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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Rocket City, USA

Rocket City, USA

My father, a career IBM man, was one of myriad late-1960′s NASA-related personnel contracted in the effort to beat the Russians to the moon, and a few months in “I Dream Of Jeannie”-era Cocoa Beach was just part of the drill. It remains amazing to me how antiquated, yet currently unfathomable, is the notion of...
Still Life

Still Life

  The mother of all storms is upon us. We are taken aback, our skirts blow up. We show our panties, bad girls all of us, march off to school with our lunch boxes open. Do you want my apple? Do you want my pear? See all the fruit for the taking, piled high in...
I Love My Beard

I Love My Beard

Officer, I’ve told you exactly what happened. I’ve been here all day and, frankly, I don’t appreciate being treated like a criminal. Now, I’ve answered all your questions, filled out a report, and signed my statement. What more could you possibly want from me? Again? You want me to go over what we’ve already been...
Ode to the Crumb

Ode to the Crumb

  Speck of cheese, dot of bread, slivered hint of once pie. They stir up our hunger, send a flare down desire’s dark hole, invite us to rise up again from here. A crumb of bird humming contends, hungry, with the bee. Green-back glow and the long beak sneaks into flowers with smooth insertion until...
GCC's Exquisite Corpse

GCC’s Exquisite Corpse

Among Surrealist techniques exploiting the mystique of accident was a kind of collective collage of words or images called the cadavre exquis (exquisite corpse). Based on an old parlor game, it was played by several people, each of whom would write a phrase on a sheet of paper, fold the paper to conceal part of...
How to Fall: An Interview with Susan Stinson

How to Fall: An Interview with Susan Stinson

Susan Stinson is the Writer in Residence at Forbes Library in Northampton, Massachusetts, and the author of Belly Songs, Fat Girl Dances with Rocks, Venus of Chalk, and Martha Moody. Her upcoming book, Spider in a Tree (Small Beer Press, Oct 2013), is historical fiction chronicling the life of Jonathan Edwards, one of the great...
The World's Greatest Salesman

The World’s Greatest Salesman

Dad was dying. I was the only one of the children without a steady job and so the obvious choice to fly down to Florida and navigate him through to the end. The morning after I arrived at his condo, he entered the hospital for the last time. There were going to be more X-rays...
Apologies

Apologies

  “Apologies” was a collaborative project that invited people to send us poems, stories, paragraphs or whatever that told the story of a wrong-doing of which the author was not really sorry for.  Below are the five pieces we received. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I lied on this invitation. And I’m glad I did it. I’d do it...
The Small House on the Street

The Small House on the Street

There was a time in Greenwich when people kept a car for more than a year and could look at their house and say, “Maybe this is enough.” When my grandparents, Jean and Dean Barker, moved to Greenwich in 1968, it was actually a pretty ordinary town. They bought a house with half an acre...
Always, The Old House

Always, The Old House

  My grandmother shows me my first yellow rose, pale – called Moonlight Glow – which she tends by the stone wall beyond the old, old house. I shut tight my eyes to see us both in the afternoon light. There’s a tale of Bereft in that house which doesn’t yet speak of Grandpa naked...
Swans' The Seer

Swans’ The Seer

Recently, while browsing through new albums on a website of music reviews, I came across a void of black from which some sort of Wookie/bobcat crossbreed was grinning at me. It had dirty, human teeth and was missing its eyeballs. Creepy, I thought. The album cover had no text, but below the painting was some...
The Cold Miles

The Cold Miles

  He is reaching around her – claw foot tub, oceanography. I could say islands, but instead – weigh stations, always this or that, always weather. She is wondering what it might be like to take a class at the University, what might have been the ending to the movie she fell asleep to the...