It is a place of dreams. It is a place of rolling hills and slow moving water, a sunken pocket of land where deer roam the open spaces and osprey soar the empty skies. The sky here travels high and wide like a long breath.
Not the holiday destination but Halldór Laxness the snow-wrapped mental angst of Erlendur the misty procession of longboats off Akureyi the past, the past, always present in the now that never seems to get noticed. How many people have passed this storefront window carrying…
They had a routine, and that was something to hold onto. Every morning began the same. She couldn’t remember exactly what the night and the day had been like before they made this child, but she knew they had been less full, less anchored.
She could have made a different choice—Her blood parts, that is, her bone parts, parts
With complicated names, syllables hugging–Packages of sound on the siding of language.
whalesong’s bow displacement weight longing ©2019 by Ron Scully Ron Scully is a professionally retired bookseller.His first two chapbooks,Listening for 13 Blackbirds, and Darlington Braves will be published in the spring 2019. He has given up on being the Yale Younger Poet and Wimbledon,…
Wow! I can’t even express how excited I was to see the many wonderful submissions we received this month. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted! Our winner this month through much thought and consideration is Elizabeth Spencer Spragins’ Tanka. Take a look below and remember to check back in for our next edition of #Wonderfold!
The Woman Downstairs has a calendar tacked to her kitchen wall
Next to the table for one, where she sits by the window
Looks out at the sliver of garden she keeps and
Our winner this month is the haibun “For Lack of Light” written by Kathleen Cain. We received many wonderful submissions and would love to remind you that if you weren’t picked this time, to be on the lookout for the next #Wonderfold! You never know who will be our next winner!
If they stopped and stood perfectly still out on the moor, the quiet was everything. Maybe it was the rise of the hills around them, she thought at first, that meant all sounds from modern life were absent, but even when they walked up atop the hills the quiet was as deep as the ocean. Only the sound of one or two birds broke the silence.