By: Sam Paget You win some; you lose some, as I always say. My father always said it, and now so do I. I’ve said it to my old pal Paul quite a few times. Our wives were friends from…
By: Janet Brown When I was a young girl, there was a little, old, brown house that was situated down from where I lived. This house, which was really a shack, would actually serve as a home for many…
By: Michael Foldes A Pilgrim’s Progress A fish can only feed so many flies.So the earth makes a lowly home for the worm.How complete the visitor who sharesexperience with the stranger.We meditate in crowded rooms as easilyas on the Holy…
By: Harvey Huddleston He’d just hung up with his mom from their facetime call. It had been a good one. She’d said a few times that she couldn’t hear him so he’d spoken louder, a little worried that he might…
By: Carl Papa Palmer Lying up under the caron the floor of my garageI see his little feet arrive,the shadow of his headbending down to ask,“Whattaya want, Dad?” “Hand me that number two Phillipson the workbench over there, son.” I…
By: Alan Ford A moral satirist.Pimps and politicians meetromantics and radicalswith no class distinction. A Rake’s Progresswith bloodline infectedby patriarchal contagiontravel sick in embryo. A Harlot’s Progressportrays seductress as victimsafe-guarding hypocrisyfor respectable women. Marriage A- La- Modesees mercenary couplingswho are…
By: Christian Garduno Morning Frost I’m listening to your cassette and I’m wearing your t-shirtguess you could say I’m in your moodit’s a sure thingyou know I’d love toyes, yes, yessummer calls and the wind tastes like wineletters are sent,…
By: Stephen Faulkner The man stood silently at the podium, looking over the massively gathered congregation of solemn, sodden gray faces before him. He coughed twice to clear his throat and then, in a commanding voice, spoke. *** …
By: David Whippman Ask a random section of the reading public to name a novel by George Orwell, and the overwhelming response will be either Animal Farm or 1984. My personal favourite, though, is the lesser-known Coming Up for Air….
By: A. Elizabeth Herting The sheet snaps crisply in the wind, perfectly white, a blank canvas hanging on a line. A woman, neither young nor particularly old, bends over a large, wicker basket. Her hands are large and red, prematurely…