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Poetry 1 Fall 2016
  by Carolyn Wolfe
Mist slowly rises
The air stilled
The moon, was in hiding, but full
And had been bone white
Before they had entered
The street where the
House stood
But there the cliché ends…
The perfect house
Looking all modern
Up to the nth degree
Was it crouching?
Door on oiled hinges
No creaks to be heard
No tattered curtains
No torn screen doors
Just windows
And far too many
Looking out
Like insect eyes
Waiting for
And us jackasses
Coming to see
The wreck
That had been someone’s home
The house
That cornered the market
No one knows where he is
No one saw him leave
but the house is empty
While he lived there
His wife left him,
His kids
Teenagers only
Reside now
in separate cells
One in a psychiatric hospital
One in jail
His wife
Flew the coop
Her women’s intuition
No match
For the jealous rage
Of the house
And her instinct
For self preservation
Was stronger
Than her 18 year marriage
So it goes…
She visits her kids now
On alternate Thursdays
Tonight, Halloween night
I had to go
With my posse of friends
To view this
Bewitched and Beleagured home
That took the lives of normal folk
Like you
Like me
And shredded those lives
Haunted is such a kind word
For evil.
Just A Little Paint
       by Carolyn Wolfe
I wanted a Jack o’ Lantern she said
He waited a moment,
Remembering to
Breathe in
Until he could speak to her with patience
Not anger
Not over this trivial situation…
She continued with her tirade
I wanted a pumpkin
With upside triangle eyes
And a wide mouth
with spaced teeth
Grinning an evil smile
Was that too much to ask?
He sat down
With a little sigh of resignation
She always found something to complain about
After all
He had done his best
He leaned over and lovingly took her hand in his
Looking at the human head
he had just brought in the door
Still dripping
He said gently,
Look honey,
You can always paint it orange….
Bio:Carolyn Wolfe is a free-lance writer, published poet, and author of seven books, which range from children's picture books to adult Sword and Sorcery novellas, and are all available on Amazon.com. Her other body of work includes writing articles for local newspapers including two Winchester VA newspapers, The Compass , and the Winchester Star (for a  six month Special edition section). Ms. Wolfe also free- lances for local organizations.  When not writing her books, she keeps herself busy hosting local poetry events in the Winchester area.  A compilation of her poetry titled "Notes From The Shadow Self" is available through amazon.com.  Ms. Wolfe lives in the Shenandoah Valley with her photographer, husband Scott and a houseful of animal companions.
The Uses of Enchantment
In memory of Dr. Bruno Bettelheim
1903 – 1990
    by Barbara Alfaro
In fairy tales, enchantment means
a man turned into a beast,
a girl asleep a hundred years,
both redeemed by a shining kiss.
No momentary action, whether calmly
done or irrational and fixed in fear,
can undo a lifetime of loving and concern.
Another meaning
of enchantment is enrapture,
a universe I imagine where
Dachaus are not allowed
and the music of intelligence is heard
even while one sleeps.
Bio: Barbara Alfaro is a graduate of Goddard College in Vermont and the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. A recipient of a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Award for her play Dos Madres , her poems and stories have appeared in Poet Lore, The Journal of Kentucky Studies, The Chesapeake Reader, Front Porch Review, and The Greensilk Journal. Barbara has published a paperback edition of her poetry called Singing Magic, an ebook edition of her poems called First Kiss, and a collection of ten-minute comedies titled Stagestruck & Other Short Plays. Mirror Talk, her memoir about a Catholic girlhood and working in theatre won the IndieReader Discovery Award for Best Memoir. She and her husband Victor live on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Barbara blogs about poetry, film, and books at http://www.BarbaraAlfaro.net.


    by Adelaide B. Shaw


A chilly night on foreign streets. Warehouses and factories loom darkly. Block after block, wind and our footsteps the only sounds.


Didn't we pass that building before?

Somewhere is the busy tourist area of shops, restaurants, pubs, safety. Hoping to see another person to ask for directions, yet afraid to meet anyone. Why didn't we heed the warnings? Were there warnings?

Think. Think of the city's layout. The river is just east of the city center. And the moon, Yes, the moon. It rises in the east and sets in the west. At 10:00 p.m. it is still rising, not yet overhead. 

The wind through bare trees

feeling the warmth

of aged scotch.


Bio:Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Millbrook, NY with her husband.  She has three children and six grandchildren. Her haiku and other Japanese poetic forms, such as tanka, haibun, and photo haiga have been published widely.  Her award winning collection of haiku, An Unknown Road is now available as an E-book on Amazon Kindle. Examples of her poetry may be seen at www.adelaide-whitepetals.blogspot.com . She also writes short stories and has been published in many journals, including Loch Raven Review, Bartleby Snopes, American Literary Review, The Writers’ Journal, and Storyteller.

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