Jim Zola is a poet and photographer living in North Carolina.
It is the night,color it in capes of mystery.For not even the starsknow the true intent. It is the night,color it in fear likea woman’s quickenedpace to her car.Eyes averted, keysplaying Hide & Seekin the now oversizedbag. It is the night,color it prejudiced.From side alleys,it peers around thecorner. Waiting forthe next victimof a senselessbeating. It […]
Far beyond town, high atop white cliffs,in three old houses that undulate with the wind,three loners live on the edge of the sea. In the first house: a fat man with four black cats,a rusty typewriter, and the hiss of surf far below.Clicking and clacking an epic no one will read, he sits on his […]
Christopher Woods is a writer and photographer who lives in Chappell Hill, Texas. He has published a novel, THE DREAM PATCH, a prose collection, UNDER A RIVERBED SKY, and a book of stage monologues for actors, HEART SPEAK. His photographs can be seen in his gallery –http://christopherwoods.zenfolio.com/ . His photography prompt book for writers, FROM […]
Daytime ghosts appear most oftenin sun-swept forest where lightand shade flicker into and outof formerly human forms.Sometimes they chill me foolishon hot afternoons when sweatglues my T-shirt to my torsoand half-blinds me sluicing downmy forehead. These humid momentsdrop my guard and expose meto perceptions angled slightlyenough to reveal ghosts flittingfrom tree to tree, nimble insidetheir […]
In our community, we trade virus statistics. I’ll trade you X corpses in this city for Y corpses across this state. Initially, we speak with somberness, but with each day, somberness is superseded by childlike energy. Glee, even. Statistics beat images of shortness of breath or nausea. But for fleeting moments, when loved ones gasp […]
Pippa Scott is a budding new artist from Albuquerque, New Mexico. From the age of two, she has shown incredible artistic talent. Her favorite mediums include sketching, acrylic painting, and digital art. She enjoys watching anime, playing video games, and spending time with her three dogs.
Not for these boys,the words that poets tossabout like seed:eastern hemlock, American chestnut,winterberry and viburnum. There are just nameless trees and weedswhere the street ends deadin the overgrown bank of a stream,and a path that wobblesby the fallen fenceof the abandoned mills,past many a sign warning“Don’t eat the fish.” Yet there’s enough greenand birdsong and […]
Dear Son Scooter, I guess you’re around fifty now. You were five when I left your mother and brothers. I think about you kids every day but as I recall we didn’t get along all that well and so much time has passed and emotion with it as well as my not being able to […]