Flying Island

The War Correspondent by Joseph S. Pete Ernie Pyle filed dispatches about the sweaty grunt, the common man, fed an anxious, news-starved homefront weak and jittery from paltry rations, got his typewriter-clattered copy devoured by the president’s wife, bit into the gleaming gold of a Pulitzer Prize. As the roving Scripps-Howard battlefront correspondent lugged his hefty Corona 3 into yet another fight, a sniper's bullet splattered the back of his skull out on the hot beach sand. -30- The unyielding deadline of time claimed the Ernie Pyle Museum in his hometown, the journalism school building that long bore his name and the faded remnants of his storied reputation. They erected a bronze statue of him hunched over his typewriter on campus, but misspelled his job title, “war corespondent,” a journalistic sin he may have himself sometime committed in haste while trying to make a shrapnel-riddled hell feel real oceans away. ...

The Vacant House Next Door by Hiromi Yoshida Questions hover thickly, (gargantuan moths) tattered curtain bits framing basement windows were actually mere cobwebs in the vacant house on E. Atwater Ave. Bay windows stare sullenly into adamant sunlight, (stark contrast with Indiana University fraternity houses and the Co-Op on E. 3rd St.) avalanche of dust motes, debris of unknown years—a biohazard I dare not step into (despite the enigmatic threshold where the door once was), crumbling and festering—collapsing in upon its own precarious skeleton self—begging to be razed to the still fertile grounds. Hiromi Yoshida is a winner of multiple Indiana University Writers' Conference awards. Her poems have been published in The Asian American Literary Review, Indiana Voice Journal, Evergreen Review, and Bathtub Gin. She organized the Poets 4 Unity monthly reading series in Bloomington, Indiana, in re...

Overnight Flight by Henry Ahrens Over hill poured beaker fog but our plane slipped away before it dissolved. Soon enough my earphones fell out then the man in front of you lost his spine, turned to gelatin, head jiggling. You slipped your shirt off— night terror came screaming over the continent. The attendant stared when you fell asleep shirtless, I shrugged at her—kids. Night fell away gently, parts of the plane rained in sprinkles, soft wafting, engine whining to the furthest diving of subconscious thought. After long descent, aircraft reassembled among streaking blue lights, touched down solid ground. We put your shirt back on and shuffled through the terminal. Henry Ahrens attended St. Joseph's College in Rensselaer, Indiana, but now resides in Cincinnati, Ohio, where he teaches a variety of high school English classes. His works have appeared in From the Edge of the Prairie, Tipton Poetry Journal, and...

Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day 2018 by Norbert Krapf Not long after we received ashes on our foreheads, I learned from my brother that our sister Mary passed into spirit in her sleep last night. No more sister suffering, no more blood sister left in this world of flesh, but a beautiful spirit remains always a spirit beautiful in any and every world. I was to see you in less than a week, but now Mary I will see you always alive, giving others hope and courage, wanting always to lift them toward the best they can become, believing in what they would give to us. You gave us eyes to see gifts hiding in ourselves. To Come Knockin’ at Your Door? by Norbert Krapf Sister, every year you wrote to your brother who cut off from all of us and our children thirteen years ago without telling us where he went or why. You wanted to stay in touch. Your husband dug up his address. Sister, somebody hurt brother bad. I know...

Today (July 2) would have been the 86th birthday anniversary of Richard Pflum, a longtime fixture in the Indianapolis poetry community. He died on March 15. Several friends and colleagues honored him by submitting poems. Dick, as close friends called him, was a founding member of the Writers' Center of Indiana (now Indiana Writers Center). He ran the semi-monthly Poetry Salon, a feedback group for poets, and emceed the monthly An Evening With the Muse, which featured a guest poet and an open mic. He loved to frequent open mics in the city, often garnering respect from spoken-word artists. His collections of poetry include  Richard Pflum: A Dream of Salt (Raintree Press), A Strange Juxtaposition of Parts (Writers' Center Press, Indianapolis), The Haunted Refrigerator and Other Poems (Pudding House Press), Listening With Others: Poems Under the Musical Influence (The Muse Rules), and Some Poems to Be Read Out Loud: New and Selected Poems (Chatter House Press). Besides poetry,...