Sunday, April 29, 2012

Facial Hair, an Ode, by Isaac Brooks

Sing praises, Muse, of man who wears a mane,
who grows a beard magnificent and fair,
and grieve, O Muse, for man whose chin is plain,
who dares to scar his face and shave it bare.
A fuzzy 'stache and sideburns thick with hair
do form the very badge of manliness;
the warrior who wills to whiskers wear
rejoices in his face's shagginess.
Not so the blockhead who with barrenness
betrays a baby's chin, bereft and nude.
The consequence is sickly puniness
and for his senseless shave he's sorely screwed.
I beg all men to grow what beard they can.
A man without a beard is not a man!

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Table for Three, by Ava Yap

Both of you are seated when I enter the room
To the smell of dried roses and smoky perfume
The candlelight flicker sways the dimly lit hall
Making tables for two dance in a masquerade ball
I pull up a seat, the floor groans with despair
I sit down to stilted talk and stiff wooden chairs
Your spine pulled taut like a tamed violin string
Your voice resonates in a shrill, high-pitched din
His body slouched over and his expression grave
His limp hand musters a small, perfunctory wave
I ventured a smile, a strange act of care
You laugh nervously, very aware
That he stays quiet, and so you stare
Hard between “Red Velvet Cake” and “Candied Pear”
At this point dessert is a distant affair
Butter knives dangling, words hang in the air
Sometimes I wish for your eyes to stop darting
To and fro like a frantic animal, panicking
So frightened of peering into the depths of his eyes
Afraid of what would happen if you loosen your strings
And be the bold, buoyant Belle I knew as a friend
Leap out of the wood, and the sticks, and the stares
Make the Hail Mary pass and laugh at the mess
So that I don’t have to be here
So that I could just disappear
But instead here we are; him, you, and me
On Valentine’s Day with a table for three

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Love Notes, by Thalia Patrinos

The rain hit the roof like tiny silver buttons, spilling into ripples all across the yard. We raised our heads and our eyes molded into the crater of a sky, the threads of water shooting straight into us as we tried to count the clouds. We were no longer in some paved backyard in small-town suburbia, we were no longer kids with school in the morning, we were no longer newspaper-reading, traffic-light-obeying, pulse-dropping mindless members of humanity; we were ghosts of ourselves, tied to the earth, dead flesh brought to life.

Sloth, by Thalia Patrinos

I’ll be waiting for when the night-time crowds diminish

Into glittering shadows, after the masqueraders carouse past three

Watch them dance their night and paychecks away

Pining for pandemonium, aching to ingest a riot

I’ll wait for them to be done with their beers and bar sluts


When they all crawl home, all the nighttime crowds

All the women who have done what counts as cheating now

The criminals, the career engineers, all the bipolar bad girls

Everyone between picture-perfect and neglected-nude

When they crawl home I’ll be waiting in their beds

Thursday, April 14, 2011

"The Chronicles of Dooley: The Beginning" by Daniel Samet

Issue 1 - April 2011
Red woke up in his old cot and sleeping bag which he called a bed. It was some time in the morning -- he could tell by the thin streams of light coming in through the cracks between the boards in his shed. He didn’t need a clock -- the small luxuries of the unemployed. But he saw the lights, rubbed his eyes with his scrawny arms, and sat up.

"Together Lie the Dead" by Anita Ram

Issue 1 - April 2011
At the market
Amidst the colors,
Yells of street vendors,
The aroma of spices
The hot, thick air
Lie the dead.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Workshop April 14th: "Captain Ahab and Giant Octopus: A Love Story"

Join us on April 14th at 6pm for a Writing Workshop with Free Pizza. (Click to RSVP on Facebook!)  Yes, that's right - we're having free writing with our pizza workshop.  As a bonus to enjoying some slices of cheesy goodness, you'll be developing realistic characters for your stories and poems, the kinds of characters who will stare back at your readers and say "leave me alone, reader - this is my life you're browsing through."

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