Creative Writing Commons^™

Two Poems, Anthony A. Lee

On Earth As It Is

The Sermon

(there were two of them, interrupted by a moment of contemplation)

was on the impossibility

of imagining death or anything

after that—only

hotel rooms and penthouse windows,

shoes empty on the floor,

the private pool below the balcony

blue in its shininess,

the lapping of the ocean tide

on the rocky shoreline, its pleasant whisper—

which obviously is not enough.

Creation, Wendy Galgan

On Earth As It Is

There are no stars visible from here.

Just crumbling cornices and pointed brickwork,

and the gray parchment of the midnight sky.

Too much light escapes this city,

too many streetlamps and turn signals,

too many bulbs left burning

to scatter their illumination through steel and glass

and throw a corona between the sky and us.

Lighter Than Air, Nikki Magennis

On Earth As It Is

On April the 20th, 2008, Padre Adelir Antonio de Carli took off from the town of Paranagua in a chair attached to a thousand helium balloons. The lower half of his body was found in the Atlantic two months later.

Benision Before Your Venison, My Dear, Gordon Mcdermott

On Earth As It Is

Quello infinito e ineffabil bene

What continues from that leastless

yeasty body, that sunny-

science in the bleb of the ‘that’,

no, —the that—

which is directed, like light, to a loved body

inductivly, indelably, and reductivly

rendered to be that

which had once meant who

as in ‘Our Father which

art in Heaven’

—which body was bread

The Prayers Of Saint John Of The Cross, Adrian Sobol

On Earth As It Is

Saint John of the Cross went to God to weep. His hands, he noticed, had aged. God told John, Age is but a signpost, a ticket on the light rail to the Kingdom of Me. It was easy for God to say, the Ageless, the Endless, the Unbound. John went to Saint Teresa for her succor and her wine, which she fermented from the blackberries growing in her garden. Soon, they were drunk and haughty. He sang a blues tune and Teresa accompanied. They recounted stories of Christmases together, of their fathers, who would argue incessantly. Fistfights were a …

You're Asleep, Stephen Mead

On Earth As It Is

I think

On automatic pilot

In a commuter plane.

Flying at night is the most peaceful thing.

These lights are our own Tivoli,

A cathedral of sky. Going so deep

While floating as if through glass

As it forms, is to apprehend

How significant smallness can be,

Meaning us in this vast cavern,

Meaning those spires,

Those good window faces—Look—down there in the dark.

Guru, Amy Minton

On Earth As It Is

It has come to my attention through the wisdom of Guru Jaua Opi that directly behind my navel exists a terrifying labyrinth of decaying gas pipes, one of which is leaking a weak blue flame.

The Guru says, This is your life force. Or I think he said that. His accent is very heavy and the screeching war planes overhead mute all sound for a minute and a half, but he keeps talking. It holds the fire, I think he says. He pounds his own navel. What does your flame look like?

Three Poems, Victoria Bosch Murray

On Earth As It Is

The doctor asks where it hurts.

With the tip of a borrowed pen you trace the absent rib,

that Biblical scar, tickle the edge

of the raised ridge, a vacant dune between

land and sea just below your left breast—

like asking where pleasure starts,

where whiskey settles, when you first knew

his hand in your heart.

Prayer, Jake Ricafrente

On Earth As It Is

Our state—of books, condition, the body politic—

Is disrepaired, or worse, and wanting light to spill

Past veils, the banks of secrecy (chadors, Swiss laws,

And airy fabrication: all the latent bric-

A-brac of want), I probe the minor predicated clause,

Some ancient honey fungus, a continental shelf

For aims, designs. The world is tired of itself.

Poems, Alicia Jo Rabins

On Earth As It Is

DEAR LORD

I’m embarrassed by my love for You

and by the ugly cries

that escape me at night Worry birds

circling overhead, looking for You.

Summer's almost over, but

the tree’s single bud

has not opened.

Acts Of Reparation To The Virgin Mary, Brian Oliu

On Earth As It Is

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Of course it would be to you—you, dark-haired, you, an image of you on the forearm of a girl that I loved for a second or three, some time between the nights by the ice counting rotations and the time the girl called me from the house of a woman she met while jailed. She would talk to higher men in exchange for a sheet to pull over her arms, over her shoulders for a few nights. Of course we did not count the rotations. Of course she ignored you on her arm despite my constant …

Serve And Volley, Micah Riecker

On Earth As It Is

It’s Sunday and You’re inundated but I’m not asking for anything except a few moments of your time. Your eyes, Lord, and an ear, if I may.

December 17, 1977, Mattox Roesch

On Earth As It Is

Lord, the storm woke me tonight, at least, that’s what I remember.

The Santa Who Laughs, Chantel Tattoli

On Earth As It Is

There are faces of toast bearing your visage on Ebay. MARY IS MY HOMEGIRL tee shirts. A flash drive in your image Mary marketed for its capacity to keep 512 MB of data en womb: “Oh Maria, keep my data safe” engraved on your halo and your LED heart red-blinking while data transfers over. But you are too much a saint to mind it. Or maybe you’ve learned to take cruel jokes. That?

Center Of The Universe, Joe Sullivan

On Earth As It Is

Raining this morning, and

she’s sick again, lying

next to you, as a

mini-you. I’m putting

my clothes on in the

dark again, about to

leave, about to wonder

how your day will evolve.

Practice, Ray Vukcevich

On Earth As It Is

Meditation is hard. You try, you fail. There is that straight spine business, and the folding of the legs, and the breathing -- in and out, in and out, and the way words just keep poking their noses into your mental tent, dragging your attention away from the movement of air through one nostril or the other, sometimes both, all the aches and pains to ignore or embrace. Yes, it's a struggle, but the rewards are great -- the control of time itself, the wonderful realization that all the moments of your existence don't necessarily occur in any particular order. …

Blazing The Real: Writing By Indiana Children, Susan C. Adamson, Julie Patterson

Anthologies

I got my first camera when I was in third grade—a Brownie Hawkeye flash model with a snazzy little camera case. The instruction manual provided six simple steps for taking successful pictures.

Hold the camera steady, supporting it underneath. Then, with the sun behind your back or over your shoulder, locate the subject in the finder. At the instant of exposure, hold your breath and press the shutter release with a gentle squeezing action (Brownie Hawkeye Instruction Manual).

The camera came with two rolls of film, each with16 frames. I eagerly used them up and sent the exposed film off …

2011 Jim Wayne Miller Contest Winners, Creative Writing Committee

Mary Ellen and Jim Wayne Miller Celebration of Writing

No abstract provided.

Zephyrus, Western Kentucky University

Student Creative Writing

The fine arts magazine of Western Kentucky University at Bowling Green.

The Ocean Rive, Medbh Mcguckian

Birmingham Poetry Review

p. 50

Prairie, Sidney Wade

Birmingham Poetry Review

pp. 79-81

Persistence: "My Grandmother's Eyes" And Other Memories, Christine Fede Williams

Theses, Dissertations and Capstones

Persistence: “My Grandmother’s Eyes” and Other Memories is a collection of five essays based on the author’s life. “My Grandmother’s Eyes” depicts the difficult, but loving, communication between the author and her grandmother, who speaks Italian as a first language. “Christmas: A Journey” compares and contrasts the celebration of Christmas in the author’s Italian-American family and her celebration of Christmas as an adult. “Room in My Heart” describes the events leading up to a decision to adopt a child. “Renaming Oriental Avenue” follows three threads: the author’s relationship to the Monopoly game; the author’s study of the Japanese language and …

Hard Work, Jamie Rogers

The Oval

No abstract provided.

The Red Barn, Ella Pfalzgraff

The Oval

No abstract provided.

False Truths, Loren M. Deron

The Mercury

No abstract provided.

Bible Bolt, Kathleen M. Flynn

The Mercury

No abstract provided.

Trapped In A Passing Storm, Chandra R. Kirkland

The Mercury

No abstract provided.

Cover, Sponsors, Subscription Information, Letter From The Editor, Staff List, And Table Of Contents

The Oval

No abstract provided.

Strawberry Reservoir, Claire Mikeson

The Oval

No abstract provided.

Ophus Bloom, Matt Hassler

The Oval

No abstract provided.