A Story Festival

On a small patch of green beside the library in this close community on the hill, once a year we tell stories in a marquee while the sun blazes, the rain beats and the wind howls.

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Excerpt from WATERSHED

A poem from Jean L. French’s collection — now available in Global Edition. Incanto I call the name of rain a secret name without words. A wisp of cloud grows all day it grows cloud gathers to fullness releases, whispering back to me rain’s name a murmur at first falling farther up the mountain pattering…

Radial Bloom

Our 2018 Mosaic Novel, this book contains a series of prose poems that spins the tale of a woman haunted by the unloosening tendrils of need and the man she braids from them.

The day you got tattooed…

the air was thick, and the sky was locked between white and grey. When you lifted your sleeve, they stared back at me like magic marker on the kitchen wall… those markings that will forever brand my child. The ink on your arm was dark and bright— black, red and green. Your view of the…

My Own Nairobi

“How is it possible to bring order out of memory.”           ~Beryl Markham, West with the Night. In the mud on the bottom of my boots, I spot a flake of gold mixed in. I take a sharp knife and loosen it out staring at it as if it were an entire nugget. I hammer a…

Wonderfold Winner

Our winner this month is “Summertime” written by Fiona M Jones! A big thank you to everyone who participated, it’s always great reading all the pieces that come in.

the sunset…

the sunset unravels its cloak across sky . . . I wait for deepest night to drink my fill of stars ©2018 by Debbie Strange Debbie Strange is an internationally published short form poet, haiga artist and photographer whose creative passions bring her closer to the world and to herself.

43 Years

I was 43 before I saw swans in flight I was born      raised I loved was loved      am loved I carried life in my swollen belly           in my grateful arms I saw my parents face time with grace      and without grace I have painted seashells stood my ground danced terribly fought and won           and lost…

Elegy

Halfway down a plunging hill, out on a point at Sunshine, Dora Shepard’s sparkling house, foursquare, white, the finest kind, looks across the Thorofare. From this house, on clear days, you’d see sails, shoals, lobster boats, then blue-green water, all the way over to Isle au Haut. ©2018, 2013, 1997 by Ron Singer Previously published…

On Mill City Park

A group poem from Winni River Days, Franklin NH “It may be cloudy, but that’s okay. What a perfect, fun, wet day!” ~Con Partridge “It’s all about the company, the scenery, and the snacks!” ~Anonymous River days are the best days, flowing by without a care under unblinking skies. And these days — these Winni…

almond blossom ballet…

almond blossom ballet choreographed by delicate spring breeze ©2018 by Roberta Beach Jacobson Roberta Beach Jacobson is an American writer who spent most of her life in Europe. She tried retiring, but it didn’t work.