Category: Writing

I am of the earth by greg elliot

So often do I want for home, for family. Where others seem so happily sheltered by their place and blood, I have long felt transient in both. Houses and kin have been left behind, their memory a mine once rich caved in with time, or burned quite literally to ash. I make wishes through my

Equations by Unknown

I don’t really know what love looks like except for a double-edged sword a qualification if certain a, b, and c conditions are met space I used to make so many excuses for my mother she was young she didn’t have a choice but there came a time when she could have used her voice

Mediocre By Kendra Johnson

This girl is not ready to tell her whole story so she offers it in short words and sentences cryptic phrases and pithy replies she loves stories so much they save her for awhile space She lives in her storybooks because they are safer than ordinary life never makes plans for the future because she

School by Eden Nightingale

Perched upon a weather worn post, he watches. The field, once a pasture, has become a nest of bowing grasses. Long shadows flee the setting sun. Orange light reflects off onyx eyes of the watcher. The silhouette of birds equal in number to the blades below. The sky is darkened with their number, as they

Autumn Tempest by Eden Nightingale

She walks down the old dirt road bare feet creating no dust. s White skinned trees hold high their garlands of gold dancing in the wind which whips dark hair across pink cheeks. s Her eyes search the sky of pale blues worn through with twisting white mists. s A rumble, more felt than heard

Loss by Eden Nightingale

Loss is the scent of an unwashed shirt.  A last chance to save the scent of STOP space Loss tastes of blood in the back of your throat raw from the screams because  STOP space Loss is time gone, mind numbed in a desperate attempt to forget  STOP space Loss is cracked lips from lack

Interview with Raphael Akiba

Hi, Black Bears! You are in for a treat today. I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Nelson Artist Raphael Akiba, which I know you will enjoy listening to. Raphael is raw and honest, with a great story. I first met Raphael this summer at Shambhala in Salmo, B.C. where I purchased a piece of his

Vectors by Claire Fantus

They are splashing in the frigid lake, my boys, dumping heaps of glacial water on top of each other’s heads with glee. Prancing in their underwear around the beach, climbing onto other people’s paddleboards and inflatable water toys. Eli, don’t touch that please. It’s not ours. Words fallen on deaf ears. They have now immersed

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I am of the earth by greg elliot

So often do I want for home, for family. Where others seem so happily sheltered by their place and blood, I have long felt transient in both. Houses and kin have been left behind, their memory a mine once rich caved in with time, or burned quite literally to ash. I make wishes through my

Equations by Unknown

I don’t really know what love looks like except for a double-edged sword a qualification if certain a, b, and c conditions are met space I used to make so many excuses for my mother she was young she didn’t have a choice but there came a time when she could have used her voice

Mediocre By Kendra Johnson

This girl is not ready to tell her whole story so she offers it in short words and sentences cryptic phrases and pithy replies she loves stories so much they save her for awhile space She lives in her storybooks because they are safer than ordinary life never makes plans for the future because she

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