Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Dec
Wiser Now
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
As I listen to him lecture in the big hall surrounded by white boards full of equations, I know I can only swallow small sips from the fire hose of knowledge that flows from his mind and mouth, flooding the audience with his insight until it streams from their eyes, light filling the room and bouncing off the windows; and I must turn my mind from his most recent threat to divorce me to how it all started: a campus lawn, a daisy, the Quantum Uncertainty of petals on the subject of love─ he loves me, he loves me not.
From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell
Dec
Next For Mel
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“Choose.”
“What?” Mel was confused. It was 3 AM. Just moments before, he’d been pleasantly dreaming.
“You don’t know what ‘choose’ means?”
“Huh?”
“CHOOSE, MEL!”
The irritated voice seemed to come from every direction, as though from out of a whirlwind.
“AND MAKE IT SOMETHING INANIMATE.”
This was it.
“TIME’S UP.”
Mel’s life – if it could be called that – was over.
The angel had others to visit that Thursday and more important places to go.
“Couldn’t I be a dog, or a goldfish?”
“REINCARNATION’S MAINLY INTO LIFELESS OBJECTS, MEL.”
People don’t realize.
“Like…into an old basketball?”
“SO BE IT!”
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Dec
Home For Christmas
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I finished arranging the last of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. I pressed the switch and the bright red, green and blue lights lit the room, and the star topper sparkled.
The manger was arranged with Mary and Joseph beside the baby Jesus and the wise men holding their gifts.
My children were getting the milk and cookies ready for Santa Claus before going to bed and awakening to presents and my laughter, even though Hal wasn’t home.
I sat on the large sofa and sipped my hot cocoa when the doorbell rang.
My Hal, home from the war.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
No Paradise
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
We left our gear on the shore and braved the jungle. Verdant, mossy plants, swollen fruits, normal snakes and spiders. All expected. But that smell. Like sulfur. Why? As earth and rocks piled up it permeated everything. It coated our hair and settled into the weave of our clothes. Warnings went unheeded. When we summited, it was too late. The crag gave way to a cavernous cleft. It glared a stony glare. Then the ground shuttered. Then it trembled. In those final fleeing moments, choked in smoke, death raining down, we understood the island’s ancient name: The Great Giant’s Buttocks.
From Guest Contributor Nicholas De Marino
Dec
Coffee?
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Coffee? I asked.
Totally, you replied.
When I offered an invitation, you always accepted. You never extended one yourself.
Was this friendship a one-way mirror, a one-way road, a one-note song?
Over several years, I pondered what it signified. If a friendship is only one-sided, is it a friendship at all?
I waited. I didn’t hear from you. Months.
Lunch? I asked.
Can’t wait, you answered.
More months later.
Dinner?
Tomorrow? Your text read.
Your company was always innocuous, comforting in a way. Reliably benign.
I never messaged you again. After nineteen years, that was the last time we spoke.
From Guest Contributor Justene Musin
Dec
The Park
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Since the death of my father, I made it a habit to walk in his favorite park every Saturday, something we always did together. Sometimes we had a catch, until one day his hand slipped, and the ball landed in the lake with a splash, and people chortled and pointed. That’s when I knew his Parkinson’s was getting worse. Soon after, he was unable to do the things he loved, gardening being one of his fondest.
I stood by the lake and listened to the children playing when I saw something float by.
It was the ball from our catch.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Dec
July 25th
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
What a disgusting way to look at someone. Like you can not, so you do not. So what are you DOING looking at me if you can not? I can see it not happening for you.
Your reality will not let it happen, so you don’t acknowledge
what is reflecting in your eyes
go back to what is yours
go back to what is in front of you
let me slide into the background
I am nothing
to you now
I am nothing
I am the crowd
this strange nothing breathing nothing
I am nothing
nothing
don’t smile
don’t
no
From Guest Contributor Nick LaSorella
Dec
Teases
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Sam is lying languid on yellow sheets. James will be home tomorrow which leaves little time for new lovers.
Sam reaches up and receives the glass and sips, as I drink from the bottle and look at scars on a wrist, tattoo marked and bled, bracelet often mislaid.
Bob Marley doesn’t give a shit, while Sam Cooke looks dispirited at what yet will come. Joplin cries wild abandon from vinyl well-worn and well earned.
And James will return and for now Sam is here and I am here and the bottle is half full and Sam teases with a fingertip…
From Guest Contributor Michael Tyler
Michael writes from a shack overlooking the ocean just south of the edge of the world. He has been published in several literary magazines and plans a short story collection sometime before the Andromeda Galaxy collides with ours and…
Nov
On The Plane
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Passengers on a flight from Dallas to Los Angeles reportedly freaked out when they spotted a rat on board. No one airborne wants to see a rat running around. And yet…
Mel, one of the passengers, turned to the man sitting beside him.
“Mel’s the name. I’m going to a dry-cleaning convention.”
“Dry cleaning, huh?”.
Otto Franzblau had forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning before the flight. As he explained to Mel, he was giving a paper on medical laboratory experimentation in Los Angeles.
Dry-cleaning? Laboratory experiments? Could anyone blame the rat for trying to get off the plane?
From Guest Contributor David Sydney
Nov
Prose Vs Poetry
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I watched a sentence emerge the other day at the end of a series of ambivalent decisions. The pressure of decision-making, the tense inner conversation writers conduct when writing, may be more felt than conscious, but it is nonetheless real. Even as I am writing these very words I am debating with myself whether these are the very words I should be writing. Decisions don’t make themselves. Do I use a dash here – or nothing? And what about an adjective for color or to add nuance? One misplaced brick can bring the whole thing down. Poetry flourishes on the ruins.
From Guest Contributor Howie Good
Howie is a professor emeritus at SUNY New Paltz whose newest poetry book, The Dark, is available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.