My boyfriend, being the absolute charmer that he is, sent me a dozen red roses for Valentines Day. Nobody’s ever given me flowers for Valentines Day before. Someone once gave me an artichoke for Valentines Day, though. While I’ll admit it was delicious, I don’t think it really compares to roses. Anyways, given the evanescence… Continue reading Much Ado About Roses
For the past six years, I’ve written under the penname R.G. Summers. I’ve had many reasons for doing so. Initials are nice because it prevents people from assigning a gender to your writing immediately, something I thought would be valuable as a woman going into science-fiction. Thinking that I would someday get married and change… Continue reading The Artist Formerly Known as R.G. Summers
Bookcases, empty and bare, Stand purposeless, as if in error. Where once the walls were lined with books Now barren shelves attract no looks The dark store, a cavernous lair, A shadowy shell of what was there When we could lose ourselves with care In stories from book-laden nooks, Then fly away. The… Continue reading A Rondel Lamenting the Slow Demise of the Indie Bookstore
Every year I get a little bit more apolitical, disenchanted with the way the media presents issues and the bipartisan bickering that everything seems to boil down to. Still, news stories flash up and I find myself working up into a tiny tizzy over issues that don’t affect me, issues that I could only contribute… Continue reading The Screaming White Noise: Politics on the Internet
If there is one thing I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that keeping secrets from your loved ones is just about the most poisonous thing you can do. It doesn’t matter if it concerns them or not…no matter how little and insignificant they seem, or how little they mean to anybody else, if you… Continue reading If Only We Could Sell Our Secrets
I remember when I first learned that it was a “playwright” not a “playwrite.” You’re not someone who writes a play, you’re someone who builds a play. That absolutely astonished me. It gave so much more power to the writer. At the end of the day it’s just words on a page, but the writer… Continue reading The Dreamwright
Ergo, I present my Sonnet 104: Following your heart is too glamorized As if it is mysterious and wild To speak a name your mouth has memorized To wander with the whimsy of a child To the doorstep you have always dreamed of. All it can do is take you to the same Smile, the… Continue reading Mondays Need More Love Poems
I think it’s funny how the scientists think they’re the ones that discovered that. Einstein had a big revelation that forced him to question the nature of spacetime as we knew it then, and lo and behold, he figured out that time was not inelastic, not rigid, not uniform…it was relative. Any artist from the… Continue reading Time Has Always Been Relative
I’m always concerned with output. Like a lot of folks, I work pretty hard at what I love and enjoy watching it payoff. I can’t be the only one who wishes there were more hours in the day, though, so I thought I’d share my strategy for how to remain productive the entire day. The… Continue reading There ARE more hours in the day!
Thought I could stand to share another poem. I tried to get this one published for a while, but it wasn’t any editor’s cup of tea. I still love it…one of my favorite of my short poems, maybe. Snuffing Candles Melting, dripping with time passing, Wick still clashing. Ashen, waxen, Flame un-passion. Holding candleholder handles,… Continue reading The Existentially Satisfying Feeling of Snuffing Candles
AUDREY GREATHOUSE 