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Epiphany Magazine - epiphmag.com Issue 14
Where Art, Poetry and Prose come together
to Create
A Visually and Creatively Stimulating Experience
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SUSAN MARTIN
Gifts
Once as a gift to my artist husband,
I gave a block of African wonder stone,
dark and dense.
I asked him what he would make of it.
I will carve, he replied,
and it will become a work of art.
The stone will tell me what to do.
Stone has its own life.
It makes its own statement.
Once as a gift my husband gave me
a Websters New International Dictionary
replete with all the words
of the English language
and all their nuances.
He asked me why I wanted
so ponderous a lexicon.
I will write, I said.
The words will tell me what to say,
and a poem will come into being.
Words have their own life.
they make their own statement.
BIO:Susan Martin is a retired English and creative writing teacher. She has had poetry and short fiction published in the following anthologies, literary magazines, on-line sites, and e-zines: Dogwood Tales, The Poet Speaks Out, Poets-on-Line, In Other Words, Exit 13, The Idiom, Chapter and Verse, Shadows and Light Magazine, Poetica Magazine, Global Poets on Facebook, Aquarille Magazine, Creative Wrting Now, Weirdyear, Improv 2011, and Writer's Ink anthologies, Poetic Reflections of Monmouth County, Voices Rising From the Grove, and Spindrift. She was a prize winner in The Age Begins 2009 Women's Inspirational Contest.
RICHARD D. HARTWELL
Surf Lines of Evil Beat at My Head
Surf lines of evil beat at my head;
Crescendos of breakers incessantly pounding;
Froth and foam, a tenuous hold on reality,
Spills before an onslaught of maturity.
I am inundated with mundane responsibilities,
I am caught in the maelstrom of regrets,
I am pounded by the demands of position,
I am drowned with the burden of passivity.
The flow and ebb of daily cares caress and lull,
Soothing and cradling me unmercilessly,
Breaking in two my intentional desires,
Requiring that I submit to continued existence.
I am sated by self-sufficiency,
I am ransacked by passions unfulfilled,
I am doomed to recycle myself,
I am drifted on the waves of others.
BIO:Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Southern California with his wife of thirty-five years (poor soul; her, not him), their disabled daughter, one of their sons and his ex-wife and their two children, and eleven cats. Yes, eleven! He has previously been published in: The Cortland Review, Midwest Literary Review, Birmingham Arts Journal, The Stray Branch, A Golden Place, Flashquake, PigeonBike, Steam Ticket, Burnt Bridge, Indigo Rising, Lowestoft Chronicle, Thoughtsmith, The Rainbow Rose, Red Poppy Review, Catapult to Mars, The Camel Saloon, The Bactrian Room; Books on Blog; The Shine Journal, Joyful!, Candidum, and others, both print and e-zine. When not writing he wishes he were still pushing plywood in Coquille, Oregon.
GEORGE FREEK
What Is Nature
Nature is pure disorder.
I watch the sky stagnate,
and the roses blacken.
I can think of no safe haven.
Leaves descend cheerfully,
circling each other fraternally,
as if falling into a comfortable bed.
But they're already dead.
As the stars count their toes,
and the moon plays the whore,
I look deeply. And I learn
exactly what I knew before.
George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Belvidere, IL. His poems have
recently appeared in 'The Stone Hobo'; 'Red Fez'; 'Symmetry Pebbles';
'The Whistling Fire'; 'Talon Magazine'; and 'Toucan Magazine'.His short
play HERE COMES GODOT was recently published in 'Freight Train Magazine'.
Other plays have lately been produced by The Laurel Mill Playhouse (MD);
The Auburn (NY) Community Players; Theatre Unleashed (LA); Somerset
College (KY); and The Fells Point Corner Theatre (MD).
RICHARD FEIN
Luna Moth
Hunger dogs the earthbound creature
crawling on its ever bloating caterpillar belly
that swells to grotesque form
till gnawing hunger finally yields to fullness,
and mandibles lose their yen to chew,
while a silky shroud dresses the body.
The timeworn skin is shed exposing the coffinlike chrysalis,
as the body's essence reshuffles.
Disassembled tissue dissolves then congeals into a new psyche
while all past hungers fade and new ones arise.
Comes resurrection and the coffin bursts,
cramped wings unfold, dry, flutter, as gluttonous gnome
cinderellas into a green-winged angel hungry for a mate.
DANNY P. BARBARE
Emptying Trash
With my sleeves rolled up ripping the plastic bags
Zipping up my wind breaker
On such a cool day;
Flagging them in the breeze
Like the sound of thrashing leaves
Wrinkles of sunlight becoming moonlight
Lining the horizon of the barrel
With night, tying a knot in the day
And toting it
Away leaking coffee and Kool-Aid across the sky.
BIO: Danny P. Barbare's poetry can be googled under his name on the internet.
DAVID A. ROBBINS
Tepid
I want you to make my blood
glow in the dark and
then tell me you cant see
where it is you put me.
I want you to iron my clothes
and then put wrinkles in my chest
so that you can chastise me
for leaving the house
with uncreased sleeves.
And I want to sit in the bathtub
while you throw breadcrumbs
to the ducks so that
I can dry myself off
and complain that I'm hungry.
So when all said and done
and all systems are go
it all comes down
to being loud enough
to hear your own voice.
The Abstract
I long for what
I thought
I saw
when I thought
that we had
this down.
When we spoke
in verse
and laughed
in rhyme
and asked about things
that didn't really matter.
Who was your favorite,
and what did you want?
What made your eyes
light up
as a child?
I know that it wasn't
unique to me or you
or even really unique
at all, but the abstract
is a hard thing to miss
so even though I know
that I am not really
missing you, it is
your smile that I picture
when I miss the abstract.
BIO:
David A. Robbins served as an editor of three publications and wrote as a contributor for various others since 2001. Following a dramatic career change in 2009, when he was offered a position with an asset management firm, he set himself apart as a writer by combining the topics of love, family, and friendship with the legalistic and technical tempo of the investment world in both his poetry and fiction. Robbins spends the majority of his free time working on freelance assignments for creative publications and newspapers, as well as finalizing the manuscript of his first novel. He holds a Bachelor of Arts from The University of Arizona in both Creative Writing and Journalism.
ERREN GERAUD KELLY
L Train ( Body and Soul )
she walks away
in her high heels
and jeans
her hips playing
a melody better
than trane
could
taking my breath
away
BIO: I am a poet based in New York City, by way of Louisiana, by way of Maine, by way of California and so on. I have been writing for 21 years and have over three dozen publications in print and online in such publications as Hiram Poetry Review, Mudfish, Poetry Magazine(online) and other publications. My most recent publication was in " In Our Own Words," a Generation X poetry anthology; I was also published in other anthologies such as " Fertile Ground," Beyond The Frontier " and other anthologies.
I recieved my B.A. in English-Creative Writing from Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge. I also love to read and I love to travel, having visited 45 states and Canada andEurope. The themes in my writings vary, but i have always had a soft spot for subjects and people who are not in the mainstream. But i never limit myself to anything, i always try to keep an open mind.
"Ripple"
Artwork by Dan Williams
Top of Page
TINA McKEON
Hypnotized
In a daze
Confusion's haze
Abandoned heart
Soul torn apart
Liar's tongue
Puppet strung
Body scorned
Pitiful life mourned
Finally I realized
I was hypnotized
What Lies Beneath
I look inside myself
Am the opposite of my outward shell
A roller coaster, a chemical imbalance
Raging inferno, burning like hell
Inside, my heart thudders wildly
Adrenaline pumps into my veins
From Doctor Jekyll to Mr. Hyde
I explode without restrains
Let it Rain
If wishes were raindrops,
I would embrace the saturation
Dance gleefully amid the wetness,
until my burdens were abolished
If wishes were raindrops
I would welcome a monsoon
Allow it to penetrate my pores,
until my soul's requests were answered
BIO: Tina's other works are published through Quill Books, Bear Creek Press, Brave Heart Press, The Truth Magazine, Home Remedies for the Soul, The Erotic Woman. "In 2006, I released my first book titled Scattered Images: A Woman's Poetic Tales through PublishAmerica. In 2009, I created an online store featuring my words on various products. You can view it at zazzle.com
CYNTHIA EDDY
Bloodletting
You are the needle
Through my finger tip
bloodletting silent but for the quiet yelp
Finger to the mouth
Then the salt.
You won't be put down
Stitch after stitch
Color after color
Finger prick after finger prick
You threaten my skin.
Iron in Her Bones
The iron in her bones
That bloody marrow
The core of her.
The unspoken between them.
Rusty powder
eats into her flesh
hardens her heart.
Dusty and unforgiving
Covers her with silt.
BIO:Cynthia Eddy lives and writes on the eastern shore of Virginia. She holds a degree from Framingham University in Art History and an attended the University of Baltimore Graduate School.
"Bender"
Art by Dan Williams
Top of Page
J. TARWOOD
Metamorphosis
Words are dying off.
Nothing new if old books are true.
Begin as gold, end as lead.
Anything else is noise.
Aging, so comforting confusing
my decay for the world's:
eyes give up
just because there's less to see.
Hard to keep my rotting
to myself.
We're most god-like when we change.
Shouldn't that suffice
our great Lord Yet?
In my pack, I carry Howl
like a lucky tooth.
Visitor
A life I missed.
In books, in aches,
it shined like the moon
in a wishing well.
What I wanted
I never knew, to be
in the light
or to be among you.
I stand on sea steps,
street lamp greening water,
waves clacking stones & shells,
shadow afloat, a fine figure
beckoning like a word
on the tip of my tongue.
BIO:"This is my track record: poems in Free Lunch, American Poetry Review, American Poetry Monthly, BAD, Big Muddy, Buckle &, Bryant Literary Review, Rockhurst Review), Pike's Creek, Blue Mesa, Eratica, Calliope, Coe Review, Front Range Revie, Natural Bridge, Willow Review, Yet Another Small Magazine, Rio, Rhino, Paris/Atlantic, Phantasmagoria, California Quarterly, Liberty Hill Poetry Review, Lilies & Cannonballs, Colere, Poetry Ireland, Wind, Grassroots, Poetry Motel, Midwest Quarterly, Main Street Rag, White Pelican Review, Quantum Tao, Red River Review, Rapid River, Spiky Palm, Runes, Terra Incognita, Visions, and Plainsong. In 1997, I won a Plainsong poetry award, and I was a featured poet in Visions in 2001. One of my poems was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2003 I also have two books published, The Cats in Zanzibar, and Grand Detour."
J. Tarwood
JOHN N. MILLER
Einstein's Remains
Who should possess his brain,
that serpent's nest of coils, intestinal
and slightly bloated with solution?
His body had been burned, its ashes strewn
in a nearby river.
Little could be said about the brain
except its weight, precisely ascertained
as two point six four pounds,
normal for a man of his slight build -
gray matter for his problem-solving skills,
for genius or choicely mated genes?
In seven years, the microscopes
and enzymes gave no evidence. Its lobes
still drift, presumably, in liquid,
minus bits sliced off as gifts for med-school
friends of the doctor who split Einstein's skull.
Meanwhile, his ashes have in good time too
drifted, downward into Lethe,
River of Forgetfulness, beneath
all medical concern.
So much for his disposable remains,
but what about that enigmatic brain
and those gifted few with slices of it?
Can they claim as their own properties
whatever it was their MD friend
scooped from its shell, part of what Einstein left
as legacy - his serpentine effects?
BIO: Though born in Ohio (1933), John N. Miller grew up in Hawai'i (1937-1951), received a Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Stanford University, retired from college teaching (British and American literature, creative writing) in 1997, and now lives with his German-born wife Ilse in a retirement community in Lexington, Virginia.
He and his wife are inveterate travelers, especially to Europe and Hawai'i, and
spent the academic year 1990-91 in Duesseldorf, Federal Republic of Germany, where he was a Fulbright Scholar at the Heinrich Heine University.
Over the past half-century his poems have appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, and recently two small presses have published modest volumes of his work: Second War in Hawai'i S (March Street Press: Greensboro, North Carolina, 2005) and SIn and Out of Their ElementsS (Fine Tooth Press: Waterbury, Connecticut, 2006). His latest publications of any consequence are Between Home and Abroad,
a chapbook brought out by Main Street Rag Publishing Company (Charlotte, NC, 2009) and another chapbook, The Craft of Fiction, just published by Main Street
Rag.
DAVID CHORLTON
The View from Space
Another dictator is dead. Does the planet
now shine more brightly
as it spins through an infinity
of cosmic mirrors
where time is measured in light?
Are there echoes
from the gunshot that killed him
among the meteors? Is it possible
to see, with the most powerful
of telescopes, the fine print
on the messages
our spies sent to his spies
when everybody worked
on the dark side of the Moon?
BIO: David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in England, and spent several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in1978. Among his books reflecting a concern for the natural world are Waiting for the Quetzal, from March Street Press, and The Porous Desert, from Future Cycle Press. He recently had a poem included in the anthology, BIRDS, from the British Museum, won the Ronald Wardall Poetry Prize for his chapbook The Lost River, from Rain Mountain Press, and the Slipstream Chapbook Contest with From the Age of Miracles. His newest book is fiction: The Taste of Fog, from Rain Mountain Press, set in 1960s Vienna.
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