April 29, 2020

“A Very Vulnerable Place,” by Alexander Kemp

“You’re neither in Heaven nor Hell.” “Is this Purgatory?” The Old Man sighed. “Some call it that.” I looked around the modest cottage. The only furniture present was a wooden cross on the wall. Heat arose from the fireplace. The windows had thick black bars. “Have I been here before?” I asked. The Old Man pointed to the brown door. “Put your ear to it and listen.” Rushing over to the door, the knob vanished as I reached for it. I put my ear to the wood. No sound. “Close your eyes,” The Old Man instructed. * My elderly father pounded the table. “His eyes twitched. They opened. I’m serious, doctor.” “This has to be God bringing him back,” my frantic mother explained. Dr. North held his hands up. He said, “Eyes twitch. This happens…

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April 26, 2020

“Carson McCullers,” Poetry by Abigail George

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Carson McCullers I will always love music, she said to me. Turned her face away and became a sad ghost like all the people that I have loved in my life. The sad ghost, dead snakes, the religious, the ordered hide mischief in plain sight. The geranium has a tongue and the sky appears to be falling. The moon walks wider now. It curls up. The red-haired sun does not know how to travel lightly in summer. She swoons. She will fall at your feet if you remove articles of your clothing. I travel light in these heavy years. Waving earlier to the good women who pass me by. With their white teeth and their sweet breath. Bread to the soul. And the wind is sunburnt from the form and shape of the river, to the…

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April 23, 2020

“Of Dark Energy,” A Short Story by G. D. McFetridge

Posted by Jack B. Rochester in Writing

Something about the old man seemed unpredictable—motives hidden behind the vacuous glimmer in his eyes, the way he stroked his long gray beard, his thunderous laugh—and he had told the same story for years. His only son, Lukas, when he was a senior in high school had survived a car accident that killed three people. The other driver was drunk, and he and his wife died instantly. Her nephew died two days later. But young Luke walked away with cuts and a few fractured ribs. The old man always said, “My boy was born just plain lucky.” Many years later after his father died of lymphoma, Luke thought it prudent to get a thorough medical examination, and everything seemed fine until the doctor telephoned to discuss the lab reports. He didn’t go into specifics but…

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April 16, 2020

“Mythomane’s Truth,” Poetry by Sanjeev Sethi

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Mythomane’s Truth If we could retrofit ourselves? I would not be me nor you, you. Imagine me without infirmities. I would no longer be po-faced, pudgy and potbellied. My eyes wouldn’t swim sans Adam’s ale. If any of this gladdens your gut: I reckon, you aren’t for me. ** Flux From entanglements of existence I’m in firmament of my own. In roll-call of needs anamnesis mitigates. Past is polished with coats of one’s inner complexion. Peeps are like diaries different page different piece: same smell. ** Vision When you unself from a situation or skein: you deliver lavish dividends for yourself. Opportune distancing mends the ache: of the eventualities of our exploits. Propinquity bedims the perspective: leaving us to lust after our parakeet or pelt. *** Sanjeev Sethi is published in over 25 countries. He has more than 1200 poems printed or posted…

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April 14, 2020

“Vogel,” A Novel Excerpt by David Lincoln

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944 AMIENS, FRANCE STANDARTENFUHRER HANS VOGEL entered cell 51. His black uniform was spotless and sat on his shoulders the way it would a man comfortable with physical exertion. The SS insignia on his collar faintly reflected the light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the only illumination in the cell, which reeked of urine and the familiar coppery scent of blood. The naked prisoner sat in a steel chair, straddling the drain in the middle of the room. His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, his ankles held fast to its legs. Leather straps held his chest rigid. One eye was swollen and purple. His lips were shredded, and his body was peppered with bruises. A sergeant wearing a Wehrmacht uniform was standing behind…

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“A Very Vulnerable Place,” by Alexander Kemp

“Carson McCullers,” Poetry by Abigail George

“Of Dark Energy,” A Short Story by G. D. McFetridge

“Mythomane’s Truth,” Poetry by Sanjeev Sethi

“Vogel,” A Novel Excerpt by David Lincoln

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