Authors

HaasC.jpg
Story of the Week

I looked up from the cave floor to see a guy pointing a handgun at us.

Story of the Week

I had never thought of bed before as anything but an innocent place.

Fiction

Jennifer Haigh

HakenNate258.jpg
Story of the Week

Emil was busy applying his anger therapy, and it was working.

Fall Contest Winners

I became a realist the moment they tied a brick to my balls.

Poetry

I know about sex. It’s not a cardinal flying into the wrong window.

Poem of the Week

I ought to haul out this junk I called winter and lose it somewhere.

Poem of the Week

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very Heaven!

Poetry

My love swims you, your shoulders like hard sails under the green curls.

One-Act Plays

We enjoyed the infidelity. A great deal more than they seemed to.

Classics

American poetry is afflicted by modesty of ambition.

Narrative Outloud

Let us stifle under mud and affirm it is fitting and delicious to lose everything.

Nonfiction

Once she said, “Dying is nothing, but . . . the separation!

Nonfiction

The sloshed grownups had little to say to me. I loved it that I was alien.

Nonfiction

Donald Hall

Interviews

I didn’t know I would be any good. But I knew I wanted to be a poet.

Interviews - Audio/Video

Poets need to be
in constant touch with the extremes of feeling.

Narrative Outloud

I don’t know if I’ve written anything without changing the details.

Story of the Week

Like an idiot, I was flattered at first to get honorary degrees.

Narrative Outloud

The Poet Laureate reads three poems in his New Hampshire home.

Story of the Week

For Henry Moore there is not only the best day but the worst.

Narrative Outloud

All day we lay on the bed, my hand stroking the deep gold of your thighs.

Nonfiction

At nineteen you were six-foot-two. At ninety-one you will be two-foot-six.

Story of the Week

Of the sixteen elephants, one—a lady—completely took my heart.

First & Second Looks
Story of the Week

As soon as I heard his voice, I felt as if a wind had swept through my head.

iPoems

Those under us are not dead. They are dancers. We are the music.

Poetry

In hushed awe they talk of things to come, a golden time of flowering.

Story of the Week

Son, do you know of shame? Then you must know that I cannot feel it.

Story of the Week

I was getting a little fogged, but I recognized irony when I heard it.

Fiction

Sister Barbara folded her arms like a forbearing husband.

Fiction

She confessed to Judd that she saw other men. She liked a good time.

Fiction

He could not help but take her as his wife. She was a scandal.

Fiction

The Kid came back from the post trader’s store with a six-shooter.

Poetry

The body passing through its own fires, the hard escape of it all.

Readers' Narratives

I was thankful, once again, that I was flying a fighter with two engines.

First & Second Looks

“One of the most objectionable books in any language whatsoever.”

Classics

A grin of bitterness swept thereby like an ominous bird a-wing.

Poetry

Even as a child, I was skeptical—testing God when He wasn’t looking.

Poetry

Judith Harris

Poetry

My mother stands at the doorway, her broad face turned to the earth.

Poem of the Week

They’re still there since they never grew old. The story is never finished.

Poetry

Arriving on earth’s paradise, wearing only light for their bodies.

Narrative “Tell Me A Story” High School Contest

Women should hate it when people whistle at their backs as they walk past.

Poetry

These natives have the smiles we haven’t seen since we were children.

Poem of the Week

…a classmate dropped dead, his heart was attacked at thirty-three.

Poetry

The pen is mightier than the sword in the fretwork of a poet’s language.

Poetry

All my life I have noted that my thinking was atavistic, totemic.

Poem of the Week

Life has never been in remission or rehabilitation. Life doesn’t sing.

Poem of the Week

Rumi advised me to keep my spirit up in the branches of a tree.

Poetry

The urge to be a tiny bird upon a tiny limb, maybe a bridled titmouse.

Poetry

I lost my medicine bag from back when I believed in magic.

Poetry

I have been enshrouded for months by the weak winter sun.

Poetry

I have studied and become intimate with the speed of darkness.

Poetry

This so far is a haunting, the bleeding heart we used to hear about.

Poem of the Week

I was nineteen and mentally infirm when I saw the prophet Isaiah.

Poem of the Week

I am tamping down the earth with the flat side of a blade I am burying you

Story of the Week

The pictures were taken in the woods, naked from the waist down.

Hartman.jpg
Nonfiction

Neither blood nor belonging accounted for my presence in Ghana.

Fiction

We are like a village here, separated from the rest of the world.

Fiction

The child is too perfect to be human; too perfect, truthfully, to exist.

Story of the Week

If it were me, kid, I’d swallow. You bet I would. But first I’d run like hell.

Story of the Week

Welcome, the place seemed to say, let’s screw with you a little more.

Story of the Week

You can’t ask her not to fall in love when she does it on a daily basis.

Story of the Week

Not every fate was alike. Not everyone ended up paired off in love.

Narrative 10

Art doesn’t conform to a capitalist’s ratio of productivity to time.

Hauge258.jpg
Poem of the Week

You’ve gathered more knowledge than you’d need for nine lives.

Poem of the Week

You’re supposed to hit is the bull’s-eye, that black spot, precise spot.

Fall Contest Winners

I commute to war five days a week in a station wagon the color of an egg.

Winter Contest Winners

You think I couldn’t write it because I look like a mechanic, I said.

WendallH_AuthorPicB.jpg
Poetry

Wicked fictions wrap a young tongue’s sweet-tipped fibs into fact.

Story of the Week

Of late a graduate student named Cassius has joined our ranks.

nhawthorne.jpg
Story of the Week

“I have always had a gift of feeling what is in other people’s hearts.”

Hedin258.jpg
Poetry

Robert Hedin

Poetry

Everything hung in perfect balance. Light and dark, heaven and hell.

iPoems

In the garden this morning, I thought for a moment I saw T’ao Ch’ien.

iPoems

And both of them standing there in late afternoon light, looking back.

iPoems

In the morning light, I could hear Bashō hard at work.

Poem of the Week

Blame the juncos outside. Sopranos in one tree, altos in another.

Poem of the Week

Subtract for the cigarettes, the bourbon, the sleepless nights.

First & Second Looks

Within two weeks, his parents found out and forbade him to belong.

HeinyKatherine_AuthorPhoto.png
Story of the Week

Apparently this was something he had to tell her with his clothes on.

Robin_Hemley.jpg
Short Shorts

So, Ida, are you a Jew or a nudist? Do you believe in Hanukkah?

HernandezDavid_AuthorPhoto.jpg
Poetry

Flesh is temporary, memory a tilting barn dismantled nail by nail.

Poem of the Week

All those butterflies I impaled when I was a boy—will I go to hell for that?

Story of the Week

I know quite well that I’m still a beginner and have a long way to go.

Poem of the Week

Someone says Jesus is bread. He is also suffering. He is like the Internet.

Poem of the Week

I would slip the hook under the sow’s chin, hold my breath, and pull.

Poetry

Histories we spin from lust, our tongues heavy and soaked.

Poetry

An idea surfacing—a crack of orange teeth. As if a ceiling disappears.

Poem of the Week

For one hundred years I followed old people to learn what I was in for.

Poetry

Time is a hearse and horse, a carrot and stick, a window and widow.

Poetry

In my head at least, you thrive, you die in this mix of ghost and gone.

Poem of the Week

I don’t know you, I only think of you to ignore how unhappy I am.

Poem of the Week

Poetry isn’t work, he said, unless you’re talking about reading it.

Poetry

Sex is the closest we can come to touching where touch resides.

Poem of the Week

I wore the rose pants for weeks without telling anyone.

Poem of the Week

I am the king of doing wheelies on the Stingray bicycle of my mind.

Poem of the Week

The next time we made love, I looked for the fox looking down at me.

Poetry

What if white men became supremely good at making up for our past?

Poem of the Week

I tried to cheer my brother up by reminding him all clowns die too.

Poetry

I was a skinhead in look and seem, a balding guy trying out the future.

Narrative Outloud

The people with pebbles go home to frolic under the detritus of the day.

N30B Winners

Paharganj reels with beggars. Old women, boys, breast-feeding girls.

Hinton258.jpg
Poetry

David Hinton

Poem of the Week

I feel delicious tody! I can claim the whole lawn with just one flamingo.

Poetry

In the closet: a single hair draped from the one hanger left.

Short Shorts

Our house sits alone out in the country, seven miles north of town.

Fiction

she had big eyes, the better to see right through a person.

Fiction

She was no man’s dark dream, only a girl forced to swim half-clothed.

Poem of the Week

All afternoon it rains on the traffic outside my window. It’s nothing new.

Poetry

A homecoming, she says, as if you hadn’t been back in decades.

Fall Contest Winners

I found myself wondering what her life had been in her widowhood.

Poetry

That is a building. That is a tree. That is a yellow car. That is a curb.

Poetry

Everything changed. And to our greater shame, nothing did.

Poetry

I tell him: junkies are the only people worth talking to about love.

Fiction

A queen bobcat lives in the hollow base of a dead cypress.

Story of the Week

Three fingers had been cut from her right hand, two from her left.

Fiction

My husband screws around. Not much and not often, but I know.

Fiction

If there was any magic in his sad life, it happened on that day.

Fiction

When the coach called again, Wayne felt his temper slipping.

Story of the Week

Trailblazers we celebrate. Those outcasts, outliers, and outlaws.

Fiction

“With me for an uncle you don’t never need to be afraid of him, baby.”

Winter Contest Winners

He will be unable to resist his manias for symmetry and completion.

Narrative 10

How does he do it? I’ve been trying to figure this out for the past decade.

Narrative Outloud

That day he stood on some threshold and paused and wept at his choice.

Story of the Week

Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.

Story of the Week

She weighed the cold shiny gun on her palm and let out a jagged breath.

houston.jpg
Fiction

If I had been blessed that afternoon, why did I lose my tongue?

Story of the Week

I’m on the verge of a breakdown. So I might as well have another child.

Story of the Week

What’s wrong with easy? I mean, who wants sex to be hard work?

Classics

The danger with a young contributor is that he may be his own rival.

Classics

I put out my lips, and we kissed through the newly painted fence.

Poem of the Week

They say the night watchman is so good he hears the grass growing.

Poem of the Week

You are afraid pain itself might develop a way to communicate.

Story of the Week

For all the stories they’d concocted, the real one electrified them.

Poem of the Week

You didn’t speak, your eyes lobbed incendiary shells over the harbor.

HuertaD.jpg
Poem of the Week

There are the short and decisive words: yes, no, now, never, love, death, poetry.

Poem of the Week

Fumbling among the constellations, I believed my throat would burst.

Poetry

This comb smells like tea gone cold, weighs less than a vein pumped full.

Nonfiction

After four years of watching his body implode, we’re terrified.

Nonfiction

We want to revisit what life was like before technology infected us.

Features

It holds a place in my heart: Never forget the suspenders.

Fiction

Frank kept his face blank as he read the orders: Report to Berlin.

Poem of the Week

The towns died as quickly as a single house, a house like ours, lit gold within.

Poem of the Week

The hands opened calmly like seeds, endured the passage of time.

Poem of the Week

Never mind the gossip of the world. Don’t have it, yet have it!

Poem of the Week

I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.

Poetry

I’m always driving through the desert, on the interstate’s black river.

First & Second Looks

I was called upon to set my will against my father, the village custom.

Story of the Week

Thus John Redding grew to manhood, playing, studying and dreaming.

Poetry

He greets you with a kiss and marries your elbow to walk the path.

Story of the Week

People didn’t end marriages without warning, without second chances.