Four poems from Amanda Newell (poetry, ’17) appear in Scoundrel Time:
For Adam, my student, in Walter Reed
“Take One!” says the sticky
by the AFG decals,
but I don’t, though I want to,
because—really—
I have no claim to sacrifice,
no stump swinging
. . . continue reading “For Adam, my student, in Walter Reed” and other poems here.
Two poems by Abigail Wender (poetry, ’08) appear in disquieting muses quarterly:
Weligama Mama
O my children, the ant has a boulder in its mouth.
White, pale Weligama ant rushes with a chunk of potato chip
That fell yesterday from fingers or mouths or laps.
It can’t wait to put it into its ant nest.
(. . . to continue reading “Weligama Mama” and “Closure,” click here.)
Two poems by Marcia Pelletiere (poetry, ’93) appear in disquieting muses quarterly:
Prologue
Yes, that boulevard, that
rain-wet road, the truck
that tried to bypass
my red car—yet
skidded at an angle, in,
swallowing half a decade
(. . . to continue reading “Prologue” and “The Alley,” click here.)
Two poems by Tracy Youngblom (fiction, ’03) appear in disquieting muses quarterly:
xix
even when it appears, the truth
can be ignored—one can close
one’s eyes to it, see what
is not there—transform it
into one’s own image: each label
(. . . to continue reading Tracy’s poetry, click here.)
Three sonnets by Robert Thomas (poetry, ’02) appear in disquieting muses quarterly:
Sonnet with Electricity and Glass Doors
I watch you walk out of our house, take off
your clothes, lie on the lawn, look at the stars,
and turn into a harp. Night flows through you,
and a blue music …. I can’t imagine
your sorrow or your rapture. Sprawled beyond
the thick glass doors, you become both ancient
and electric, vibrating in the ebb
. . . to continue reading “Sonnet with Glass Door and Electricity,” as well as two more of Thomas’s sonnets, click here.
Weston Cutter interviews Matt Hart (poetry, ’02) for The Brooklyn Rail:
MATT HART with Weston Cutter
This is now the third time I’ve interviewed Matt Hart for a publication, which seems strange simply because, when I first witnessed him, he sorta scared me. If you’ve seen him, you know: Matt’s engaged and loud at his readings, as interested in polyphony and aural dynamics as he is in transmitting verbal info (if you write, you likely leave his readings wondering why you’re not doing the same as he does, or at least that’s how I feel). [. . . continue reading full interview here.]
For a copy of Radiant Action (H_NGM_N Books, 2016), click here.
For a copy of Radiant Companion (Monster House, 2016), click here.
Two poems by Dilruba Ahmed (poetry, ’09) appear in Western Humanities Review:
To purchase a copy of the Summer ’17 issue, click here.
The opening of Rabbit Moon, a novel-in-progress by Marian Szczepanski (fiction, ’97), appears in Embark:
Rabbit Moon
The French door in the den was wide open, the equivalent of a welcome mat for mosquitoes, which were more prolific than ever this spring. Audrey called the housekeeper’s name as she zigzagged between the sectional and baby grand piano. She nearly tripped over Larry’s Suzuki book, spread-eagled on the carpet behind the ottoman. Transferring it to the piano bench, she tried and failed to recall if he’d practiced his recital piece before they left for school. The morning had been a more frantic scramble than usual: Sarah’s math binder gone AWOL, Larry’s PE uniform still damp in the dryer. Just thinking about it made her forehead sweat—or was it the temperature? Despite the humming AC, the room felt nearly as muggy as the outside. How long had the door been left open? Audrey surveyed the backyard—no Carmen—and shut the door firmly. Then she heard an odd sound behind her. A high-pitched whine, like that of a dog wanting to go outside.
They didn’t have a dog.
Turning, she saw them in the kitchen. One tall, the other much shorter. Ski masks revealed only their eyes. The short one wore baggy denim overalls spattered with green paint. The tall one, in jeans and a plain black sweatshirt, aimed a pistol directly at her. [. . . continue reading here.]
A poem by Mike Puican (poetry, ’09) appears in Triquarterly:
Subtle Is The Lord
In the Realm of the Five Senses what does desire attach to?
The wildness of the heart increases in the dark.
The absence of God only makes it wilder.
We lie in bed wearing bird suits. We sing.
The wildness of the heart increases in the dark.
You say, “Subtle is the Lord; my head is tied to a pole.”
[. . . to continue reading, and for audio of the poem, click here.]
A story from Goldie Goldbloom (fiction, ’11) appears in Ploughshares:
Tandem Ride
Gneshel liked Rabbi Spitz right from the start. He reminded her of a frog. Though he was eight inches shorter than her, had a lazy eye and a metastasizing bald patch, she liked him. Experience had taught her that he was unlikely to reciprocate the feeling. Orange juice and autumn leaves should taste the same, valentines and blood. She thought it was probably her frizzy hair or her missing fingers or her obscene posture that had put people off until now, but she was quietly confident that a day would come when she would be loved.
She didn’t bother with mirrors and suspected that they talked to one another, passing along warnings: “Pull yourself together, honey! Old Ugly-guts is on her way.” [. . . continue reading here.]
Subscribe to the Friends of Writers Forum and receive notifications of new posts by email.