Authors
Narrative “Tell Me A Story” High School Contest
All I could focus on was if he was going to ask me to date him.
Story of the Week
We were alone in the world, and we had left dear ties behind us.
Story of the Week
Elinor had loved a man. The journey’s purpose was that she might forget.
Poem of the Week
The roads have come to an end now, they don’t go any farther.
Poem of the Week
It’s so delicate, the light. And there’s so little of it. The dark is huge.
Story of the Week
The world is a riddle of shape and texture, from sight to smell to sound.
Classics
Kids interfere with perfection. Wives interfere. Marriage interferes.
Story of the Week
He sobbed; he said he would go to therapy, stop drinking.
Story of the Week
What felt like sanctity now felt like nothingness, like death.
Fiction
We’re fat! So what? They hadn’t yet tired of this chant, the play’s refrain.
Poetry
It’s been months, and the fields are good for nothing but night talks.
Poem of the Week
He had come to weavers’ Harris to make some testament.
Story of the Week
A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.
Story of the Week
She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?
Nonfiction
Progressive stages of revision eliminate incidence in favor of essence.
Nonfiction
It’s not clear that Hemingway completely knew what he was doing.
Nonfiction
If you’re going to take a degree, take one from the best school you can.
Nonfiction
Art touches the soul and moves life in ways that commerce cannot.
E. L. Doctorow noted that writers seem to get business ideas almost right.
Poem of the Week
I want to say hold these harp strings steady atop the tallest summit.
Poem of the Week
However hard you try to make amends, they will still condemn you.
Poetry
However hard I trudge and search I cannot find the hills I have climbed.
Poetry
There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.
Poem of the Week
When push comes to shove, I can get downright Aeolian on you, son.
Fiction
He had seduced them with his sincerity for truth-seeking.
Narrative Outloud
He twisted like a weasel in the sack, lashing backward with his fist.
Story of the Week
The blade was buried to the hilt in the outside corner of his left eye.
Poem of the Week
Gravity bends together this planet and your life, made of glass.
Poem of the Week
At night the wildfire swelled the blurred interior like a lung of light.
Spring Contest Winners
A dead body leaned sideways against a wall. Its eyes were open.
Story of the Week
I look on Britain as a new world, which it is almost madness to invade.
Story of the Week
He had looked on it a thousand times and it never failed to kill him.
Poem of the Week
The hymn that’s resurrected from the hymnal aspires to the spiritual.
Poetry Contest Winners
At Walden Pond, Henry Thoreau clicks like on the “Wilderness” page.
Winter Contest Winners
Our eyes searched for the island, but ahead there was only overcast.
Poetry Contest Winners
Collage what we can, form fractured and repaired, blend of is and isn’t.
Poetry
Your face is a grain of rice, one small nothing on the world’s horizon.
Poem of the Week
Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.
Winter Contest Winners
When we move together in the dark I can almost get to him but I turn back.
Story of the Week
Fletcher was a squad leader. He ought to be able to get a girl.
iStories
She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.
Poem of the Week
Dainty morsels do not fail to attract gentlemen as well as ladies.
Poem of the Week
I hold out hands, empty and poor like a beggar by the temple door.
Features
I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.
Poem of the Week
Imagine first the mighty blast. And then the mushroom cloud.
Poem of the Week
For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.
Poem of the Week
Buckled by time and tides, the pier fails halfway to the deeps.
Poetry
“The doors are closed,” she said, and we would not be flying to Paris.
Poem of the Week
It wasn’t so long ago I carried my tiny son piggyback through the woods.
Poem of the Week
The moon it is red, and the stars are fled but all the sky is a-burning.
Poem of the Week
Too bad there is no oil between her legs that 4-year-old Muslim girl.
Poem of the Week
The child writes, Child, and is amazed at this word on the page.
Poem of the Week
We boarded a ferry eager for foaming water rushing toward our feet.
Poem of the Week
Outside the kids play stretcher. One of them was dying between my hands.
Poem of the Week
If you tear down the web it will simply know this isn’t a place to call home.
Poem of the Week
Turns out my body’s a dollar sweet potato, her screen said.
Poetry Contest Winners
Don’t try to find me by spit, by genetic sleuthing, by Are you my?
Story of the Week
We shall still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead.
Poem of the Week
We walk in light so steep I can see each single stitch of your sweater.
Spring Contest Winners
“I don’t care how tired we are. I’m not not having sex on my wedding night.”
Fiction
When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.