We are sorry, Earth,
for the interruption.
I’m sure we’ll be back at it soon.
You won’t even miss us.
Meanwhile, have a rest.
You deserve it.
Teach the roots and shoots and buds
a new season.
Give them lemony dreams
of a humming summer.
Simpleness we will need.
How to love you.
Author Archives: Lee Dunn
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.
The weaker sex
We come to you.
Some, in lifelong love.
Others, in fickle infatuation.
More, in savage force-
As bestial as the barnyard
or the jungle.
Assuaged until the next rut.
Unable to accept
a blame deserved,
an ego bruised,
instead becoming
the destroyer of worlds.
Who, then, is weaker?
Creative Nonfiction: Day by Day
This story of our times, by Denise Ruttan…
You have thought about death a lot lately. Not in the same way that you used to think about death, as if it were an existential threat. Those times …
Creative Nonfiction: Day by Day
Wayward things
Across the face
of the blown up moon,
a thing with headlights flies.
In a desperate search
for a dish and a spoon,
and a cat with a fiddle, besides.
When all of a suddle,
a sight to befuddle-
it spotted a magical cow.
‘Twas taking a rest
from its jumping, i guess
(an impossible thing until now)
***
Art by Emily Stepp
A second chance
Somewhere
in great Andromeda’s arm,
little Donelda comes to herself
at the sound of trickling water.
In the stream’s iridescence,
something bobs-
circle-twirls in the undertow of an eddy.
On this day, the water is warm,
and her thin fingers feel no change
as she scoops up the doll.
Raggedy Ann has made it through.
Together, they’ll be just fine.
I’m a frayed knot
Muffled.
The world cannot get in.
I can’t get out.
A purchased illness to assuage another.
Recycled thoughts,
boring in their dirtiness.
I devise a fool’s plan
to use this tedium.
A grand flourish.
Since I have no sword,
I’ll untie the Gordian Knot.
Just listen
Childlike,
I imagine that sound never decays.
That I could put the needle on the record,
and listen to whistles
that can’t come anymore.
That we could hear childlike things
we once said to each other,
but have forgotten to write down.
Cry for this deafness and dumbness,
at last.
Butterfly
When you look at me,
sometimes it’s very odd.
I feel as if you are seeing something
that I don’t yet know.
Figuring the future.
Got it down pat.
But I don’t want to know,
unless you show me.
When I look at you,
I wish your flurry of flights would end.
Stay. We’ll share stories.
A theory of nonsense
Is there a Forever
Who can scope the great mind
A yolk in an egg
Then what is beyond the egg
Monkeys and typewriters
ad infinitum
Think your deep thoughts
and they surely will write ‘em
Stories of ours
will be amber-ingrained
and lain among flowers
all freshened with rain
Holding the fort
under my thumb
i have felt
felt
then, enveloped
in warmth,
i have sent four soldiers
as peacekeepers,
with trimmed nails
and an artistic bent.
Aremyfeetofftheground 