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  • Man holding a guitar
    Creative

    Easy Listening

    By Jack Dolinger How can you not light up a smilewhen Tony Bennett’s voice bursts out in your ears? You can’t help but nod your headto the beat of James Brown’s funky rhythm. The stress of homework turns into meditationwith Floyd Cramer’s soothing piano. You could drop into a deep sleepwhen Frank Sinatra wishes you a Merry Christmas. You’ll crave acoustics over foodafter hearing Hozier strum away. You want something slow but relatable?Never underestimate Lady Gaga. All these people can pull you to the dance floor.All of them can settle you with a chill groove.

  • Creative

    Galactic Waters

    By Matthew Brothers Resting against the backdrop of  pinpointed light, the nebulous cloud like stretched sea smoke. There are no waves in the black, yet the sea and space share vastness, one much greater than the other. The snowball nebula rests in the cold void, it’s the opposite of snowball earth, it’s beautiful. Well, snowball earth is beautiful, from the outside at least. It floats on a sea holding black matter and cosmic clams. How can the sea and space have a connection? The milky seas send up their light for the satellites to see, and that is all the connection they need. Take this fact from me and you…

  • Creative

    Pushing Past the Past

    By Kim Cardello These feelings of dread, sorrow so overwhelming it’s hard not to cry. You cast me aside carelessly I fold myself inward like the waves we watched once, freely hand in hand Moving forward is hard there is too much pushing and pulling, my emotions taking me back but my heart nudging me forward. One day it’ll be easier, treading on the water; this boundary, keeping me from drowning, sweeping me to solid ground where I can bask in the sun again without remembering you.

  • A red wheelbarrow in a field
    Creative

    The Red Wheelbarrow

    By Andrew Jones so much depended upon that red wheel barrow you pushed across dirt, leaving a dusty trail across our barren backyard, no rain to glaze; just two small kids playing in the clay, mom roasting a chicken.

  • Elephant in the savannah
    Creative

    Elephants

    By Melina Bowser After death, Is there Heaven? Hell? Nothing? The unnerving question Hidden away in a darkened room inside my mind A place I never visit in the day Yet, I can’t seem to escape it at night When my heavy eyelids finally surrender to the exhaustion I run to shut the door Lock it up before it slowly seeps out I make it just in time I’ve suppressed the hunger for answers Never wanting to let myself wander A place I’d only imagine to be daunting But one can only fast for so long On a warm evening A few months after he left us I allowed myself…

  • Close up of a red oak leaf floating in the wind.
    Creative

    Freedom and Leaves

    By Jennifer Weismantle Part I There’s a twisting leaf I notice, eyes fixed on the sky. Wishing to be free from its safe home on a branch. To journey through the sky to lead somewhere new, Impatient leaf, lighthearted wanderer. The twisting leaf’s shadow grows as it falls, A massive hawk’s shadow casts me in darkness. I know what it’s here to do, Stalking my wanderer, a calculated killer. Part II Like the twisting leaf, my ducky likes to wander. Rushing to the gate of her protective enclosure. Disrupted from the days when she could frolic free, There’s more in the sky today than just leaves. From a twisting leaf…

  • Picture of a road leading out of a small town in America
    Creative

    Canton

    By Leah Dietle In the cold of early April, when the frost still clings to grass like enamored lovers, and winter’s last icy breath clings to spring’s dew- that’s when I was brought home. My hometown: a modest white house with wood in the back, serving as the backdrop of my escapist fantasies. Running feet crunching sticks and dirt staining my knees, the sun casting a hazy auburn in its metamorphosis to dusk; my mother’s call ricochet between the trees. Come home, Come home. My hometown: Where buckeyes break from the trees; digging into my back when I fall. The sublime knocking at the front door: Come play, Come play.…

  • Picture of a tea cup
    Creative

    Spilling Tea

    By Emilee Friend They gossip As I sip earl grey. No sugar is added To sweeten their words Or the bergamot on my tongue. They add cream To lighten the topic. I prefer my tea bitter and black, Better to keep me alert Of those with a knife at my back. They gulp down Nightshade tea, Declining the offer Of lavender, chamomile, or mint. Tea parties are wasted If you don’t poison each other With words. They let the drinks get cold. Teacups crack, Dripping red drops of rooibos, Staining the white cloth. They don’t take a break. The stain sets.