Poetry

by phillip gillis Wherever here is- Floating. Just floating. Trusting yourself. Toes up. Palms up. Calm yourself. Slow your breathing. Don’t tip. Not like the other men (and Rembrandt) in the boat. At first, facing the horizon with eyes to the waves. Ears above the water. Children chirping. Seabirds begging. Ears below the water. A quiet current... and your thoughts. ...

by phillip gillis I. Painting The ephemeral colors dancing on the horizon in a daring ballet of lavenders, not purple, and rust, like metal weathered in many storms, and periwinkle blue, like “mother’s dress,” lost in a mystic confusion even if Bob and Vincent did it better. II. Music The rhythms and lyrics bouncing around- little care for formalities and ...

By LaShaunda Callands Spring 2022

by phillip gillis Years ago, sitting by the phone anticipating a call- Waiting for the clock to roll over and the ball (or acorn) to d r o p Take a moment to buy a new resolution (somewhere between 11:52 and 12:01 and a promise and a wish) but not really buy one… more or less just rent it for ...

By LaShaunda Callands Holidays are always merry for most. Aromatic smells of mahogany, cherry, and wood oak Fill up the lungs of very excited children, Dancing happily around the majestic fireplace. We all can definitely relate to having been A Child of Christmas once. The glowing sconce illuminates A glistening mistletoe. The softened snow outside makes The hunter’s spotted doe ...

By Michael Gray The leaves have come to turning chlorophyll emerald becomes burnt orange and crimson red, an inferno on every tree Soon they will truly be alight smoke furling into the air tendrils rising up before dissipating Accompanying them are sparks, having broken free from the coals they’re now ready for a taste of fresh air As they float ...

by phillip gillis Do you remember the taste of summer? because it goes so fast. It tastes like a dirt path borrowed for the dusty journey on bikes and motorcycles and four wheelers around a tobacco field on the way to a community pool. sometimes during the day- other times at night- because we all knew the spot in the ...

by phillip gillis I walked up to the counter and bought a bit of springtime for three dollars (and a quarter). Earnest money. It was a year ago when spring was spring summer was summery fall was yet to fall. winter before we winter’d. The season in front of us. now behind us. still around us. and in front of ...

Bob Schroeder had submitted this poem to Hyco Lake Magazine way back in 2012. Recently he brought this to our attention with a little note and a few updated pictures: Our father passed away when my brother was 15 and I was 9 years old. I have a few memories of our dad, but the most vivid was of him ...

by phillip gillis she once fall’d up a mountain and the leaves came with her. off the ground fluttering into the air casually drifting up and up and- up lifting themselves effortlessly (or so it seemed) or were they carried? following them, she navigated the rhythms and chirps and cicadas. swirling. breathless. wandering aimlessly or aimlessly wandering.   she fall’d. ...