haron Lyn Stackpole's art considered as a video: "I always had a female character in my drawings either in illustration form or comic and I'd have her acting out whatever I was also living in my drawings. For some reason, this was reassuring and helped me to feel less alone."
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MAKEITSHORT: Three Not-the-News, Under-a-Minute Videos
When you are suffering from an overdose of dire news, may we suggest spending a minute with a happy dog tooling down the road, a koto-fueled Japanese fire, and bird upon a Buddha's head?
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EDITORIAL: Shelley Moore Capito Remains Missing-In-Action
It is Dec. 4—28 days after the 2020 U.S. presidential election was called for Biden/Harris. Yet WV Sen. Shelley Moore Capito has yet to formally recognize Joe Biden as President-Elect or repudiated Donald Trump's dangerous lies about election fraud lies.
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POEM: The Flavor of Grief
I have been getting familiar lately with the flavor of grief. It comes on me with no warning. While driving up-river, to shelter-in-Nature. At 68 mph, passing a too-slow, white Chevy truck.
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JUSTICE PROJECT | “Pills & Suits” & Patrick Morrisey
In an illustrated excerpt from Pulitzer-winner Eric Eyre's "DEATH IN MUD LICK," he describes WV Attorney General's Patrick Morrisey's entanglement with one of the huge pharmaceutical companies that helped spawn the opioid crisis, and the devastation that continues to affect families.
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Note on Site Update: nov13.2020
This site is being expanded more fully into a general multimedia magazine and showcase for multimedia storytelling.
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POEM: “Window No. 1”
One of my earliest, notable windows was in the basement bedroom I shared with brother Rick. It opened to the left, sliding open with a satisfying 'chonk!' Revealing the level grass of our backyard.
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PICTURE|POEM: A Dozen Ways to Look at Chicago, Illinois
I've always been intrigued by human beings whose lives are lived just below and sometimes at the level of the clouds. They surround us by the thousands, the tens of thousands. In blue rooms, staring at TVs in their skyboxes. Doing Downward Facing Dog, 2,000 feet above the sidewalk.
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POEM | “My Paragraph & I”
'I want my paragraph to strut, carved cane in hand, the Left Bank, like a proper boulevardier. I want my paragraph to wow you. leave you wanting more. To, if possible, make you gasp. To make you—prose willing—cry. And then, to laugh. And then to laugh at your crying ...'
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POEM | “Body of Evidence”
'I'd no excuse not to grok the fact, or traffic in illusions of not growing old. Or denial of encroaching senescence. Or flipping the bird at Mister Death. It would halt nothing of my body's fade, of our decay. I was, perhaps, whistling past my future graveyard.'
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POEM | “Nous Celeron”
'Don’t you, Nous Céleron,/wish to lay down your arms?/Enter the Ohio’s cool darkness,/or the Chinodahichetha!/Sounding out each syllable/as a Wyandotte/might utter them .../
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POEM | The Pledge
We must imagine/a better country, after/the orange man in/the white house. Tote/our losses & our/wounds. Revelations/about our neighbor’s/secret selves. The sign,/the flag, rippling in/the wind. That says—/'Off with your head’ ….
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POEM | “Fridays”
I mark out my life in the passage of a flood of Fridays, the signposts zooming by in Friday cat posts by a favorite blogger.
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A Hundred Years of Silence
It should be recalled/most of human history/has been lived in silence.
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PORCH POEMS: ‘Ms. Nature & Mr. Death’
So, my day, which when fortunate,/begins with coffee, cat, and dawn,/shifts at some point, to the deck, for some sitting beneath the same old sky,/only this time, eyes closed./Climbed up on the shore, out of thetumultuous stream of thought./I’ve yet to grasp the meaning/of your collaboration, Ms. Nature,/with your ally, Mr. Death.
