The online literary journal of Greenfield Community College

Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems

Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems

Here are some Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems, which are written using the Notes app available in most smart phones. To create these kinds of poems, open the Notes app and proceed to “add a note.”  The text editor that pops up not only offers a keyboard but also auto-suggests three words.  Choose one...
The Lonely Zanate

The Lonely Zanate

  Look at the lonely Zanate, pecking at his own enamored reflection in the dusty window of the room where I slept for seven days in the house of my lover’s wife.   Dear lover of poetry, farmer, family man; what happens when the lonely Zanate pecks too hard at...
What I Have From You

What I Have From You

A jar of pork fat from the small pig your rancheros slaughtered for New Year’s Eve. El aceite del chancho, miraculously slid through Atlanta customs. The same nebulous color of the clouds of Peñas Blancas, suspended somewhere between a solid and a liquid.   A quart of coffee beans (we...
sawmill river

sawmill river

I can’t forget any part of it water tumbled its gush down the white-lined course trying to stay in boundaries of wood and rock mammoth juts of history teased my eyes along its busy track of black so even birds couldn’t land then a strong curve of power rushed under...
Will Anyone Harbor a Broken Poetess?

Will Anyone Harbor a Broken Poetess?

    Book-skimming is a bit like brushing fingertips across the face of the ocean. You caress a page and probe no deeper. Turn to the art tomes when words go from chime-clear to brassy. By the window of the bookhaven perches the kind of woman you don’t ask for...
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Across the Room From Sally Bellerose

Across the Room From Sally Bellerose

    On a warm, slightly overcast Tuesday morning at the end of November, I go to the Haymarket Café in Northampton to meet with local writer Sally Bellerose. She’s the author of the acclaimed 2011 novel The Girl’s Club and numerous short stories, mostly involving themes of gender, class, religion, and illness, among other...
The Crispiest Apple

The Crispiest Apple

  My mother is an escort and an adult-actress, not a prostitute, call girl, hooker, whore, porn star, or streetwalker. Yes, she has a website and no, you can’t have the address. An escort doesn’t trade money for sex. She makes her living exercising the cliché “time is money.” One hour, $500. You’ve got to...
Thanatos on the Rocks

Thanatos on the Rocks

  The refuse of my disease isn’t orange pill bottles or syringes. You won’t find used needles or vials on the floor or in my pockets. You won’t find anything, but if you could, you’d see only fat bottles—emptied. The big bottles wait for me at the store. They hold amber liquid, which sloshes inside...
Aching Sawtooth & Other Haiku

Aching Sawtooth & Other Haiku

  headless nails declawed hammer aching sawtooth * new health card break a leg outbreak of smiles * passionaectomy poisonberry soup gallstone fence * sculpted abs rottenstone belly chiseler’s mark * first gasp last legs back to back * overhead I underfoot * no prayer all morning kneeling bus
Saturday Night Book Club

Saturday Night Book Club

  “I need a good book.” Mary Jane Russell stared at the graying part at the top of her mother’s head, a dull line between the tightly permed blonde curls on the rest of her head. They were in Betty Russell’s dining room having their Friday night tuna, egg noodles, and cheese casserole. Betty used her fork...
Blame It On Bad Luck

Blame It On Bad Luck

  “How long are you back for?” It was a question I would be asked a million and one times. “Are you home for good?” was only asked about half a million. “No,” I would tell them. “I’m only home for about two weeks. I go back at the end of the month.” Their faces...
My Grandmother's Wings

My Grandmother’s Wings

  My grandmother had a Bakelite Philco radio, model 48-250, brown with gold numerals on the dial. Its five tubes received the AM band and operated on 115 volts. I remember little about her, just that she wore black dresses with small white polka dots, pulled her white hair into a bun at the back...
Blade to the Wrist

Blade to the Wrist

He paints a picture with a slow precision Every stroke a product of his weighted thoughts He drags the brush across the canvas with a gasp and his breath rushes out making barely a whisper He is an artist who sits with one fist curled as he captures his pain inflicted by the world From...
Fighters

Fighters

The click, click of old Irish gold and wedding ring passed from nurse to hand, after a tug over a knuckle cracked and rooted in the past like an old ground stump.   Across the dance floor, at the Heidelberg bar, after a stranger’s slap to the ass of his wife, the fighter taught by...
Price of Beauty

Price of Beauty

What beautiful eyes you have. Look how gorgeous you are. Do you have a boyfriend? Oh, you’ll be a heartbreaker. Little girl grew up surrounded by praise, Words that kept her warm, even on rainy days. Looking in the mirror, she saw what they did, A beautiful girl, like you’d see in a vid. Nothing...
Let's Twine!

Let’s Twine!

Twine?  You mean a piece of rope? To wrap around something? Not quite. Twine is a way to make interactive, non-linear stories on the web.  And Plum’s started one! Here’s how it works: 1. Click the link to our Plum Twine: http://philome.la/HeyPlum/plum-twine 2. Read the excerpt and click on any of the highlighted words. 3....
Baltra

Baltra

I am perhaps the only professional artist to ever be hired for a job at a scientific research firm. The offer came in the form of an email from my high school friend Damaris. “I need my right brain,” she’d written as the subject line. That was our high school joke. She was the left...