Stupid Planet Cruises

I can hardly wait. This is going to be a good one I know, another one with no faster than light speed travel. So primitive. Do you ever wonder why anyone would ever go to a smart planet? It would be just like being home in Karg. Boring. The guide to this blue and green planet says they fight and kill each other. Can you imagine something so stupid? We’d better put on armor under our earth disguise, so someone doesn’t kill us at random. We’re landing in a place called Portland Oregon where something called government impoverishes the locals.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Old Phone

Scattered pixels form your face, I forgot to delete a few, I still miss you sometimes. I miss you more and hear your voice, recorded, a missed call. If only, who knows when the last time will be the last time prior to, I should have kept my phone in my pocket. You always ask asked me to be more available, I always think thought we’d have another moment. To me you are were forever, forever is never forever. Not even these pixels, replicating your face, fading, scattered, fleeting. Afraid I’ll lose you again, broken charger, my phone is dying.

From Guest Contributor Mekah Baker

Mekah is a student of literature and the applied sciences at Pikes Peak State College.

Maple Tree

There was a maple tree on the corner of Ryan's yard as he was growing up. When he was seven, the city ordered it cut down because the branches were interfering with the electrical lines. Ryan cried a lot and convinced his mom to fight. It took many hours of sitting in on city council meetings and gathering signatures for a petition, but eventually the power company relented. The tree was saved.

Now the trees are the only things left standing in their old neighborhood. Once the plant revolution started, Ryan and his mom were spared, but the houses weren't.

The Lost Notebook

I looked for it everywhere I could think to look. Under chairs and beds. In the clutter on the kitchen counter. Behind cushions. No luck. I’ve lost my notebook or had it stolen. The notebook is nothing fancy, a simple assignment pad like the ones we used in school. But I might as well have lost my soul. The notebook contains notes for poems and explosions. I’ve been unable to proceed without it. Words won’t obey like they once did. I’m a mirror without glass, a rocket ship without blastoff, a donor heart without a box to put it in.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry collection, True Crime, is scheduled to be published by Sacred Parasite in early 2026.

Supercut

Ray slipped at the top of his building's stoop and flew face first at the cement below. Time elongated as a supercut of his entire life played out like a scene on a museum urn.

There was Ray's first memory: being handed to a smelly, strange man, dressed in red and white with a giant beard. He'd been waiting in line with many other equally scared children. While he screamed, the scary, strange, smelly man laughed and his parents took photos and everyone laughed.

That was really the only memory that came to mind. Ray was only four years old.

Sunshine

I sat parked with the seat back and the radio playing classical music. The weather forecast called for sunshine, but it began to drizzle. I decided to wait and hoped the rain would pass. I had nowhere else to go, so sticking it out was the logical choice. As the rain subsided, I shut the radio, raised the seat and turned the car off.

I walked to the grave site of my wife and placed a bouquet of daisies on the stone.

“I’m here as promised.”

I knelt and said a silent prayer.

The sky clouded and then it poured.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Corn Maze Days

Corn maze stocks walk along, step by step, in endless motion. Lefts turned to rights back to lefts, leave us wondering and wandering alongside the corn maze. Eleven in the morning turns to seven at night, soon the moon will guide our way. Apple cider dances while the fire flickers, old folks singing folk songs. Knit sweaters insulate the warmth of your love, arms wrapped around my waist. Shadows once trailing, we now chase. Mama made a pie, pie's been cooling on the counter, calling our name. One more corner, one more corner turns a long day to sweet dreams.

From Guest Contributor Mekah Baker

Mekah is a student of literature and the applied sciences at Pikes Peak State College.

Who's To Blame?

There's a responsibility implicit in every act. By choosing to engage in life, we accept that our choices will have consequences, even when we consciously deny them. We are of the world and we are defined by the actions we take as surely as by those we don't.

This isn't about blame or guilt. Such concepts are constructs of society, attributes of culture. Animals probably don't understand guilt. Plants certainly don't, nor rocks. But they live by the same rules of causation that all of us do.

So yes, Mother, I broke the dish, but is it really my fault?

A Mere Shell

In the end I ran away, fleeing what I am guilty of. As a young man I committed those crimes, telling myself orders were orders, that we were the justified, dealing out punishments fit for imagined crimes.

Now, older, reflecting on how my past moulded me, I return to the scene of my crimes. German and Jew, I embraced one me and snuffed out the other. Is this survivor guilt? Or am I finally realizing and admitting my evil past?

I wander the compound, begging spectres for a forgiveness that will never come. Are they the ghost, or am I?From Guest Contributor Tim Law

Parade

The parade marched, danced, and pranced down Main Street, the entire town joining in a festive orgasm of delight. The inclusive nature of the procession meant that everyone was assigned to one of several variegated assemblies. There was a troop of cheerleaders, sports teams, amateur acrobats, and dancing animal costumes. Strangely, everyone was carrying their own tuba, and the deep blasts rebounded off the stone edifices and pavement majestically.

Upon reaching one end of the town, the entire cavalcade turned about and headed in the opposite direction. This continued ad nauseam until everyone was dead.

The Pied Piper strikes again.