Fiction Commons^™

Tribute To "Bessie, The Jalopy", Bill Freeland

Manuscripts

"Bessie" was a good old Ford, even if she was of the 1924 vintage, with old-fashioned clincker tires and all the out-of-date accessories that made her comfortable like an old, old shoe.

In Fond Remembrance, Arthur Graham

Manuscripts

The late Rupert St. James, whose violent, tragic death created. heartfelt repercussions throughout the literary world, was born May 1, 1915. Rupert; although he early showed signs of poetic genius, did not come into his own until after the still unsolved disappearance of his father, himself a versifier of ability, in 1929. Graduating from Harvard in '34, Rupert had already written two volumes of poetry, On scholarship funds he did post-graduate work at Oxford, the University of Paris, and the University of Prague, all the while producing in an ever increasing flow the verse that was to characterize him as …

The Second Gull, Mary Margrette Schortemeier, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Legend Of Laughing Jack, Jack Kilgore

Manuscripts

Long before the starched, clean stiffness was gone from their striped denim work aprons, the greenest boys at Herr Grosskopf's wholesale house were familiar with the Legend of Laughing Jack. They heard it from the wrinkled and gnomelike Isenhorst; they heard it from the wrinkled and deaf Shmidt; they heard it from Schneider, Fischer, and Schultz; but the most terrifying accounts were those given by Sam, the colored janitor. Only Jones of the shipping department never talked of it, but then Jones was different.

The Gates Of Jerusalem, Arthur Hollander

Manuscripts

Far away, in the eastern part of the land, by the banks of the Jordan, the Lebanon mountains raise themselves up. On the slopes of the mountains a valley streeches out. There are fields and vineyards, orange groves and forests. In this valley a small village is built. In this small village live simple farmers. Among the farmers lives an old man, ninety years old, and his old wife, eighty-two years old. The old farmer and his wife live in their small, simple tent. The stable in which their white ass stands is built by the tent. By the stable …

Not One Of Them, David Craig

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

The Shadowed Vale, Joan Fuller

Manuscripts

The setting sun was reddening with its last fiery glow the walls of the great castle at Blois where it stood on a rising slope above the skirts of the town. It tipped the carved and traceried windows of the roof and gleamed vermillion on hilts of swords and pour-points and slashed trunk-hose as officers and men-at-arms bustled to and fro in the yard.

But though their faces were long and they bustled nervously, often they stopped in excited knots to whisper and cast curious glances at the windows of the royal suite. For the Dowager Queen lay dying in …

Front Matter

Manuscripts

No abstract provided.

Grampy Hagen's Tale, Steven Schmidt

Manuscripts

"They's some folks what believes in haints," said Grampy Hagen. We, my brother Johnnie and I, were ready for bed, but first we huddled together in front of the fire while Grampy Hagen sat in the big old oak rocking chair. "Yes, sir, some folks believes in haints 'n spooks 'n things. But I weren't one of 'em, no sir! Leastwise, not afore I spent the night in the cabin down in the holler by the Willow Creek wash."

And Not To Yield, Lisa Nowak

Manuscripts

Harry Theobald, formerly called Ulderico Theobaldi, entered the kingdom of God today at 11:02 a.m. having lived his life with all the vigor he possessed. At age 76, he died of leukemia at the Golden Hills Nursing Home, leaving three children and three granddaughters the deed to his warm spirit. Included in his will was a document citing three basic inheritances--faith, hope, and love--to be practiced with positive consideration and serious contemplation in his remembrance.

Doughnuts At Night, Michael Martone

Manuscripts

Open, it says, all night.
the tacky lights talk
flicking around the yawning O
and the open hole of the doughnut.
a planet peers through.

Indian Summer, Noel Wyatt

Manuscripts

As the blood red sun began to sink, a silhouette broke the painted scene. It approached the Apache Reservation roaring like the Father Wind on a winter day. The beast seemed to shout its name above its own voice; across its shiny hood "Lincoln" defied any opponent.

A Fourtwothreelegs Poem, Ed Shacklee

Manuscripts

The first grade teacher greeted
with simplicity the coming of the Day

Untitled, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

He took an old Barlow knife from his pocket and eased into the cane bottom chair, tipping it back on two legs against the low stone fence. Methodically, he drew the gleaming blade across a fragrant block of red and yellow cedar. His gnarled, weathered hands moved deftly. He worked intently for some time, honing the block to a soft roundness and piling thin light curls of cedar around his feet. He peered at his companion from singular eyes set below incredibly unmanageable gray brows.

Of Sap And Tears, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

I sit in the woods
and watch the stream
admiring the trees as they ripple and flow
Waves sweep us in,
lulled into dream-sleep,
carrying us away--
content to settle beneath the gentle caress
certain to end as we began

Battle, Bob Sullivan

Manuscripts

Wet from the cold March rain, the white paint glistens fresh. It is almost as if the barn has been swept by a snowstorm of Elmer's Glue. In contrast to the radiant purity of this barn, the soil of the farm is a tiring alternation of milky gray and soggy brown. Tattered stubs of once-green corn cling to the ground in haggard remnants of narrow rows. Like the littered aftermath of Gettysburg, this land is hallowed--Mother Earth. The farmer sees himself as the victor. He has tamed the cycle with civilized plastic machinery.

Avatar, Mary Harter

Manuscripts

You see her in the supermarket every day. She wears size 14, stretch pants (that advertise plainly why she needs the stretch) and a matching print blouse. She wears them with tennis shoes.

A Child's Viewpoint, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

She beckoned to me, and with much apprehension I entered the door of the shabby unpainted house. Inside, the room was small and dark and almost the entire space was taken up by a big metal-framed bed which stuck out into the middle of the room. A ragged upholstered chair in one corner and a small pot-bellied stove in the other completed the furnishings. The windows, uncurtained, were filthy and one was covered with pieces of a cardboard box where the pane had been broken out.

The Surrender, Diane Hale

Manuscripts

Light revolves
patterning grey age faces
in flashing momentary brilliance--
exposing shadow dreams
of victorious kingdoms
built in bottle caps
the shrapnel of hope's treachery--
to be swept away with
debris of belief

The Hairy Arms Poem Or The Love Song Of J. Alfred Poofrock, Mary Harter

Manuscripts

I have encountered "The Love Song of J. Alfred Poofrock" in three different college English classes taught by three different teachers. They all agree that T. S. Eliot wrote the poem. On everything else they disagree.

Heat Lightning At Night, Michael Martone

Manuscripts

mute mimic,
the splashing spark

The Fine Art Of Ineptitude, Sue Winemiller

Manuscripts

Each of us knows at least one of them. They are perched before easels duplicating the spring's emerald meadows and the autumn's turbulent skies. Clad in leotards, they pirouette and pas de buerre their souls into the "Nutcracker Suite," while their colleagues entrance the audience with skill in the orchestra pit. Not content with a monopoly of the fine arts, their type is found fashioning Christmas angels from empty toilet paper rolls, making doll houses out of old cereal boxes, and whipping together gourmet dinners from cans of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I speak of my personal nemesis, the artist--one …

Definition Of Poetry, Lynn Z. Bloom

Manuscripts

Once
I took a course in aesthetics:
Three hours credit
If I could learn
What a poem was.

Untitled, Carol Thornton

Manuscripts

The ugly, hairless, pink snout was arched skyward, head trembling in weak defiance. Rivulets of creamy, yellow mucous flowed thickly from the unseeing eyes.

An Initiation (There Are No More Somedays...), Mike Swarzman

Manuscripts

"Come on son, today's the day we find the perfect piece of wood, strong, yet easy to carve--come on."

Scott refocused his eyes on his father who stood over his bed.

"Come on son, let's go."

The brown haired blur moved again, and Scott, full of expectation, dressed quickly and hurried to the door.

Front Matter

Manuscripts

Front matter includes: front cover, table of contents, and masthead.

Laurus: After Dark. Fall 2014, Daley Eldorado, Sarah Benal, Emily Burns, Kirsten Clawson, Eric Holt, Sam Greenfield, Sean Stewart, Lori Nevole, Kayla Punt, Alexa Horn, Nicole Mosby, Abie Rohde, Michael Page, Dizzy Roberson, Samuel Lee, Emily Tran, Leonardo Casabella, Scott Sampson, Katie Cooley, Alec Kaus, Hannah Eads, Madeline Cass, Nicholas Wilkinson, Haley Heesacker, Mina Holmes, Evan Pillle

Laurus: Undergraduate Literature Journal of the University of Nebraska–Lincoln

Contents

Dizzy Roberson
“The Devil Is Just Left of the Spleen”...6

Samuel Lee
“Sonnet - To Punk”.....9
“Sonnet, Again”......26
“Sea of Trees”......42

Emily Tran
“Bloody Eyeballs”.....10

Leonardo Casabella
“The Broken Frame”.....11

Scott Sampson
“Packed”.......18

Katie Cooley
“Shades”.......19

Alec Kaus
“Warrant”......20
“Waiting”......25
“When the Night”.....44

Hannah Eads
“Blessed Be!”......21

Madeline Cass
“Scrimshaw”......23

Nicholas Wilkinson
“The Hunt”......27

Haley Heesacker
“The Lonely Pink Flower”.....35

Mina Holmes
“Sugar and Spice”.....36

Evan Pille
“To the Desk of Edgar L. Brandbum”...45

Contributor Bios......59

Editor Bios......62

Volume 10, Issue 2: Full Issue

Manuscripts

Full issue of the March 2014 issue of Manuscripts. Includes work by: Lucy Kaufman, Thomas J. Luck, Mary M. Schortemeier, Verse Forms Class, Jeanne Gass, Jack DeVine, Mildred Reimer, Donald Rider, Donald Morgan, Joe Howitt, Elizabeth Hyatt, Arline Hyde, Stuart Palmer, George Zainey, Peggy O'Donnell, Lester Hunt, Arthur Graham, Rosemary Haviland, Fayetta Hall, and Jane Burrin.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from additional submissions by authors: Betty Lewis, Joseph C. Greenlee, Suzanne Weesner, Katherine Armstrong, and J. Wm. Lynn.

A Nightmare, Jane Burrin

Manuscripts

The lake was unusually calm that particular June day, when my Mother and Father started on their daily fishing trip.

I bade them farewell from the dock, and reluctantly started back to the cottage. Although I did not have the patience for fishing, it seemed that there should be something more exciting to look forward to than a game of solitaire.

Resigning myself to this entertainment, I settled down on the screened porch with my cards and the radio. I played the necessary unsuccessful game, and my luck began to change. I triumphantly placed the last ace on the stack …