Stirring : A Literary Collection
Please Visit Our Sponsors


POETRY

Tyurina Allen A Childhood Compared to the 9-Hour Workday
Christy Cottle The Downtown Upanishads
Mieke Eerkens Kitchen Spirits
Denis Michel Garrison Larks Die Too
Michael Griffith Maybe One
Garrett Patrick Kelly Verano
Timothy M. Leonard Kuwait Fall Love Letter
Duane Locke Goodbye Circe
Jennifer McCoy A Billow on the Clothesline
Dan Sicoli Simply Doc

PROSE

James Boice An American Suicide
They found him in his closet. It was his mom. She found him in his closet. He was blue and puffy. Didnít move. Now he lives in his motherís sleep. Sleeping. Only eyes were open.
Andrew Gallix Sweet Fanny Adams
Granted, it could have been an airport, say, or any other point of departure for that matter, not necessarily a railway station. Then again, I would not want you to go thinking that his choice had been totally arbitrary, although he was, admittedly, no stranger to acts of random behaviour.
Jon Ingold And They Say He Shall Return
The trees began to slow down. Tall elms, with wide majestic sweeps at their canopies and thick trunks like the legs of a giant; they began to crawl past as if each was old and frail until eventually the concrete rim of the platform grew from the earth to level with the train.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Elizabeth Larrabe Heather


| Current | Previous | Submit | Editors | Join | Links | Donate | Contact | Sundress |