Lunday’s Poetic Moments

“Man Does Not Live By Words Alone”

“Paper Dolls” by Rachel Gonzalez

“Mother,” Poetry by Bharti Bansal

“Monsters Like Us,” by Sarah Normandie

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