February

Sun worshiper by Lisa Nielson

The ocean is all teeth today–devouring the sand, but enraged by its compliance.  Suppler days are dreamy, but we have monsters to tame.

Lisa Nielsen is studiously working on her resolution to write more and clean less.

Below the Belt by Alice G. Otto

Friends parade pocketed portraits of their kids: soccer, choir, scouts. The missing baby teeth are daggers.  Nothing’s taking, nothing’s working.  Your own wallet is barren.

Alice G. Otto lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas with her husband, two voracious beagles, and an extra-toed cat. She is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas.

Go Go Green by Bruce Harris.

She made her own compost, bought an electric car, and heated her home with solar energy.  Everything was sustainable and recyclable, except her nail polish.

Bruce Harris enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.

Three pieces by Gemma Bristow

Berry Burst

They freeze too quickly for astonishment, ripe fruit crashing from the branches into snow.

By morning, all is white except the pulp of six pomegranates.

Palladium

Daylight makes real what she dreamed so long.  Their goddess, their protector, stolen from her dais, and the gates of the city buckling under blows.

Wedding Gown

Nailed into a box of bronze and cedar to hide her disgrace.  Only the waves, as she’s pushed from shore, murmur I will protect you.

Gemma Bristow is a technical writer who tries not to think about software interfaces all the time. Her poetry and prose have appeared in various publications.

Three pieces by Joanna M. Weston

 Temptress

Smoke sifts out through the tent door, a gentle pale drift against deep blue sky. The familiar smell tickles my nostrils and I smile: pot.

Sunshine Sparkle

My skis hurtling down, wind stings my cheeks. A burst of dazzling white, and I’ve fallen, a whirl of poles and skis, blinded by sunshine.

Smoky Canvas

He bought a large red herring, cooked it in butter on his gas stove while texting his girl-friend. The explosion fried his fish and mortgage.

Joanna M. Weston is married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes’, published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBook, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

Two pieces by Zoë Danielle

Ruby Pumps

I wore them because of the slender length they gave my legs, stretching off into nothingness, while the sharp point of the heel anchored me.

Rock Candy

It reminded me of her; all violent edges but translucent in a way that let me see right through. One bite and I tasted blood.

 

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March

Green Glow 84 by Nathaniel Tower

Signs warned me, but the glowing green pool sang Siren song. Burned like ocean water on papercuts. I prefer ocean, but radiant green is me.

Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online lit magazine Bartleby Snopes. His short fiction has appeared in over 100 online and print magazines and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His story “The Oaten Hands” was named one of 190 notable stories by storySouth’s Million Writers Award in 2009. His first novel, A Reason To Kill, was released in July 2011 through MuseItUp Publishing. Visit him at www.bartlebysnopes.com/ntower.htm

 

Birthday Babe by Kim Stump

Balloons deflate beneath pink banners; tears tip her lashes. “Where are they, Mommy?”

 “I don’t know, Sweetie”.

 Ding-dong. We jump, surprised. They’ve come after all.

Kim Stump lives inCharlotte,NC and writes fiction, memoir, and bible studies.

Three pieces by Caroline Coolidge Brown

 Louvre Me, Louvre Me Not

“Does that mean yes?” he asks me. One word can change everything. Whitewash a life submerged in shadows. I give him my Mona Lisa smile.

I’m Not Really A Waitress

Don’t let the grease-stained apron fool you. The Waffle House is not, I repeat, NOT my final destination. ‘Cause, Baby, I’m the next American Idol.

I’m Not Really A Waitress

The eggs congeal and turn cold on your plate as I watch the blood pool on the floor. You won’t call me that ever again.

Caroline Coolidge Brown writes, paints and teaches visual journaling in Charlotte, North Carolina. Bright green toenails make her happy. Check out her artwork at www.CarolineCBrown.com.

 

 

Forget Now by Madeline Mora-Summonte

He sold his mother’s tattered relics at a yard sale. Her favorite ashtray went for fifty cents. His memories weren’t worth much more than that.

Madeline Mora-Summonte (http://MadelineMora-Summonte.blogspot.com) reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms.

Two pieces by Annmarie Lockhart

Gettin’ Miss Piggy With It

red glitter against
green lace on white skin,
the sparkles made me do it,
click the photo, hit send
wait for your reply
and smile

Honey Bun

she could have told him
but he would have
thought her vain
so she let him find out
for himself how sweet
she really was

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to bringing poetry into the every day, and the founder of unbound CONTENT, an independent press for a boundless age. A lifelong resident of BergenCounty NJ, she lives, works, and writes two miles east of the hospital where she was born.

 

 

Electric Blue by Lisa Nielson

Reflecting off the sand like the clash of every sky, and the beach out of place and for once not the center of the universe

Lisa Nielsen is a single mother trying to balance the mundane with the grooviness of writing.

Two pieces by Mary Struble Deery

 

Clear

Wheeled in, he’s inert, gray and without a pulse. Illuminated like a conductor on stage, Doctor Glass raises his paddles and hollers, “charge, clear, go!”   

Cosmo-Not Tonight Honey

The Russian vodka spill is sticky. Lipstick is smeared. Tripping on her dangling scarf she catches herself before stumbling out the door, into the cold.

Mary Struble Deery fancies herself to be an artist. Not a sculptor or painter, but a “Word Arranger.” She’d prefer playing Scrabble with words. Individual letters, even if they’re Z’s and Q’s, worth a whopping 10 points each, don’t satisfy. Mary worked in the media side of advertising, with numbers and dollars, so never had a chance to unleash her creative side. She’s now making up for lost time. If you want to find Mary, put her keyboard coordinates into your GPS. There you’ll find her fingers flying all over.

Three pieces by Lisa Otter

An Affair In Red Square

He met her at Saint Basil’s Cathedral just after he danced his last Troika. His hair gamboled in a kinky tangle, but she never detected.

Lincoln Park After Dark

Magic Slim’s riffs drift through Lilly’s. The blond messenger guzzles another gin and tonic and waits for the bandleader. Lincoln wants him at the zoo.          

O’Hare & Nails Look Great!

Whenever we knew that someone’s dad was flying out, we’d lie on our backs in G.G. Rowell Park making letters with our bodies. HELLO DAD.

Lisa Otter grew up across the street from G.G. Rowell Park in Lincolnwood, IL and now lives in Charlotte, NC where she dabbles in a great many things including rubber stamping, writing and photography. Her dream job?  Master creator of nail polish colors for OPI.  Check out her newest project, a 365 blog with help from her iPhone, at http://365iphonepictures.blogspot.com