Words blasted from the past

A piece from 2014 published in the Avocet…was it so long ago…


5 am peaceful

wishing it were contented spirits
dusting the cement grass with glitter
not winter’s freeze

my dachshund’s paw prints
sweet as a postcard
one might send a faraway lover

I linger in the numbing quiet
let the moment warm this blanketed silence
hushed low like swimming beneath water
where despair drowns then floats away
in bubbles and dancing reflections

don’t want to twist the frozen doorknob
and go back inside
I’d love to remain out here
5 am
with the sparkling dust
and all that glitters
in the beauty of this silence
when the world is so peaceful

Rudolph Hug

the original marker art that posted along with the poem in 2014


hope you’re all managing these days
am:)

My Talented Nephew’s Editorial in The Guardian

Wrestling is a brutal but beautiful sport. So why are its brightest stars drawn to the US president?“- Daniel Kennedy, The Guardian



Daniel Kennedy is a writer and teacher from rural Pennsylvania. He holds an MFA from Virginia Tech, where he won the Emily Morrison Prize in Fiction, and a PhD from the University of Houston’s Creative Writing Program, where he won the Inprint Donald Barthelme Memorial Prize in Nonfiction and the Provost Teaching Excellence Award. His writing has appeared in New England Review, The Florida Review, Appalachian Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Arts & Letters, BULL, and elsewhere. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and listed as a notable essay in Best American Essays. He is an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Angelo State University.

Why We Help One Another

Helen’s Flight

I leave my husband, daughter, homeland, and slip away in the dark shroud of night.
The orange-red glow of the moon is veiled with clouds, Artemis’ hand already at play in this.
My own hand wraps around Paris’ fingers, my heartbeat is the phantom of Menelaus’ footsteps behind me. The ship waits at Gythium, water lapping its sides, gentle like my fingers stroking Hermione’s face.

wind whispers
a crow caws
Apollo’s triumph

We board the ship, my feet numb like ice. My skin smells of the salt-spray of the sea, the night air,
the heavy-wine scent of the watching gods – I know they are there, have known since Paris sent that knife-gaze into my heart. His hand cups my face, the thief coveting his prize. We raise anchor, and sail with the dawn.

the sharp horizon
a knife across the sun
blood in the water

—Caroline Hron Weigle

This gorgeous poem was written by the lovely Caroline Hron Weigle. Remember her name – she is an up and coming historical romance writer.

I painted the piece above a few years ago. I’d never given much thought to her name before – now she has one.

I hope you’re all doing well.

annmarie:)

WILD

My dear friend, DS Levy, has added another bright star to her constellation of writing-
Her brilliant piece, “Wild”, is a 2024 must read

“You know,” Bets says, parking a wad of Bazooka in her cheek. “The road goes both ways.”
— DS Levy
https://mudseasonreview.com/2023/12/fiction-issue-71/

My Talented Nephew’s Work

I should have done this sooner—

that is, to share my nephew Daniel Kennedy’s brilliant work. Daniel’s heart, down to the raw insides, is exponentially compassionate. He is not only a thoughtful and decent young man, his writing talent is boundless. The dedication he pours into his craft is humbling to behold. It is my privilege and honor to highlight some of Daniel’s work here.

Start reading him now—before you have to wait on a bookstore line for his autograph!

click here or on image below to enter

Sharpies and Coconut Macaroons

honored and thrilled to have a new flash fiction piece, Sharpies and Coconut Macaroons, published in this terrifically absurd magazine
“The Absurdist is a small monthly periodical of absurdist flash fiction and illustrations, printed and distributed in Portland, Oregon and shared digitally around the world.”

Sharpies and Coconut Macaroons

AM Roselli

Nella wants to tie people down. Not everyone. Just those with hair like piles of snow. Their old translucent skin resplendent in odd brown patches and mottled crimson swatches. Nella believes wrinkled skin is cosmically linked. She must bind old people together and connect their age spots with Sharpies to make star maps to God. Old bodies are closer to heaven each day. She has visions.

The giant Moai heads of Easter Island are not empty. No one is empty. Nella feels empty. Her head hurts all the time. She sees invisible stars on wrinkled skin.

The other night while she was walking home from the Quik Mart with a coconut macaroon stuffed in each pocket, an elderly couple strolled by her. They were so close, Nella could smell the accumulated years on their skin. The gentleman held, not his wife’s bony elbow, but a tiny Pomeranian. The hobbling couple were glowing more than the bitty dog’s sequined collar. Twinkling glass shards embedded in the grimy sidewalk dulled to dirt near their worn shuffling shoes.

Nella thought about using her green belt to tie them together but feared her pants would fall down. Besides that, the Pomeranian would likely bite her in the ass. And anyway, she wasn’t armed with a stalwart Sharpie. The Quik Mart worker said they expected a Sharpie shipment sometime tomorrow. Nella was dubious. The young man behind the counter had done nothing but stare at her breasts. She’d forgotten to wear her only bra, blue and decorated with black Sharpie stars.

Not defeated, just delayed, Nella climbed the seven flights to her apartment. She ate her coconut macaroons and danced by herself. She used her long brown hair to dust the floor while dreaming about star maps.

Her head is not empty. It is full of ropes and lights and hammers. Endless headaches reminded her to work when she feels lazy. She needs God’s help.

She swallowed the last bits of coconut then leaned out her apartment window.

Down below, so many old people to tie together. So many chances to find salvation. ♦

deliciously dark

DS Levy is one of those brave writers who pens the heart darkly. She transports you to uncomfortable places and makes you think, sometimes cry. This isn’t sweet and saucy fare. A Binary Heart is brutal emotion, honestly formed.
Just got my copy today!

the happiest man on earth

a piece from my illustrated poetry book, love of the monster

fierce loving