• Roots by Shon Dhi

    We are just stewards without the earth we are naked to place value on land is to affront the sacred and make it something to be subjugated and used to put a price on what’s priceless and sell it on the news If radical means root and the true seed is greed. then regulating profits just trims the tops off a weed. For-profit prisons just a representation of a slave bearing system in a more profit nation where a paycheck means payment of the interest on a debt that insurmountable scope creates an un-traversable step up the pyramid hierarchy

  • A Very Talented Amateur Detective by John Carlson

    “Police report a library employee was found dead at the city library this morning,” the radio announcer said. “His death appears to be a homicide. We’ll keep you up-to-date on this story. And now we’ll play you a great oldie from 2000!” Maybe it was a great oldie for the twenty-year-old announcer. I thought it was just a bunch of racket. I turned the radio off. Besides, I was about to have company. I could see Jeff Connors, our police chief, turning into my rain-slicked driveway. Good timing. The coffee pot was almost done brewing, and Chief Connors would be just in time for the first cup. Always the best…

  • Perry and Sparrow/A Love Story by Elisa Peterson

    My father Perry was a very good-looking stuttering man. His stutter was so profound that it would sometimes take a whole minute to get a word out. “Let’s go to the b…b…b…b…b…b, long pause, stuttering of breath…b…b…b…silence (count about 10 seconds) beach!” That stutter didn’t hold him back, though. Women loved him. Even my childhood friends had crushes on him. Perry was a man of the 50s, a breadwinner, a guy handy with tools, a golfer, a drinker, a skier, a smoker. A very handsome man. And charming, despite the stutter, maybe because of it. But for all his personal charisma, there was a disconnected quality about him in his…

  • Running by Nirvan Hope

    The seafront is deserted except for a bedraggled stray dog and an icy wind that whips cold spray across my face. With a hollow boom, waves pound the crumbling seawall, fling white droplets into the air and suck back before the next assault. I run, avoiding pebbles washed along the desolate promenade. I run, not from anything, not to anything. I run because I must. I run on emotions that punch at me like the swell of the tide.  I run to light the fire of transformation, to warm a cold and turbulent inner sea to steam, to burn away the clinging scent of death. I run to uncover hidden…

  • “The Alchemy of Self-Love” by Sumer Cave

    If I am an Alchemist Let me press my palms into the dirt Let me conjure love By burying my toes underneath waxy Rain dropped rose petals That make love to the worms And let me set my ear to the earth And listen as she coos sweetly to the winds Who in time Caresses the mountains as they crumble to dust Creating space for my beating heart On this celestial plane of reality Sumer Cave recently moved to Tacoma Washington from West Virginia and continually seeks out creative opportunities that she feels will nourish her soul.  Cave has always harnessed an affinity and passion for written words, specifically poetry,…

  • “The Carolers” by Elizabeth Beck

    Christmas brings pudding, sweet and shining suet Sugared plums swimming in cream Paper crowns with bawdy jokes and a fullness of familial comfort While Eve ushers the gentle whisper of candles lighting And breathless waiting of children Beneath a thick blanket of low hymns We know the traditional dance Of moon to morning sun Few speak of the darkness before When the Spirit moved over the waters in inky blackness The darkness before creation The celebration of the night before Christmas Eve Who would honor an absence An emptiness, a void – But for the carolers It is the hour of indwelling and the moment of making That composes their…

  • “Let Her Speak” by Rucha Nimbalkar

    Time and again its proven that she is not a witch She is pure let her speak Her work shows that she deserves to be heard she is not a free loader She is divine, she gives birth She brings ideas to life and gives them worth She is crazy Not to be taken easy her strength will make you hazy She is not an object to touch or play She is more than her size, Her color, her shape are just a cover beneath all that lies a lot of caliber She is funny, she is witty she is not born to please everybody even when she is alone,…

  • “One Perfect Christmas Moment” by L. Lisa Lawrence

    Every now and then, something amazing, profoundly hits us out of the blue; more often than not, it comes from a source that we least expect.   I am one of “those people” who prefers to use the words “Happy Holidays” to greet people during the winter holiday season in order to respect and acknowledge the fact that the season is shared by many faiths and traditions. It’s not a “war on Christmas”, it’s merely being inclusive and respectful.   I am not a Christian, but I do celebrate Christmas as a holiday of shared seasonal traditions. I celebrate it as a season of light, hope and ideally, peace on…

  • “Beyond Nisqually” by Carol Sunde

    I scuttle a cedar-spiced path at the Refuge, more than a little wild, scuffling leaves   where crisp breezes hula rose hips and snowberries bead bushes,   imagining plover, goose, and warbler engines fueling migrations south,   as maples unclasp autumn fashions, strip   leaf after leaf to slither and glide down trunk and limbs,   exposing intimations of what the future holds.