March 15, 2020

“The Boggart” and other Poems by Julia Franklin

The Boggart There used to be this boggart in our house. Not a big thing, really; actually quite small. Of course, we didn’t used to see her that way; There was a time when we were the ones that were small. She had a row of teeth for every bit of flesh we bore. She’d bring them out, all neat and sharp and small. One day we stared her down and brought our own teeth out, And the growl that stirred in her throat was small. The night passed without incident. When the sun rose, We found footprints out the door. We thought, “Now who’s small?” I heard she found another house to haunt, Its occupants each Bambi-eyed and small. ** The Truckers It’s a world that…

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March 10, 2020

“Wordsmithing Past the Editor,” CNF* by Philip Gabbard

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Editor’s Note: This post is an excerpt from: THISday-Words for the Vulnerable and the Venerable by Philip Gabbard, a book of essays and *creative nonfiction. Wordsmithing Past The Editor Could you imagine if Mark Twain or Pink Floyd wrote ad copy today? Although, while  sixty-second ad copy wasn’t a “thing” in Twain’s day—he was widely heralded for penning some poignant one-liners back in the late 1800s, like saying that  common sense ain’t so common. But even Twain had his  influencers. Perhaps it was Voltaire who similarly wrote the same line a century and a half earlier. Then in truth, the fact that common sense hasn’t been, well, common has been common since AD 130, when the Roman poet Juvenal first wrote that there was  not a more uncommon thing in the world than common sense. And I can only think that that was something Juvenal  heard…

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March 8, 2020

“Jacob the Lion Hearted,” Poetry by Thomas Piekarski

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Jacob the Lion Hearted He started out trying to climb too high a ladder, fell off, smacked his head, knocked unconscious. But he wouldn’t give up just because the ladder was an obstacle. He wouldn’t give in although he had no grip on any world outside his head. Jacob took advantage of this transcendent state to luxuriate in the expanse of his imagination. He ventured like Alice through fabulous realms clinging to his unique ideals. No one else would ever understand what thoughts were propagated. Nor would he, for memory had fled in a flash. His mind a dream machine, body in suspension, Jacob manufactured fantasies, myths, religions, gave them life, far beyond anything he’d known during this his tenuous tenure on the road of life. ** Andronicus Returns to Earth A smooth landing, the toes…

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March 3, 2020

“I Shipped Myself Out of Folsom,” by Townsend Walker

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Probably ought to start with how I got there. Driving up 395, stopped for coffee in Olancha. Tall, weathered man came into the diner, pulled up a stool like he owned the place. We started chatting—horses, construction, steel work. I’d done it all. Will Thornton had a big ranch out there in the high desert, east of the Sierras. He was looking for help and hired me on. That’s how I met his daughter Holly, not a pretty girl, but with a daddy owning fifteen hundred acres . . . I courted her, but she didn’t take to me much. With Will, I was getting along real well. He liked my work, we chatted about what I’d done, what he’d done, about desert life. One day setting fence posts, he eased into talking about his daughter. Too much a stay-at-home, would never find a man in their town of 192 people. I wasn’t shy about telling him I was sweet on Holly, “be happy to oblige” and he helped me convince her. We got hitched in Reno with Will and Holly’s sister as witnesses. Real soon it started not to…

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March 1, 2020

Milton P. Ehrlich — Poems of Rumination

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

ONCE Following orders on the battlefield, it was kill or be killed my sergeant said, no different than when he taught me to thrust and parry with fixed bayonet. The young soldier wore thick glasses and looked a lot like one of my classmates. Sergeant claimed Gooks don’t belong to the human race. Don’t ever feel sorry for killing an enemy, I can’t forgive myself. I look down at my finger, ready to squeeze the trigger, and hear my mother asking: What has become of you? ** THE MARITAL HAPPINESS QUOTIENT I Uber my way across the country in my Hugh Hefner silk pajamas to study happiness in marriages of all my old friends who are still walking and talking coherently. Computer porn ended a few bonds that had once bloomed like a flower. For those that served breakfast in bed, a lotus blossom was…

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“The Boggart” and other Poems by Julia Franklin

“Wordsmithing Past the Editor,” CNF* by Philip Gabbard

“Jacob the Lion Hearted,” Poetry by Thomas Piekarski

“I Shipped Myself Out of Folsom,” by Townsend Walker

Milton P. Ehrlich — Poems of Rumination

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