Highways and Byways: Angel in the Corner

By Maik Strosahl

One of my favorite projects I have been involved with as a poet was working with previous Poet Laureate of Indiana Joyce Brinkman at the National Art Museum of Sport. Several Indiana writers were brought in to look at the various art pieces and invited to submit ekphrastic (art from art) poems that could be displayed with the item that inspired it.
    While only one per writer was actually used in the museum, I ended up writing several that went on to be published. This one was inspired by a painting by Tom Hill called “Ecce Homo,” portraying a dazed looking boxer and in his corner his coach shouting encouragement. Sadly, the museum is no longer around. Some pieces have been absorbed into the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis, but I have been unable to locate a picture of this piece.


Nine rounds since he stepped
through the ropes, into the ring

Three rounds after it
almost ended on his knees
as he heard every other number
of the referee’s count

From “The Scratching Post”:Chess

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, March 30, 2017. Republished here by permission of the author.]



I can’t recall how old I was when I started playing chess – either 8 or 9. One day, my father came home from work with a cigar box that contained no cigars. Instead it was full of black and white figurines, most of which represented people out of the pages of medieval history. My father explained they were members of warring kingdoms. The field of battle was a chessboard, formerly known to me as a checkerboard. The objective, to invade the opposing kingdom and trap its king.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 42. Crosshairs

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Rainbow flew down the road on his way back to the mill. His job, now that the killer was caught, would be to protect his cover story, and the sooner he warned Kirk, packed his clothes, and hit the road, the better off he would be.
    When Kirk saw Rainbow race through the gates and on to the shed, he looked back down the road to see who was chasing him. No one was to be seen there, but when Rainbow hurriedly jumped off the motorcycle, Kirk rushed to join him.
    Rainbow threw open the half-closed doors of the shed, hoping to find a tarp to throw over the motorcycle. He grabbed one that was spread across the work table next to where the bike had been parked for years. The tarp dragged a couple of shoe boxes and a hammer off the table, and they fell onto the dirt floor.

All Over the Place: A Lesson in Hats

By Michael H. Brownstein

[For a bit there I wrote for the Chicago Reader. This is a true story about what happened right after we moved into a neighborhood where things were gang-ridden and quite dangerous.]

When I moved into a house on Touhy in Rogers Park, a northside neighborhood in Chicago, I was immediately struck by the neighborhood’s clean lawns and the absence of broken glass and graffiti. Then my 13-year-old son and I took a walk to the Howard el station and I got a lesson in hats.

Acting Citizen: Looking Back

By James Knudsen

Now, why would I begin a column with a picture of my high school ring? Hidden from view, inside the band, is an inscription, Jimi Jai. It’s a disaster phonetically, but I was “going through a phase.” A new wave of conservativism was sweeping the country, and I had recently discovered my older sister’s record collection, with its hopeful strains of the late ’sixties and early ’seventies. I wanted to be a hippie, change my name from James to Jimi – yes, like Jimi Hendrix – and swim against the prevailing current of Reagan-era optimism and conspicuous consumption.

Book Review: Poetic Philosophy / Philosophical Poetry

A review of Allegory in Early Greek Philosophy, by Jennifer Lobo Meeks

By Moristotle

From her opening pages, Professor Meeks, an Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Perimeter College of Georgia State University, manifests writing mastery and loving expertise on the technicalities and history of her subject. I recognized a book I wanted to savor; anyone interested in the roots of philosophy in Homeric and Hesiodic myths would.

From “The Scratching Post”: American pride

By Ken Marks

[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, March 25, 2018. Republished here by permission of the author.]

Have you ever watched “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” You can get an education, and not just from the questions and answers. For example, it recently aired a week of shows with the theme “American Pride.” All the contestants did a service for their communities: charity work, nursing, firefighting, teaching, and the like. Certainly, we should be grateful for the good they do, sometimes at the sacrifice of a livable income. But it’s hard for me to see gratitude as pride, and I certainly see nothing “American” about what I feel or what they do.

Murmuration

Courtesy Nick Dunlop^*

An allegory

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

They descend, tens then hundreds then thousands,

Their mass of tiny wingbeats flattening the bamboo canopy into sparse strands,

Like a helicopter gunship, searching a jungle for prey.

Aggressive and raucous, choosing bullying over tact,

They force the others to the edges of what was their home tract:

“This is our thicket now.”

Penny for Her Thoughts: Where, Oh Where?Part 3 [Final]

Kim & Tom

From There to Here

By Penelope Griffiths

Fast-forward five more years, when, with two kids in tow, I made my escape.
    Divorce is never pretty, but I just wanted out. My lawyer told me that if I left the marital home, I’d lose everything, but all I could think of was, if I didn’t leave, I’d be miserable and probably do something I’d regret – possibly with a heavy, blunt instrument. So, I left, but only after I’d made arrangements for my mother, who was living with us, to get an assisted-living house, and an agreement from my soon-to-be-ex-husband for me to have some of the furniture, along with our dog, Cindy.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 41. Confusion

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Rainbow managed to complete the framework for the new boathouse, but he was having a hard time keeping his mind on the job. It kept popping into his head that he was riding the getaway vehicle used in a double murder. He felt like a pawn on a chess board. He believed that one of the two sons was the serial killer, but what kind of game was the killer playing? Kirk Johnson had to know that when Ted Banks saw that motorcycle there would be a reaction from him. Banks’ telling Rainbow to paint the bike meant that he knew the danger of having the motorcycle show up again on the streets. So why did Kirk give the bike to him in the first place?
    He was deep in thought when a car pull into the drive. The sheriff got out and hollered, “Send the Mexicans home and come to the house. I need your help with something.”

All Over the Place: Let the Earth Speak in Tongues and If You Listen Hard Enough, You Will Understand

By Michael H. Brownstein

The voices in the graveyard have been known to scream

and if you settle where the crab grass grows,

you can hear them skipping over locust burns and dandelion bones.

Water, too, needs a sorting place away from confusion

but the voices flow into it, the voices flow with it

even as we death bomb and death bomb

bone, powder, flesh, fog, burning hair —

stone and scorpion, marker and–

Must-read: “If I ruled the world”

Do your day right

By Moristotle

Moristotle highly recommends Ken Marks’ entertaining, psychologically and sociologically insightful, and self-revealing piece, “If I ruled the world,” posted yesterday on The Scratching Post. Your day just can’t be right without reading it. And your parties might be more fun if you play the game Ken proposes.

Copyright © 2021 by Moristotle

Susan’s Stuff: who raised me

Detail from painting

By Susan C. Price

i include my notes as commentary.

Penny for Her Thoughts: Where, Oh Where? Part 2 [of 3]

Me (L) as a midwife

Where I Came From

By Penelope Griffiths

My life in the UK was great. I had a job I loved and was very well paid. I had a lovely house and great social life. My job afforded me comfort and travel all over the world, both for work and for fun. I’ve had the pleasure of visiting and working from Japan to Russia to Africa to the Middle East – all at 5-star billing. I would “pop” over to Paris or Le Touquet for a cheeky day or weekend of shopping and drinking fine wines and champagnes. Very often my two children would accompany me; one can say I was the example for their own wanderlust.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 40. Taylor on Site

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Taylor checked into the Roadway Inn at 3:15 the same afternoon. He called Wayne as soon as he got to his room, and 10 minutes later there was a knock on his door. “Man, I’m glad to see you!” Wayne said.
    Taylor went back to the bed and got a file from his suitcase. “Here’s everything we have on Banks, but there’s nothing that says serial killer.”
    Wayne sat down at the table by the window and quickly perused the file. “It’s the only lead I have,” he said. “Nobody will talk to me here, black or white. The one and the only person who has spoken to me about the murders is a drunk, but I believe him when he said Banks picked up his friend that night.”