Last Bus by Lynn Tudor Deming
“Last Bus” by Lynn Tudor Deming after Emily Dickinson He’s going to take you now. He’s going to slow down, And you guess it’s the last time You’ll ever have to wait, clutching Your jacket. Much closer than seemed Possible–suddenly its dark hulk looms up– Now it’s your bus, like so many you Fidgeted for in the thickening dusk. ____________________ Share your response...
The Vigil by Dipika Guha
“The Vigil” by Dipika Guha CHARACTERS: WOMAN: any age, true of spirit and heart, a warrior AUTHOR’s note: This play was inspired by Maxine Hong Kingston’s A Woman Warrior and Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. WOMAN The picture is finished. The clouds came last. The sea came first. The horizon line was soothingly straight; just like the eye likes it. Then the islands. A little listless. Alone. Present...
At the Whaling Museum, Point Lobos by Ruth Thompson
“At the Whaling Museum, Point Lobos” by Ruth Thompson Let us begin here: outside the one-room whaling museum at Point Lobos, beneath the dark arms of cypresses. White bones of whales lie stacked— chained together so that no one can steal them. No charnal ground, no messy metamorphoses, no vultures. Only the antler shapes of Cypress’s transcendence, and these white bones, past changing. Drybones like stones....
Promise by Barbara Sullivan
“Promise” by Barbara Sullivan Age is the great unseen divider of souls—each from the other and from its own former selves—and at the same time, it’s the one commonality that can be counted on: we have only to wait a while and we understand everyone. Time both speeds up and elongates as one ages—maybe relativity is somehow at work—and I feel close to the people I have loved and lost in a new way as I pass...
The Mirror by Lytton Bell
“The Mirror” by Lytton Bell Look into the mirror and do not flinch You can see Death now rubbing her hands together spotted, wrinkled, bulging with veins engulfing every part of you without judgment You’re a woman with no past always threading her needles on the first try a flurry of diet pills and designer jeans never to be all you might have been You could be lost and not know it a castle with...
Art is my taste for freedom. I drown day and day until I pick up my paintbrush once again. So, somehow, I can tell myself that you’re not stuck in this room and that the canvas is the key.
Nina Salvadoré
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Seabed or ocean floor? What is the difference?
Submit Your Art & Writing to WAVES
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We meet each other in waves of light, waves of vision, waves of sound–a studio beyond boundaries.
Creative sisters, shoulder to shoulder, shore to shore.
This time, there is no setting our art aside. This time, there is no setting our art asunder. This is our time.
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seabed or ocean floor Sep 26, 2025
