I see the guitar case first, full more of hope than of the hard currency of shining coins. The kid sits on the pavement, half-hidden in the shadow of a low granite wall. He’s doing a pretty fair rendition of Hey Joe, working a beat-up acoustic guitar. The thing needs new strings, but he’s getting it done. That strange magic, the universal language of rock lyrics, washes away the kid’s Austrian accent. The chords walk down the neck, Joe kills his woman, the crowd ignores the kid.
A bedraggled and harassed Leila Allison threw this message as she galloped passed on a wild looking steed. She had scooped up Mourning Becomes Her by Frederick K Foote and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literary Reruns – Mourning Becomes Her by Frederick K Foote”
Another of our regular contributors has chosen work to be ‘Rerun’ and it’s a beauty. L’Erin Ogle pulled The Dreampurple Light from under the floorboards and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Dreampurple Light by Leila Allison”
These were more than echoes, the soft sounds I was hearing from the rear of the barn sitting back from Route 182 in Franklin, Maine, half a dozen fat pigs to one side, corn as deep as Iowa on the other side, and the terrain across the road flush with blueberry bushes until a slow rise tipped the landscape in its favor… and in mine. In my son Tim’s favor, too. He lives by this barn. Perhaps I had lived waiting for its sassy voices.
Continue reading “Talk from the Back of Tim’s Barn by Tom Sheehan”
Pineapple yoghurt. Trifle. The last few months he wanted milky things. I bought a bottle of Rémy Martin. He took a sip, made a face. ‘It’s too much now, too strong. I’m sorry,’ he said.
Leila Allison has dug deep now into the archives and rooted out a gem from the early days with a story by June Griffin. This is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Margaret’s Mementos by June Griffin”
The unerring radar of Leila Allison has rooted out this strong and moving piece from our very own Hugh. This is what she said: Continue reading “Literally Reruns -The Perfect Personification of Religion by Hugh Cron”
David Henson has been in touch to say that he thinks Unanimous deserves another moment in the limelight. This is what he said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Unanimous by June Griffin”
For history and legend sakes, certain attributes, character traits if you will, have to be appointed here at the beginning of This old house (B. 1742), home for more than half a century of my life, and This old room, dressed with computer by me for the last 28 years. Yet I swear thick-cut Edgeworth pipe tobacco bears its welcome as strong as my grandfather’s creaking chair, diminutive Johnny Igoe’s chair. This most memorable compartment was also his room for 20 years of literate cheer, storied good will, the pleasantries of expansive noun and excitable verb, and his ever-lingering poems, each one a repeated resonance, a victory of sound and meaning and the magic of words. Yet be of stout spirit, for the chair mocks time only in the clutch of darkness thick as the eternal void, and the tobacco’s no longer threatening in its gulp.
Continue reading “Who Knows Who Lived in My House, Built in 1742, or Your House by Tom Sheehan”
A friend of mine for many years, Eric Peavy, lived on the third floor of a tenement house right near the center of the town square graced by a circular green holding two huge elm trees with grand columns and huge umbrella limbs that spread for the season at hand. He was apt to break into an on-going conversation with a connecting remark based on his third–floor view of the square and what had come into his mind.
literally stories 