books, prose, poetry
We are always on highways, driving through cities and towns. Yet, the county is 280 square miles. Within it, 588 miles of coastline, and 20,000 acres of beautiful Florida parks and natural escapes. As summer approaches, and as rising heat threatens to melt us into the asphalt, it can become strenuous to seek the outdoors….
I sat outside the café on a fresh, spring morning in St. Petersburg, Florida. My iced coffee had condensation pooling at the base of its plastic cup. The air was warm, but a breeze brushed my arms and beneath the wispy hair on the nape of my neck. With me was my journal, a pen,…
THERE WILL BE SPRINGBy Marc Yacht Cruel and cold are the winter monthsLiving beings pursue the warmthMany just huddle togetherTo overcome frigid weather. Lakes, ponds, and rivers, ice caked, stillEmpty trees shake, bend, and shiverDry chilled air and shadows prevailRare warm sun may offer relief. Freezing days and nights pass slowlyLife itself does move at…
Spring is approaching slowly and steadily. Here on the Gulf Coast, the seasons may vary little, yet there is a shift noticed in the air when the sun suddenly kisses your skin with a deep warmth. I find that having grown up with the four seasons, I hibernate during the winter months: hiding inside, eating…
We thought we wanted more winter. More cold days. More reasons to stay inside. January and February gave us permission to slow down—to hunker in, warm fire nearby, coffee in hand, creating in slippers without an audience. Quiet months. Necessary months. The kind that let ideas breathe. But those days are behind us now. Spring…
Whether you write short stories, poetry, memoir, young adult, fantasy, or work on your journal, finding a community to settle into as a writer can be difficult. When I first moved to the Tampa Bay area, it took me some time to get accustomed to the local scene. I spent hours attending author events, art…
Malachi Sinlao By Malachi Sinlao Vermilion my self-portrait is an ‘X’ slashed upon the canvas with the most vibrant of reds. the empty space is my body, ever invisible and out of reach, clinging to the cinnabar lines as if she could use them to climb out into the real world. the negative space is…
The Work of Holding On By Janet Blair We are camping in January. Scurrying away from the post-holiday silence of empty bedrooms. Borrowing, for a few nights, a state park lot where we can shrink to essentials and fill our lungs with now. Winged Elms decorate our campsite, their naked limbs stretching and yawning overhead,…
By John C. Carter Farmhouse on a Dirt Road Her ears, hearing him yell her name again as she stands there, half-way between the house and the car. His voice, hurling obscenities, making even the dogs hide. Her hand— not as convinced as his had been— falters in its reach for the gate. The chair…
BLACK BOOTS MARCH Black boots march across the nation Hands held high with straight stiff salute Confusion and fear mark the mood As more black shirted men gather.Did we ever expect them here With steel blue eyes and stern faces Seeking out the flawed and impure Yet, there they are an uncontrolled force.The lawful courts do now permitAn effort to allow…