• Two Skinny Poems by Tyrean Martinson

    Shift After eight attempts, the poem begins toShiftWeight.WordsConsideredShiftPlaces,Refract,Distort.ShiftTo the poem begins after eight attempts.   Apertures of Thought Refraction bends light and thought asitpassesthroughanglesitrevealscolorspectrumitbends refraction and light as thought. * * * * * * * * Learn more about the “skinny poetry” form in The Skinny Poetry Journal* * * * * * * * Tyrean Martinson is a word hunter. She forages for words both sweet and tart in the South Sound, usually in the outskirts of Gig Harbor. Normally, she writes in the weird worlds of fantasy and science fiction, but she likes trying new poetry forms for fun and frustration. An old-school blogger, she can be…

  • CC Reads: October Thrills

    SO. WHAT ARE YOU READING? Reccs from the CC Community & Staff Here’s what some of our board, our featured writers and readers, and generally wonderful humans in attendance at the 8th annual Creative Colloquy Crawl had to offer for Good Spooky October Reads. Enjoy! PSSST: Here’s your reminder to find or order these books at your favorite independent bookstore whenever possible. Something is Killing the Children by James Tynion IV and Werther Dell’Edera ~From Cameron, CC author & self-proclaimed Public Library Nerd. “Awesome, scary graphic novel with a kickass protagonist.” My Best Friends’ Exorcism and The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix~From Beth, Halloween-hearted CC editor.…

  • In the Bellows by Mariesa Bus

    Foggy-breathed and hand in hand with you, I am aware that as we watch over our sleepy city like a set of mossy gargoyles the trains below are not bustling, but laboring in the slow and judicious way of sheep through the slaughter chute, old women in museums, the trauma in our bloodlines. You are silent and near me, a hermit returned from the mountain whose thoughts I savor like honey at the bottom of a tea cup. Your deep voice is a beginning: the pinball sprung and rolling, and it is an end: drunken ghosts in an old saloon, shot down, reliving their quarrels unceasingly. In the middle, we…

  • Pauly Peacock (excerpt) by Alice Kinerk

    This is the story of an orphaned peacock in Washington State. He did not know about his parents and their tragic encounter with a coyote, their dreams for him, the traditional peafowl lullabies, the bedtime stories of great peacock adventurers. And he did not know anything about the world outside the little hobby farm where he lived. But still, Pauly had a lightness in his bones, a happiness in his heart. Although he couldn’t have put a feather on how he knew, Pauly knew that he was destined for great things. Chapter 1: Something Other Birds Can’t Do Pauly Peacock was born on a hobby farm on the dim and…

  • The Rat House by Mian Bond Carvin

    Gypsy moths crept through my window as I dreamed. The only draw being the pixie night light at the foot of my bed, given to me by some woman I no longer know. I recall chubby arms lifting me up and holding me with tenderness. There was a sweet, powdery smell to her soft, crêpe-like skin. She may have been a babysitter or, perhaps, someone more to my young life. There were others like her, back when mom worked at the A&P, ringing up and bagging groceries for the local mill families. I hated when she left me. I would often run down the road after her, the Ford Falcon…

  • The Banquet of the Holy Spirit by Seattle Poet (anonymous)

    The stars have sputtered into dust –Frail points of light,In droves devouredBy a swirling mass of black.Orion’s arrows flit no more,And the darkness strips the bear of his hide –The hand of God has swept the skies of all their light,And by his hand, the Sun and constellations die. Yet the blood moon shines in all its garish red –Though no sun remains to be eclipsed.The night has disemboweled the light of day,And its ravenous visage be drenched crimsonIn the viscera of its slaughter –Gaze you now upon the gore-stained face of God,Peering down with a penetrating stare,Upon frozen earth and flaming seas,From a blackened, stellar veilOf damned, digested souls.…

  • Polar Route by Kael Moffat

      Beneath silvered scraps of cloud, the sprinkled towns of north Quebec and Newfoundland huddle like embers of a banked fire whose clicks and pops are swallowed by distance and the whine of brawny engines.   I press my fingers against the inner pane and feel the ghost of sub-zero air just inches away and wonder about prayers rising into the night, evaporating from shards of glass and eviction notices or springing like flowers from permafrost. I close my eyes as if I could hear them all.     Vladimír, who sits to my right, told me as we cruised above the Arctic that he speaks Czech, Hungarian, English, German,…

  • Leda and The Swan Hat by Kat Ogden

    “Oh, bother.” A sharp, cold wind knocked into Leda as she stepped outside the library. Her mood, which had been quite reasonable, shriveled to two cranky lines between her brows. The promising spring day had disintegrated into a leftover piece of February. Wind gusted up and down Sixth Avenue, blowing garbage down the street like tumbleweed. “Ouch,” Jane yelped. She’d come out right behind Leda, and the door hit her. “Why’d you stop like that?” “Look at this,” Leda gestured dramatically, waving her hand. “What a mess. I’ll have to go home and change.” Jane stared dutifully in the direction of Leda’s flapping hand. “I don’t see anything but a…

  • New Family by Paul Barach

    Charlie’s parents couldn’t see DeeDee and neither could Charlie, but he was Charlie’s best friend because DeeDee loved to play.

  • “Any of 100 Days, 2014” by James Stuart

    Every morning has become the same. You oversleep by thirty-six minutes. It is a lazy habit – one that has been reinforced by oddly-timed snooze cycles and a general lack of consequences. With each trill of your phone, nine more minutes slip away.