September 7, 2021

“The Sword of David,” An Excerpt by Charles Lichtman

Editor’s Note: This month we are featuring four novel excerpts—debuting one each Tuesday. Our first is Charles Lichtman’s The Sword of David—a brand new novel, which came out today. In this action-packed thriller, an Israeli commando must search the globe for a long-lost biblical treasure. Hope you enjoy! PART ONE CHAPTER 1 Jerusalem, Present Day “Excuse me, Ms. Klein, I hate to impose, but may I please have your autograph?” asked a middle-aged woman who was holding out a piece of paper and a pen. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. People come up to me all the time thinking I’m the woman who saved the president. I know I look like her, but it’s not me,” replied the younger woman. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the tourist said. “Please forgive me.” “Not a problem,” Debra Klein replied. “It happens…

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August 30, 2021

“T.S. Eliot Homage,” Poetry by Timothy Resau

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

T.S. Eliot Homage (a love poem) Looking, now, at myself, do you think of me, later? When the tropical sun and high waves wash across my thin ankles? White-haired and crazy with spider-like legs, stumbling over small sand dunes— dunes I shall call memories. Should I be calling: — More champagne? Hashish? Incense? Should I be laughing: — Why have you forsaken me O Lord? Looking, then, at myself, and you, seeing you over my Paper-Mache shoulders— brittle, like old bird bones, these once worldly shoulders. Do you think of me? — And the angel of the Lord declared unto Mary that she was to be the Mother of God . . . White-haired and crazed, red bandana and erotic music. Original, native paintings upon my clay walls, so modest— The Mother of…

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August 26, 2021

“Tiny Shredded Pieces,” A Story by Unimke Ushie

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

When my husband told me his mother was visiting London after our wedding in Nigeria when we last saw her, I remembered her not so soft hands tapping my buttocks, touching my breast and every crease around its plumpness, and saying –with a smile that did not wrinkle the skin around her eyes– “nwunye anyi, our wife, I’m just checking if your breasts have enough to support my unborn grandchildren.” I had a bland look on my face when she touched me, that is somehow the same now listening to my husband tell me of her coming to London. And soon I felt something I cannot see or name entering my body, and a damp wetness between my legs. “I’ll finally eat good food” he added. Avoiding my face. “Oh, Chikelu you know cooking is…

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August 23, 2021

“Drawing Mannequin,” Poetry by Julia Franklin

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Drawing Mannequin Mischief in monochrome. Subtle sidekick, sleek home of souls. Cold conjuror, no-face freedom. No life out of reach. The Pasta Hour Late walk, home again. Dark sky above, weak legs beneath. Fifteen-minute era of Waiting, Watching, and Stirring . . . To be rewarded with chewy-salty Victory, butter-cheese-fork Relief, calorie-laden Defiance, primal-unconditional Devotion. The Fire I come not from one house, but three. House Number One was festive, dependable, full of sweet dreams and hypotheticals that I shrugged off. House Number Two was empty, frigid and aloof, stripped to its skeleton, and infected with smoke. House Number Three was recuperating in the balm of springtime and accepting, sheepishly, the cardboard boxes that held its Number One face. …

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August 15, 2021

“Sandy Ajax, We Hardly Knew You,” by James Hanna

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The World Baseball League was born in the sixties in our suburban home in Virginia. My kid brother and I invented it on a sweltering Fourth of July. It was a heroic invention—a vehicle by which two nerdy kids might share the aura of champions. Armed with dice, meticulously drawn charts, and a cardboard baseball diamond, Robbie and I commanded the destinies of twenty baseball teams. We played daily throughout the long hot summers—up to six games a day—and we tweaked team standings and player averages after every game. So absorbed were we in horsehide heroics that we rendered the summers neither long nor hot. Our rosters consisted of four hundred individual players each represented by a 2” by 2” square of cardboard. Batting averages, fielding percentages, slugging potential, and base- running speed were recorded on each of these squares along…

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“The Sword of David,” An Excerpt by Charles Lichtman

“T.S. Eliot Homage,” Poetry by Timothy Resau

“Tiny Shredded Pieces,” A Story by Unimke Ushie

“Drawing Mannequin,” Poetry by Julia Franklin

“Sandy Ajax, We Hardly Knew You,” by James Hanna

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