Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Haiku, Melissa Taggart

Motherhood Haiku
By Melissa Taggart

Life with a toddler
Like a tornado came through
Time to pour a glass

Haiku and 20 Minute Creation, Katy Comber

Breaking Form
Katy Comber

Something’s in the room
waiting to sneak from under
the bed; nestle close

Something’s in the mind
wanting to capture your thoughts:
those tiny fireflies

Something’s closing in
making, now, the light full dark
words turn, abandon

Something is Yourthing
fleeting is time, retreating
Sanity, wandered

Glimpse of awareness
There’s an anchor! Latch on tight!
Fight the Something now

Words return ashamed
Time steadies back in itself
Light flashes truth/sense

Something crumbles now
Back into a seed, waiting
To be replanted

Haiku, Lydia Sudall


Basket woven of many trees;
rocks or clay will also do.
"Hush!" the outside roars.

Monday, June 20, 2016

100 Words or Less, Lydia Sudall

Monday: Late Morning
By Lydia Sudall 

'Ugh, light.  Where am I?  Are the humans gone? Must they leave their yester-meat to ferment in public?'

She stands, stretching a willowy frame first forward, then back.


'What was that?  Oh, me.  Ha.  Just a thing, they'll find it later.'


She slinks over to the bowls on the floor.

'Nope, no one home.'

Scri-skra.  Pitt patt.  Thunk thunk thunk

'What was that?'



There!  Tiny beast!  You shalt not intrude in my kingdom.  Offensive position!  Pounce imminent.

Patter patter

Three, Two….


Humans will be so proud.  Tonight dinner is on me.

100 Words or Less, F. Feldman

by Frederick W Feldman

Subject: Album!!!
Send To: steve2112, malloryplaysguitar, mj420, R1nner247

Hey everyone – here is the track listing we decided on.

Mallory, your solo song is nice, but it doesn’t really fit the album.

1. Break My Heart
2. Laser War
3. Raspberry Blood
4. Days/Weeks
5. Losers
6. Nuclear Family Strike
7. Vivian Girls (Revolt)
8. The Tower
9. With You
10. A Cool Breeze
11. Bombs
(Lyrics on 1, 4-6, 9, 11 by Lisa & 2-3, 7-8, 10 by Mallory)

Let’s schedule a time for the studio. Bring the money next practice.

Also cover art? Any ideas?

~ Lisa

100 Words or Less, Katy Comber

Never Date an English Major
by Katy Comber

Hundred words. Simon balked as he studied the challenge. Could he declare his love in 100 words or less? Simon gnawed on his tongue, a subconscious and seemingly unbreakable focusing habit. As the task ebbed and flowed inside his brain, Simon looked for inspiration. The items before him included broken pencils, cold remnants of his half-eaten breakfast, a picture of his beloved... While staring at the congealing eggs before him, inspiration struck. Suddenly, Simon scribbled the phrase that would capture his heart in six words-- proving to his English major girlfriend that he cared: Lydia, I love you more than bacon.

100 Words or Less, Hannah Frankman

1943 by Hannah Frankman

He left in the pale dawn, without saying goodbye.
The dirt road glittered under the rising sun, covered with thin dew, enough to sparkle but not enough to weigh down the dust.
He walked up the hill. A thin figure in a shift stood in the upstairs window and watched him go, fingers holding his last kiss to her lips, tears burning her eyes.
The farmhand with the mangled fingers stood in the barn doorway and ached to be going, too.
Man walking towards soldier. His feet kicked up the dust.
God, the set of his shoulders was beautiful.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016

The Orlando Series, K. Comber

Another 49
By Katy Comber

A moment of silence as
powerful hands are tied
A moment of silence as
Our elected voice's gagged
A moment of silence
As revolution is bound

A moment...
As grief transforms into indignation
As the impenetrable shield
is a realized fickle house of cards
As war between Love and Greed continues
rendering the most sovereign of men impotent
and amplifying those who dare in
A moment of silence.

"Someday God will ask, 'How did you protect my children?' Silence."

Monday, June 13, 2016

Chaos, F. Feldman

Pool Party
by Frederick W Feldman

She had recently shaved, and the chlorinated sun shone off the smooth skin of her legs. Mary reclined by the pool and enjoyed the crisp, tangy scent of the water.
The sun beat down on her and on the clubhouse. The club was exclusive, with a keycard lock on the picket gate and everything, and there were only a few other people – a family – sharing the pool that day. She pulled her chin to her clavicle and watched the father in his crumpled Hawaiian swim trunks pad by the edge where his young daughter splashed around and floated like a buoy in her overlarge life vest, floating wave by wave away from the mother’s care.
It was dazzlingly bright. The shadow of the clubhouse fell large and geometrically, like the angled edge of a protractor, onto the water. The sun was too bright. Good for a tan, if she remembered not to stay in too long this time, but painful to the eyes. She put on sunglasses and was just about to return to her novel when Verne, in the pool, splashed her with water. It fell on her legs and she started up.
“Watch it. You’ll hit my book,” she chided him.
He looked smug, standing in the pool, with the aftershocks of his prank pulsating against his large muscular trunk. He showed her some teeth – pearly white ones – and shrugged.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She looked down at the pink and azure cover and the sappy title and wrinkled her nose.
“Just a romance novel,” she said.
Verne (or VT, as most people called him) nodded briskly and then fell into a backstroke and paddled away to the other side of the pool, where the little girl and the wife covered their faces from his splashing. That was Verne Terminus: when he did something, it commanded all his focus. That’s what made him so useful, but also disruptive when poolside.
I was no one special – just an average girl from a small town. Ask anyone, and they’d say that I was destined for a normal, boring life doing something unremarkable. Nothing interesting would happen to me – that’s what they would think, and it’s what I thought for most of my life, too. But something happened on that week I went with my family on a picnic out by grandma’s retirement home, that was definitely remarkable and that would end up changing my life forever…
A clattering pulled her out of her book. Over by the white picket gate, a man swiped his guest pass and then slapped over towards her in his flip-flops.
“You made it,” she greeted him. It was J.
“Wouldn’t miss it. It’s a great day.”
The sun made sunballs on his shades as he looked up towards the sky in appreciation.
“VT’s already in the pool,” said Mary. “I was going to read for a little bit, then maybe I’ll hop in.”
“Ok, I’ll go join him.”
“Umm…hold up,” said Mary. “Do you have any gum on you?”
“I think so…” J searched around until he pulled a slightly crinkled but still shiny slip of foil out of his bag. “Why?”
“May I have it? For the cravings,” she said.
“Oh, sure,” he gave her the gum, and she slipped it behind the clasp of her bikini bottom for later. Then she returned to her novel.
J did a cannon ball into the pool right next to VT. J wiped the water from his face and he was struck again by how large VT was. Seeing his shirtless frame towering above only accentuated that fact. VT was a big guy, and seeing him in the pool made J feel small.
J didn’t work closely with VT, but he had come in contact with him before. Both hearsay and his own personal experience told that VT was a force to be reckoned with.
“Let’s race,” said VT.
They raced. They did laps up and down the pool, VT easily outstripping J’s competent but unremarkable swimming. When they stopped, VT looked revved up and J was panting for breath.
“You win,” gasped J.
VT put his fists on his hips in a victory pose. Behind him, J could see the wife looking at VT and looking distressed. Then J’s morning cup of coffee caught up to him.
“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom,” he excused himself to VT, who shrugged stiffly and launched into the backstroke.
J pulled himself out of the pool and walked ungracefully to the fancy-looking clouded glass of the clubhouse doors. The frame was a light oak in a smooth finish. It must look nice inside.
He pulled the handle, and it rattled in defiance. He tried it again, and it was definitely locked.

Chaos and Lyrics, K. Comber

You Are Here
by Katy Comber

Lila took the money and ran. Left the wedding ring on the table and ran. Purple streaks marked a setting sun and freedom as the hairs on Lila’s head lifted up and out the window.

Pink bears declaring True Love swung on the rearview mirror. They danced as Lila cranked up an invitation for a Moondance and it was, indeed, a marvelous night.

Where are you?

Gilly asked the question. Lila, now Lucy, counted the money in her cash drawer. Her mouth moved as she counted and Gilly thought something about Lucy was off. Lucy held up a finger. It said Just a Minute. The other finger pouted, wanting to speak its mind.  

What do you mean?

You seem out of it.

Lucy looked down at her nametag. I am Lucy. I am at work. She looked at the bills in her hand. This is money. Lucy’s eyes scanned the room. I am here. I am at work. This is money. That is Gilly. Those things squinting at me are eyes. That color is hazel. That look is suspicious. I am here. This is work. I am at work. My name is Lila, but I go by Lucy. Stapler. Trash can. Soda machine. Computer. Client.

Welcome. How may I help you?

Lila Lucy blinked. People observed her. Where did I go? The bow in Lila Lucy’s hand trembled. One missed note. That is sheet music. This is a cello. Fingers are on strings. That is the note you missed. There’s the note you play… wait. Now. The people observing did not catch the beat missed. Purple streaks marked a setting sun and freedom as the hairs on LIla’s head lifted up and out the window. Lila took the money and ran. Left the wedding ring on the table and ran. The cello sang along. The notes were right. The emotion was wrong. Purple streaks in the sky. I am here. I am playing. I am here. This is a cello. This is a bow. These are my hands. I am here. Here.

Lucy blinked. A little girl with mischievous blue sparklers where eyes should be and a bridge of freckles on her nose snuggled into Lucy’s lap. This is a book. Pictures. Those are letters. Put them together. This is your daughter. She is your world.

Grandma. Grandma? Grandma! Read to me. This is a book. Pictures. Those are letters. Put them together to make a sound. Purple streaks, setting sun, the hairs on LIla’s head lifted up and out the window, took the money and ran, left the wedding ring on the table and ran, and the cello sang along.