A Poem by Randall Rogers

the minds
of madness


in complete

the offal

and where will you/we

be when it all starts


it hasn’t


after the finish

which is nice

for a while

rest. free dream

before not begun again

The dying Field. Renewing


a Shiva wheel

page won’t display



and hallo

to all of you
unformed uniformed


to bust out

of jail.

yeah, where to come

before I guess we gotta go

or do something

no change

is coinless

a coverup
to convince


don’t think

with no head peace.

Cowboy Jake

A Poem by Author unknown

Jake, the rancher, went one day,
To fix a distant fence.
The wind was cold and gusty;
The clouds rolled gray and dense.

As he pounded the last staples in
And gathered his tools to go,
The temperature had fallen;
The wind and snow began to blow

When he finally reached his pickup,
He felt a heavy heart;
From the sound of that ignition,
He knew it wouldn’t start!

So Jake did what most of us would do,
Had we been there
He humbly bowed his balding head
And sent aloft a prayer.

As he turned the key for one last time,
He softly cursed his luck.
They found him three days later,
Frozen stiff in that old truck.

Now Jake had been around in life
And done his share of roaming.
But when he saw Heaven, he was shocked -
It looked just like Wyoming!

Of all the saints in Heaven,
His favorite was St. Peter.
(Now, this line ain’t really needed,
But it helps with rhyme and meter)

So they set and talked a minute or two,
Or maybe it was three.
Nobody was keeping score
–In Heaven time is free.

“I’ve always heard,” Jake said to Pete,
“That God will answer prayer,
But one time when I asked for help,
Well, HE just plain wasn’t there.”

“Does God answer prayers of some
And ignore the prayers of others?
That don’t seem exactly square
–I know all men are brothers.”

“Or does he randomly reply,
Without good rhyme or reason?
Maybe, it’s the time of day,
The weather or the season.”

“Now I ain’t trying to act smart,
It’s just the way I feel.
And I was wondering, could you tell me –
What the heck’s the deal?!”

Peter listened patiently,
And when old Jake was done,
There were smiles of recognition,
And he said, “So, you’re the one!!”

“That day! Your truck; It wouldn’t start,
And you sent your prayer a flying,
You gave us all a real bad time,
With hundreds of us all trying.”

“A thousand angels rushed,
To check the status of your file,
But you know, Jake,
We hadn’t heard from you, in quite a long while.”

“And though all prayers are answered,
And God ain’t got no quota,
He didn’t recognize your voice,
And started a truck in Minnesota!”

Micro Meteorology

A Poem by Richard D. Hartwell

The day heats up slowly,
molecule by molecule hot
air rises towards cumulous.

Cold air slips into the void.

Wind chimes tremble with
the music of the weather witch
casting spells over the garden.

Syncopated rhythms backbeat
the hush of trees, songs of birds,
and decanted exhalations of life.

An Extraordinary Girl

An Excerpt from a Novel by Tracy Stewart

Emerald gasped, fighting her way out of the memory. Her eyes opened. Her heart beat fast in her chest as her hands covered her eyes from the sunlight. She realized she must have fallen asleep in the Audi for a minute. She hoped her mother hadn’t noticed.

It had been one month since her parents’ home in Alessandria, Italy, was destroyed and her father’s colleague, Carter Mendez, was murdered. Her father somehow survived the knife in his chest. She remembered him telling her it wasn’t as bad as it looked and that she must have dreamed half of what happened. She still wasn’t sure if she believed him. She thought it was a blessing that they didn’t all die that day.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder, pulling her out of her memories. Emerald jumped away, startled.

“Emerald, are you okay? Did I scare you?” her mother asked.

“No. I’m fine, Mom. I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.” She shivered and wondered why her parents had picked St. Petersburg, Russia, for their new home. She understood they had to move, but why couldn’t they pick someplace like America, Spain, Greece, or at least someplace warm? She hated the cold.

Emerald’s mother picked up the newspaper that lay on the seat between them. She looked out the tinted window and noticed a tall white-brick building up ahead. A sign in front of the building said, International Academy of St. Petersburg. The Audi stopped, making her stomach twist into knots.

“Everything will be okay, honey. This high school is full of charming people.” Her mother patted Emerald on the back.

“There’s no need to worry. Besides, Tanya will be there to keep you company.”

That was true. Her best friend would be there with her, at least. Hopefully, they had lots of classes together. “Right, just happy thoughts.” Emerald nodded slowly, even though her nerves continued to eat away at her insides. Her mother leaned over and enveloped Emerald in a hug, surprising her. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. It was only high school. Emerald pulled away and quickly grabbed her book bag before her mother embarrassed her even more.

“Do you want me to come with you and show you where the office is so you can get your schedule?” her mother offered.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Emerald said.

“Well, have a great day, sweetheart.”

Their driver, Viktor, opened the door before Emerald could. “Bye, Mom. Thanks, Viktor.” He nodded, then shut the door and walked back to the driver’s side. Emerald waved good-bye to her mother as the Audi drove off, leaving her to her fate.

Emerald forced herself to turn around and face the school. She frowned as two students bumped into her. “Excuse you,” she said, but they ignored her completely and kept walking. She scowled, tempted to chase them down and tell them they didn’t have good manners. She looked toward the entrance, noticing a few cheerleaders in uniform, everyday fashion-snobs, a groupie-wannabe and a couple of jocks. She was heading toward the school entrance when she saw a tall boy in a baseball jacket push a boy wearing glasses against the wall.

“Watch it, geek boy. Nerds don’t get to stand on this side of the steps. If you can’t learn that, I’ll toss you in a trashcan,” the tall boy said.

Emerald watched him grab the frightened boy by the collar and drag him over to a trashcan, lifting him off his feet. Her hands clenched as she made her way over.

The baseball player started to drop the boy in the trashcan when Emerald pulled him back causing the boy to fall on his back. The boy in the glasses plunked down next to him, looking surprised.

Emerald glared down at the stunned jock. She knew she shouldn’t have kicked his feet out from under him, but she hated bullies. “I hope you learn your lesson from this.”

A couple of the other students laughed. “Taken down by a girl, Larry, and I recorded it all,” a boy wearing a fencing jacket said. He had a cellphone aimed at Larry.

Larry sat up and glared at the boy. “You better erase that, Boris, or I’ll hang you on the flagpole.” Boris kept recording, then ran as Larry chased after him.

On My Return

A Poem by John Grey

It’s not what I expected on my return.
My boyhood home hadn’t changed
one slap of paint, one poster on the wall.
Those left behind felt most comfortable
in nothing ever moving on.
It all was where I left it.
That made the love so much easier.

All the hopes, the promise, the beginnings, were intact.
Even ones that ended badly.
Fingermarks, books in shelves,
old letters in drawers, ceramics on mantles,
even the clock that hadn’t worked in years -
those were the bearings of a life.

Back to such normalcy,
I sat at the table with familiar faces
discussing how life ought to be.

Mother said, we can clean now, varnish,
even move furniture around.
I tried but was of no help
because I could imagine no other house but this.