Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Shattered Hopes

by Rebecca Besser The test is done, waiting for news. Expecting a new life, only to be told that it is already gone. No baby to take home.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

A Short Tale of Two Hearts

by Jack Roth He loved her. So. She loved him. No. Their fingertips touched. Heat. The fire popped. Amber fly. She began to cry. Cold. He wished all the yesterday’s. Away. She welcomed all the tomorrow’s. Come. They pound the door. Unforgiving fists. He said understanding wasn’t. Welcome. She told him the pain was. Great. He wanted to know. Feel. She. Cut her heart out and handed it to him. Almost. Now he holds her. Heart. And her. Pain.

Monday, March 29, 2010

A Line at a Time #16 (#alaat)

Look at the picture below and send me the first line you think of!(Check out the Submissions page for more details!) Submissions close April, 9 2010 at 5pm and lines sent in will appear in May's issue!
Clouds chasing faith, all that awaits - a green field cries. . .


by Michelle Dennis Evans In the passing of a life A lifetime of joy A lifetime of happiness A lifetime of family A Nanna A Mother A sister A friend Cups of tea Roast on Sunday ‘Sit down love, I’ll fix that for you’ Arms wide to hold Heart large to envelop Soul safe with God A life well lived

Sunday, March 28, 2010

A Line at a Time #15 (#alaat) - The Results!

With time comes life
With air we breathe... with love we grow
Enhanced by sunshine, reflective and subtle
A heavy, gun-metal gray door led him into the courtyard with the other inmates where for the first time in weeks he felt the sun on his face and drank in the scent of the newly blooming apple trees, just over the fence and out of his reach
Bathed in sunshine and warmth
A fragile, fleeting beauty; powerful in possibilities.
With time comes life (Jim Wisneski,
With air we breathe... with love we grow (Cynthia Schuerr,
Enhanced by sunshine, reflective and subtle (Michelle Dennis Evans, http://michelledevans.blogspot)
A heavy, gun-metal gray door led him into the courtyard with the other inmates where for the first time in weeks he felt the sun on his face and drank in the scent of the newly blooming apple trees, just over the fence and out of his reach. (Michael J. Solender
Bathed in sunshine and warmth (Rebecca Besser)
A fragile, fleeting beauty; powerful in possibilities. (Cindy Antene

Friday, March 26, 2010


by Rebecca Besser We’ve been married for years. Always finding peace and comfort in each other. I don’t know where our life went off track. You never talk. You don’t notice I exist. What’s gone wrong?I wonder if you’ve found someone else. I followed you, when you said you were going to play golf. You didn’t. You met with her. She’s the reason for the harmony of our love being broken. You’ve crushed my heart. You promised you were mine. Your stuff is in the burn barrel out back. I hope you love her, because she will be all you have.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Word Association, 3 a.m.

by Maria Kelly I think of you here in the inky blackness separating dusk from dawn and I listen to music - REM, and wonder: am I losing mine, too? faith - makes me feel faint when I start to question it, so I just ignore the issue and place it, wrap it contextually, conceptually within the confusion and obscurity of other words: clamor - am I making one for nothing here in the silent breathings of my soul? sleep - when is the last time since you left that I knew that blessedness? or love - which is something like faith but is even more intangible?

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Trial. And Error.

by Jim Wisneski So worthless and broken a futile experience… Do all feel this cheated? Perhaps a turn of the clock. yes but how to measure the turn of the paper or the turn of the world, life, generations gap. Everything that was held spoken in tongues in a home voicenow just rustles against the air we breathe. Still strangers who once had names all the apologies sorted on the table... close your eyes and pick one – any one – just don’t tell for the sake of stepping back to go forward just seems plagued… like thrusting dreams into a star filled night sky. And then counting them. When innocence comes along. It’s taken away. Originally published on Jim's short story/poetry site Trial. And Error.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Monday, March 22, 2010

Friday, March 19, 2010

Fractal in Love

Maria Kelly
Nature loves a strange attractor a chaotic set of repeating notations that explode in ecstasy outward from her center in lines and spirals and circles A paisley mathematics so beautiful in design that it is almost blinding As the vibrant colors engage they tickle the mind and delight the eye and leave me with burning questions: Do Mandelbrots and Julia Sets fall in love? Is this what it looks like when colors and patterns hold hands? Kiss deeply? Make mad, passionate love?

Thursday, March 18, 2010


by Mike Berger There is one who knows me too well; She knows all of my secret wishes and desires. She listens as I revealed myself. I speak of dreams of owning a new home and a 944 Turbo. As I peel back the onion to my inner core, she listens with a wry smile on her face. She knows my life story backwards and forwards, and my darkest desires are safe with her. She's the rock of my salvation. As I leave, she shakes my hand. My loan has been approved; love that credit union manager.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Spaces in Between















Stop. Look out your window. SEE the world, it’s still there.

Water dripping off a leaf. Birds sitting on a fence. Sunshine.

Life is in the little moments. A smile, a laugh, even in tears.

All of the little things that happen on the way to our next stop.

Life is lived in the space in between.

UNLuck of the Irish Anthology is AVAILABLE!

Yes, it's available! And it's FREE. So please read and enjoy! And have a HAPPY ST. PATTY'S DAY!

UNLuck of the Irish Anthology!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Monday, March 15, 2010

A Line at a Time (#alaat) #15

Look at the picture below and send me the first line you think of!(Check out the Submissions page for more details!) Submissions close March 26, 2010 at 5pm and lines sent in will appear in April's issue!
With time comes life

She is Beautiful

by Michelle Dennis Evans Signs of beauty ringing loudly Hair, make-up, hand bag and shoes Signs of beauty as she breathes A thought, a concept, an attitude Signs of beauty illuminates Every step she takes, she smiles Signs of beauty rule her life Sounding loudly in her eyes Signs of beauty through all she does Hands and feet, worked and worn Signs of beauty in her heart Emanate radiance since she was born Signs of beauty bare and barren Yearning, disheartened, abandoned Signs of beauty in her soul Rich, prosperous, passionate friend

Sunday, March 14, 2010

A Line at a Time (#alaat) #14 - the results!

It's the magic that's waiting, the mystery, the hope. . . the chance The key is my wish to unlock myself Unlock and discover what's inside Take me there....where there is no danger or fear Peel back the layers; reveal the key But locked away safely disguided
THE CONTRIBUTORS: It's the magic that's waiting, the mystery, the hope. . . the chance - Jim Wisneski ( The key is my wish to unlock myself - Cari Main ( Unlock and discover what's inside - Rebecca Besser ( ) Take me there....where there is no danger or fear - Cynthia Schuerr ( Peel back the layers; reveal the key - Cindy Antene ( But locked away safely disguided - Michelle Dennis Evans (

Friday, March 12, 2010

What Wants All

by BD Hudison What wants all is what isn't known. Let the touch take you. Make you. Break you. What wants all is wanted. It can get you. Taste. Soft. Lost. What wants all is to want nothing. Everything comes within. It's there. Seek. What wants all.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Wednesday, March 10, 2010


by VJ Maddox Tubes are coming out my arms, There's oxygen in my nose.... No one understands my pain, I think that's why it grows. The pain killers aren't working... My broken heart, they cannot heal. Because no matter what I say to you, You ignore everything I feel. I've begged you to come see me - But it's too much for you to do. Only dying flowers at my lonely bedside, And yet, none are from you. I know i'll get better with you here, Just one touch - a kiss on my cheek... Please just treat me like you used to - And not like some poor sick freak. I know you said you're coming here - I hope it's not another promise you won't keep. The nurse gives me a worried look... She calmly suggests I get some sleep. But I refuse to shut my eyes - Not until I've seen your face. And I hear you tell me, You'll rescue me from this place. I can't take much more of this - The pain, damn beeping of machines, My head is pounding constantly, And no one else hears the screams... I know I'm not crazy... I don't care what I hear them say. They're wrong, They lie - you'll show them... I know you'll come get me today... And suddenly, it hits me. The new drugs break through the haze. And all those lost memories... restored. Six days ago, my love - I killed you... I'm strapped down... padded walls... I'm in the Psychiatric Ward.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Meet Estrella Azul!

Estrella Azul is a young emerging writer, passionate about reading, floral art and photography, with an artistic personality and a soulful outlook on life. To read more of her creative writing, her thoughts and daily happenings, visit Life’s a stage – WebBlog

Fading Day

by Estrella Azul

Monday, March 8, 2010

Threadbare Heart

by Maria Kelly My heart is hanging by a thread and you stand there holding the other end and smile your saddest smile we know it’s no use no amount of pretending can bring something back that’s lost beyond recovery You pull away and the thread goes with you my heart goes with you, tethered like a balloon leaving me standing here empty without a heart of my own it was always yours it is always yours I don’t need it right now so just take care of it and bring it back to me soon it won’t change anything at all if I have it back it will still be yours Though you won’t be here you never were here, really you were just a feverish dream that I had one summer some events to fill in on the calendar A name on my to-do list something to fill up my heart like promises and sighs please...let me have it back now just drop the end of the string and walk away...

Friday, March 5, 2010

Grass is Green

by Michelle Dennis Evans Trees sway with wind Sun is high Clouds far away Perfect days A beautiful country Time to enjoy Outside to explore Brain filled with pain Can’t see clear Filled with clouds Blue skies distant Searching for light Hidden meaning near Hint of a breeze Maybe a beautiful day

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Love Never Forgets

by BD Hudison While movement may continue and while life inhales and exhales and while good mixes with bad and bad becomes great and great never exists, love never forgets. It's the shadow you chase while the sun chases you. It's the shadow you never see while the sun eats your eyes. It's the first flower of Spring popping up only to be eaten by a blade. Oh, and the air, the aroma, the fresh ideas. . . that love never forgets. I can say that the sky was darker when you left, but that would be a lie. I can say that the breeze was that of a hurricane, but it wasn't. It was gentle. It took the corner of my shirt and tugged it. I turned from the deadly sun and began to chase my own shadow. . . back to you. . . because love never forgets.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Comment tracking 2/22/2010-2/28/2010

2/22/2010 - I Wait For You by Rebecca Besser - 2 2/23/2010 - Blizzard by Jim Wisneski - 0 2/24/2010 - Compassion's Duality by Anne Tyler Lord - 10 2/25/2010 - The Wilted by Michelle Dennis Evans - 7 2/26/2010 - Sunset Steeple by Samantha Wisneski - 0

Interview with the February Pic 1 k winner, Laura Eno!

What was your inspiration for your Pic 1 k story, Seaweed? (Other than the picture!) Laughing – it really was the picture. I am often inspired by water so when I saw the sand and water I just knew that I had to write a story. The empty shoes spoke to me of yearning and loss. They seemed abandoned. How long did it take to write? Not very long, under an hour. Stories like that seem to write themselves. What are your favorite stories that you have written and where can we read them? My favorite story is always the next one that I'm going to write! I participate in #fridayflash, so you can find a new flash fiction story on my blog every Friday at Do you have anything being published in 2010? I have stories in several anthologies coming out this year from Pill Hill Press and Lame Goat Press. I am also involved in a thrilling collaborative work called Chinese Whisperings – The Yin Book, coming out in Oct 2010. You can read more about it at Where can we read more of your work? The easiest way to track my work is in the bar on the right side of my blog. It has a list of stories that are in both print and online editions, along with their links. I am thrilled to be chosen for this interview for Soft Whispers, Jim. Thank you for providing this wonderful venue for writers to showcase their work and for all of the effort that you put into it! Read SEAWEED in Issue Two of Soft Whispers along with all the other great stories, poetry, and pictures/art. And in case you didn't know, Soft Whispers is FREE! Issue Two


by Jodi Milner Years of rage and passion Captured with a fevered pen. Pages of brittle memory Every desire, annoyance Every fight, joy, and pain Now a source of shame. She hides herself away Crossing out the best parts Afraid of her own truth.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Aerobics for the Heart

by Cynthia Schuerr Why did you make me wait so long? Your little feet pattered with your arms overhead You looked up to touch my heart. It melted. Why did you make me wait so long? The wheels turned and without fault Off to a new world without me. My heart fluttered. Why did you make me wait so long? The aisle was white and the air was warm When you joined with her, two hearts in one Mine swelled Why did you make me wait so long? They chased after you when you left for work You bent down on one knee and said, “Daddy will be home soon.” You kissed their heads and hugged them tight They smiled wide and their eyes grew bright Why did you make me wait so long, my son? To see the man you would become.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Them Shoes

by Jim Wisneski "They're back," the small voiced echoed through the small room. Sheriff G remained still, looking out the yellow stained glass window as a small group of cars lined up at a red light. He felt a shot of jealousy burn through his veins as he wanted to be one of the innocent people sitting in their car, tapping the steering wheel to some song. His hidden secret of "murderer" was killing him on the inside, and now because of the damn kid's shoes, it might have been trying to kill him on the outside. "Sheriff?" the voice echoed. Sheriff G raised a hand to acknowledge the words. He had run out of excuses and ideas. This was the third time just this month (only being the 12th) that the shoes came back. By now the local newspapers had already contacted the big city papers with the story - whoever told it first and best would get their shot at working for a "real" newspaper; not just some shit town paper where the headline is "Mrs. Mongulstine turned 100!". "Do we move 'em?" the voice asked. Sheriff G turned slowly in his creaky chair. "Leave 'em this time. Chase everyone away. Tell 'em my orders. Tell 'em I have called in a special f'rensic team to check things out. You know the drill Pete's, let's shake a goddamned leg here and move on." Pete's tipped his hand and left. To Sheriff G, through the power of replay and denial, the murder was turning into an accident every time he played it in his mind. There was the boat. Himself. The kid. The kid that snooped and found Sheriff G's pill bottles hidden in his desk drawers. But that didn't matter though. That wasn't why they were on the boat. They were there to fish. Relax. There was only one fishing pole. But that was because Sheriff G wanted the kid to fish. The kids hands were tied behind his back. It was night out. But that's okay though, night fishing is great. But his hands were tied behind his hand. But that's okay. . . night fishing is great. Then the kid slipped. Yup, he slipped. Right off the boat. Yup. Into the water. See, Sheriff G sped away to find help. That's all. He wanted to help the kid. But then he somehow forgot all about the kid. . . screaming as water filled his mouth. . . Sheriff G slammed his hand off his desk. All the thoughts vanished. The kid was reported missing. Sheriff G oversaw the investigation and kept everything clean. Clear. There was never any finger pointing, no. Just good 'ol detective work that suggested the kid ran off. Prolly to the big city ma'am, Sheriff G had told the kids mother. Then his shoes showed up on the shore. Just there. Pointing towards the water. All that did was give hope to everyone that the kid was still around. Sheriff G took the shoes and burned them. To ash. But they came back again. That time he burned them to ash again and again and again until there was nothing left. "Now they're back again," Sheriff G whispered. He opened his top drawer and took out a pill bottle. His little white friends would make the demons go away. Sheriff G closed his eyes and put the pills in his mouth. Their bitter taste had become welcomed. As he swallowed them, he heard the sound of water sloshing against the floor. Sheriff G jumped and mashed pieces of his pills dribbled on his lips as he saw the kid standing in the doorway. "Still eatin' 'em, huh?" the kid said as water poured out of his mouth like a broken faucet. He leaned in the doorway with soggy clothes and a wrinkled, purplish face. A few stringy pieces of seaweed hung from the kid's head and shoulders. Sheriff G reached for his gun and held it out. The kid laughed. "There ain't nothin' left of me. You ain't gon' shoot me." Sheriff G blinked and the kid was now standing at his desk. He placed his hands on it and leaned forward. Water dripped onto the paperwork on Sheriff G's desk. His eyes watched as the papers absorbed the water. This is real, he thought as the kid opened his mouth. A tiny white crab climbed out of the kid's mouth and fell onto the desk. "Pretty cool, huh? When you’re swimming with the fishes, there's not much to do." Sheriff G dropped the gun to his desk and blessed himself. "The water dissolved the rope enough so my hands got free." The kid grabbed Sheriff G by his shirt and pulled him forward. He touched his cold, wet nose to the Sheriff's and then smiled. "I'm sorry," Sheriff G whispered. "This job and town is all I've got. If you told them about the pills. . ." The kid pushed Sheriff G back into his chair and started to laugh. "I just came for my shoes," the kid said as his eyes turned white to black. "But since we're on the subject about your pills. . ." The kid stepped around the desk. He opened the drawer and with one hand held Sheriff G's throat so his mouth was open and with the other poured all the pills into the Sheriff's mouth. . . "Suicide?" the Deputy asked. "Has to be. Why would he take so many damn pills?" "It's because of those damn shoes comin' back." "The shoes? What, did he think it was a ghost er somethin'?" "Maybe," the Deputy said closing Sheriff G's eyes with his fingers. "Man, why the hell is his desk soaked? And look at the floor. And, hey, is that a crab over there?"

For Her

by BD Hudison Mary kept her head down, hood up, and the shoes tucked in her coat as she raced through the small crowd. She tried her best not to mumble too loud, she didn’t want to attract attention. Attention was bad. Attention would send her home. Alone. With the shoes. They’d say he’s gone. She’d say he wasn’t. Some would feel bad. Some would cry. Some would laugh and point. She told herself they were the ones who didn’t understand love but that didn’t help much. No matter what words were said or whether everyone laughed or cried, she was still alone. Until he came back. __ “There’s something at the water.” “What?” “There’s something at the water. A person.” Sandy jumped off the cold rail and turned to see what Bill was talking about. He was right. There was a person on the beach. “Yea, there is,” she said turning around. “I’m cold. Come here.” Sandy pulled Bill in close and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s so cold out here. Who would be at the water like that?” “I don’t know,” Sandy replied. “You don’t think. . .” “Think what?” “That it’s Mary?” Sandy pushed off of Bill. “Mary’s not real Bill. That’s an old kids story to keep them away from the water.” “But look,” Bill said pointing, “she’s got a pair of shoes on her feet and a pair next to her.” “So you’re telling me that’s Mary? The Mary whose husband went into the water for a swim while she read a book. The Mary whose husband never came out of the water again. The Mary who went crazy and took his shoes and is said to keep going back to the water until he comes out?” Bill nodded staring at the person on the beach. “Fine, let’s find out,” Sandy said grabbing Bill’s hand. __ Mary shivered with the stingy breeze coming off the water. She held her ground though. She told herself it was just demons trying to get to her to leave so they could take Tom. They’d never take Mary’s Tom. Her love for him was too great. And it wasn’t possible that someone could just go for a swim and never return. Nope. They told Mary that seven years was long enough. They told Mary that if she kept it up, she’d have to go somewhere else to stay. She smiled and said she’d stop. It was a lie and she hated lying. But she loved Tom more and vowed to wait forever. __ “Sandy, please don’t,” Bill cried. “Are you scared?” Bill blushed a little and followed Sandy. “Excuse me,” Sandy said in a nice voice. The woman on the beach looked up. Her hand shot out and grabbed the shoes in the sand. “No, it’s okay,” Sand said. “I’m sorry to trouble you but I have a silly question.” The woman nodded. “Are you Mary?” The woman tilted her head. “I mean, you know, Mary. The story about the woman who waits for her husband that drowned? That Mary.” The woman just stared. “Come on Sandy, let’s go,” Bill whispered. The woman lowered her head and started to sob. “Oh my, I’m sorry,” Sandy said reaching out for the woman. The woman slapped Sandy’s hand away. Then she looked out to the water and smiled. “I’m sorry for hitting you dear,” the woman said, “but I have to go now.” Sandy and Bill watched in awe as the woman walked into the frigid water holding the shoes high in the air. __ Mary hated to be bothered. Even worse, she hated being about who she was. It was always younger people too. There were always stories about her. They said she was crazy. They said she wasn’t real. They said she was dead. But why didn’t she realize how much she loved her Tom? As the girl spoke she heard something at the water. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him. She saw Tom. He was there. He bobbed up and down with the weak waves and he smiled. He opened his arms and motioned for Mary to come to him. Mary stood and with tears in her eyes she walked into the water holding Tom’s shoes high in the air. She wanted to make sure they didn’t get soaked. She was going to kiss him and then bring him back to land. Then they’d stop calling her crazy and finally understand her love for her Tom.

In This Place

by Kristin Conroy I am alone but not lonely. My surroundings are still and tranquil; the only soundtrack is the gentle lapping at the water’s edge and the slight stirring of leaves caressed by the wind. My mind is now tuned in to Channel Zen. I am drawn to the water by the way the light dances off its surface in a mesmerizing and undeniable performance. I slowly but steadily enter the water, and in doing so, have symbolically freed myself from the intangible chains of my past and jumped into my chosen reality. I can be me here, my true and unfettered self. There is no one to impress or convince or avoid. My thinking is clear and grounded like never before. Quandaries, tossed back and forth in my head in a game of ping-pong for many months, are suddenly stationary and a clear winner is triumphantly announced. Nothing is clouding my judgement, there are no impossible positions in which to be forced, no responsibilities or constrictions. No need for ass-kissing or compromises or having to be less than I am for the sake of harmony. Nature encourages me to be exactly who I am, to do what I feel, and to be present in the moment. This is what I know to be true. This place has shown me who I am, and now I can never go back to the way things were. I can’t be who I was, I can only be who I am now. In this moment. In this place.


Laura Eno
I remember the day you came into my life, wearing nothing but water and a smile. I blushed as I handed you my towel, there on the shoreline. I'd been lying in the sand, dreaming of the perfect man and there you stood. How foolish to think my desire would just walk into my life. To be fair, you often told me you could not stay even as you stole my heart. The months passed and I began to believe otherwise. You seemed to have a fondness for me; you tried to blend into my life and surroundings. One morning I awoke to an empty space, both of hearth and heart. I ran to the shoreline, the place where we first met. Your shoes sat in the sand, the only goodbye you could give me. I sometimes sit there next to those shoes, staring out to sea. At sunset, I think I see you skimming the water at horizon's edge. At other times, it's your laugh that floats along the breeze. No matter how long I keep vigil, you never come back. This lone reminder mocks me of unrequited love. If I walk out to greet you, will I become a Selkie too? Or will I perish in the depths, lost forever, my life over with no one to mourn me? It matters not, I think, for I've made my decision. I place my own shoes next to yours and walk out to join you.


by Nishi

The minutes go by and they feel like hours, days go by and they feel like seconds. I leave to hide and watch our souls dance, but our lives seem to run away from us. Day after day, one drop of time after the next falls, each moment heavy with the silence of loneliness Ounces of moonshine and starlight do nothing to bring me out from this black hole, Though the light shining at the end of the tunnel reminds me you are here with me still, always.