Government Controlled, Love, Marriage, Body by Karen Henninger
Jul23

Government Controlled, Love, Marriage, Body by Karen Henninger

  “Government Controlled, Love, Marriage, Body” by Karen Henninger     What does my writing/art mean to me? Art, no matter the form it takes, is a way of life. It is a level of proficiency that result frim refined practice. It is my freedom and peace. It is the place I can be when the social pressures are monsterous. It is a path out of an enslaved existence.   ____________________ Share your response...

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Calling by Laura Rockhold
Jul23

Calling by Laura Rockhold

  “Calling” by Laura Rockhold   the white pine easel set to my child-sized height the paper’s grain, rough edges fastened by wood clothespins a well-worn pearl snap work shirt draped on backwards as a smock sleeves rolled thick at the wrist the smooth tip of the paintbrush belonging, becoming in my hand every stroke a fingerprint the gentle morning sun radiant and still within me   ____________________ Share...

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Blue Moon and Bright Mars by Sandy Coomer
Jul18

Blue Moon and Bright Mars by Sandy Coomer

  “Blue Moon and Bright Mars” by Sandy Coomer   Now that I have you back, even your early morning footsteps seem blessed, and eggs scrambling in the skillet, the aroma of relief. I watch you from the doorway, your clothes hanging on your body, your hollow face busy in thought, until your eyes lift and burn me with light. We learned how to say love without words when the hospital nights sank their teeth in and the...

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Company by Muriel Nelson
Jul18

Company by Muriel Nelson

  “Company” by Muriel Nelson                        . . . from what could we weave the boundary                      Between within and without, light and abyss,...

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Dogs and Men in Bed by Marcia Meier
Jul18

Dogs and Men in Bed by Marcia Meier

  “Dogs and Men in Bed” by Marcia Meier   in the early morning silence Aussie’s stub tail moves rapid-fire angles her body scrambles to get onto the bed our bodies a nest for her wiggling legs and paws head bobbing as you croon “relax”… my chest fills I look out the bedroom window, see the long-needled pine feel the shelter of this moment remember the lie once told “You ain’t nobody”  ...

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