Welcome back all ye writers, poets, and demons of the night. We have a poetic issue this time, with antoher poem from resident dream-master Talia, and the start of a new, non-fiction section, 6 Word Memoirs. At the moment, it’s short but I hope it will grow with the issues to come. I know there are many great voices out there; my desire is to provide a space for them to speak.
If you wish to submit a piece, a new name suggestion, a comment on our published pieces, or even a comment on me as curator/host, my email is email@example.com. If you do write in and you want to see me respond to it/publish it in the next issue, please write in the subject line OK TO PRINT.
Without further ado, I present this issue’s In the Corner. May it inspire and confound the imagination.
Your horror host – Elias Rosner
6 Word Memoir
6 words. 6. Little. Words. That’s all that’s needed to sum up a life. What you love. What you feel. Who you are. Ca n it be done in six words? Maybe not. But we tried. Do you have 6 words that describe yourself?
Beck Fink: Paint, Animals, Words, Dye, Snow, Red.
Elias Rosner: Solitude, Cats, Stories, Woods, Chocolate, Libraries.
Books on Faith
What is faith? Can one have it? Is it earned? Or is it something more? Something….tangible. Katie has her own set of questions and writes it down in her book on faith.
Faith is not defined.
It cannot be melted into a candle,
Then set aflame so as to permeate
A small room with a light scent
It cannot be added into a cake
Either cup by cup
Nor spoonful by spoonful.
Faith cannot even be placed in a jar on a shelf,
Only to be hidden amongst other
States of being or thought that simply
Perhaps Faith is best measured in words,
And so Faith is best kept in books.
I cannot hold my Faith in one single book,
As so many do.
Instead I find my Faith in the words of many,
Which manifests in my mind
Like an odd collection of works
That don’t quite fit together.
But perhaps that is the nature of Faith:
Some disorder struggling to form
And creating a hope solely, purely
What is better, a dreamless night or one filled with them? Many would say a dream is the only thing that makes the night bearable but remember, nightmares are dreams too.
He woke up from a dreamless sleep
On a Thursday morning.
If he’d had a good dream,
He might have spent some time
Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling
Debating whether or not he should go back to sleep
And try to pick up where he left off.
Had he had a bad dream,
He could have possibly spent an hour
Wondering if life was worth living
When his fears could invade
The sanctuary of his own mind.
If he’d dreamt truly bizarre dreams,
He probably would have spent the entire day
Questioning his own subconscious
Desires and impulses.
But he hadn’t dreamt anything.
There was nothing to
He merely pulled back the bedsheets
And prepared for the Thursday
Ahead of him.
And thus we reach the end (so long as you forwent the usual column structure). So, I shall leave you with a riddle and, above, a puzzle.
Without fingers, I point. Without arms, I strike. Without feet, I run. What am I?
May your month be spooky and, hopefully, I’ll see you next time, In the Corner.