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The WallflowerI’m a wallflower blossoming from the clutches of poison ivy.
#Unreal #Haiku #Wallflower #PoisonIvy #Nature #Flowers
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Signs in Windows
In 1920 he came on a boat
from Ireland and found his way through Ellis Island. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Swing That Ape
By Steven Joseph McCrystal
QuailBellMagazine.com
Go ape shit!
Let the funky monkey out to play. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Two Protagonists Emerge from the Writer's Head in a Locked Paradise
By Adreyo Sen
QuailBellMagazine.com
When Adreyo was five, he – and it was he for the most part, was a brave thing. He would be a G.I. Joe and attack his bullies, casting his mother as the damsel. Adreyo was also a brave girl who claimed to be a fairy as she jumped into the pool to meet her father, eager to attract the man lounging nearby.
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An Old Poem Come Back Repossessed, Recouped, Revised
By Tom Sheehan
QuailBellMagazine.com
I am all questions in this mushrooming quiet and darker of night this sound of dead foxes hanging thinly with leaves, the den not returned to the mother hunted while hunting and dogged down this deep of night, this dread act of sleeping while my mind can still wander above the wave of things can extrapolate conjure figment articulate touch, smell, know once again your musk I'd die for right now. O this instant, this eternity, for my nostrils each have memory of fingers and dry pulp beneath my nails is your residue of love I cannot manicure away, ashes of our fire.
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Gossip
Relationships intertwine the boundaries
Middle-aged strangers on a date High school girl twittering over screens The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
What the Gun EatsBy Darren Demaree QuailBellMagazine.com #31
I paint during the day. It’s safer during the day. My hands are cowards. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Water Way
Dr. Marcie’s pool through the ten-foot security gate. A huge, curved teardrop, or half a yin yang, made of gunite and plaster. The clear water shimmers in the California sunlight. Poolside, Shirley the goat chews the cushion of a chaise lounge.
A luxury sedan hums down the street behind me. I grip the iron bars and wait. Unseen birds chirp in the trees; a cool breeze blows. Now I’m up and over, agile as a lynx, but the Tony Llama on my left foot catches the top of the gate. I hang there, midair, long enough to wonder what time Dr. Marcie will be home. I tug at my boot, struggling to dislodge it. Instead, my foot slips out, and I land in a rosemary bush. I limp across the deck to the water. Shirley pauses mid-mastication and stares at me. I reach up to scratch my head at the mystery of it, only to notice my black felt Stetson is missing. Maybe I lost it in the fall? I imagine myself wading into the water and slowly sinking to the bottom, only to realize I’m already there. So I dig a raft out of the shed and slide it into the pool. On the first step, my right boot filling with water, I lie back onto the raft and push myself away from the side toward the deep end. Shirley gives me a tinny bleat. * I once wrote, “Have little thought of self and as few desires as possible.” Have the people forgotten? Did they ever know? Because except for a few Buddhists, they seem to think only of the self and its desires. People are bloated with desire, a many-headed hydra of emptiness and longing. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
As Weak As Water
You say I'm as weak as water.
Anyone who is as weak as water is just as weak as a matter of life and death. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Another Side Of Riley
By John Tavares
QuailBellMagazine.com
In the university library at the long narrow table, Bruno read the headline splashed across the front page of the student newspaper, Police Pursue Black Mercedes at Speeds up to 140 Kilometres Across York U Campus. Once trained to become a journalist at Humber College, he followed current events avidly, even when the quality of journalism was low, in the true mark of a news junkie. Unselfconscious, he read aloud the Capstone report about a police cruiser engaged in a high-speed chase of a black Mercedes Benz driven by a woman across campus. Riley had been a constant companion since early fall at the large table with desk lamps and computer terminals, where the placards indicated light snacks and beverages in spill proof cups were permitted. He finally noticed the young woman leaning against him, glancing over his shoulder at the community newspaper, the article about the speeder in the black Mercedes.
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