When I feel the telltale tickle in my throat, I want to cry. I thought this was over. All I ask is to make it through fifth-period calculus without causing any incident whatsoever. I’m sitting at my desk in the center of the classroom, surrounded (trapped) on all sides by my fellow classmates, who must surely be watching my every move. This is the worst possible thing that could happen. Instead of tossing and turning from dreams of showing up to class without pants on, I suffer from the absolute nightmare of coughing not once (which is bad enough), but twice during class. I’d rather implode from my un-coughed cough than face the humiliation.
To cough once is embarrassing. To cough twice is social suicide. I will be forever scarred by the traumatic memory of when I coughed for the first time five minutes ago.… ...continue reading
I want to write
———dirty poetry;
——————you heard right.
Words that aren’t gold
———because they’re too busy
——————grinding against the dirt.
I’ve been yearning
———to live
——————beyond the poverty
sticking to my palms.
———I shredded my diary
——————at seventeen,
tried to silence
———the frenzy of youth.
——————I’ve been pulling away
at strands in my verses,
———combing out
——————the glitter.
I want to be honest
———I may have traded
——————God for poetry
wanting / to make / love.
– Claudia Rojas… ...continue reading
R. E Hengsterman is a Pushcart-nominated writer, film photographer, and flawed human who deconstructs the human experience through images and words. He writes under the Carolina blue sky. You can see more of his work here and find him on Twitter at @rehengsterman
In this episode, Editor-in-Chief Jordan Blum speaks with Hengsterman about balancing writing, editing, and photography, wrestling with self-doubt, the impact of modern technology on human behavior, and Citizen Cope, among many other things.
– R.E Hengsterman… ...continue reading
Orville,
what did we just see?
I look at my brother.
He looks at me.
Mirrors of wonder,
much more than a disbelief.
We look back up to the sky
and want more.
This awe feels right.
Despite no wings, this is
humankind’s dream, as if
commanded and given,
as if bestowed from heaven.
And look at us.
So much can happen
when we just believe.
– Joe Bisicchia… ...continue reading
To go back to last week
____and tell my subway self it is ok to make
________eye contact: the eyes of the terrified
beseech. If only I had smiled at her,
____introduced myself (never mind the stutter),
________made that self-deprecating joke
I’ve been saving, then maybe she
____would’ve laughed and caused eyes
________to flit up and dart around, and the
musician next to her could’ve
____added his two cents, and she might’ve
________pointed to his saxophone, and perhaps
he would’ve begun to play, and surely the
____other passengers would’ve stared and chuckled
________and clapped until the hurtling hearse filled with
________music and movement and touch and dance—
I am on the ‘L’ now, departing for downtown, and
____cannot hear the violinist playing against the station walls,
________unnoticed, to the left of the descending stairs.… ...continue reading
Like a love bomb with shrapnel made of satisfaction guarantees, the Siren’s song pops. And, like a customized Pandora’s boombox with the listener, as the artist, genre and track, it blasts a powerful force. Classic translators of Homer’s Odyssey, for centuries, have earned their academic laurels in rendering the blandishment and flattery of the Greek Sirens’ song and the rest of the Odyssey into English verse and prose. The Sirens woo ruthlessly, through the friendly fire that proves to be terminally complimentary to anyone hearing it.
What You May Not Know About the Song of the Sirens
Sirens are everywhere. Their song calls familiar and true, 24-7. On the world wide waves of the Internet, sailors are constantly serenaded by similar seductions, the urge of a sense to “act now” with temptations and come-ons that will never be fully consummated, but play on the strings of desire, directly to each and every listener.… ...continue reading
i told my son you can reach me i am not the weather the same way my father was the weather i am not mystery or storm or the perfect day apology for the storm you can reach me i am willing to be shaken i used to be shaken all of the time you you you son you can reach me i have built a table too small to eat at so that we can sit there and hold no pursuit other than me what do you need
– Darren Demaree… ...continue reading