janet m rives_edited
dresman paul bio
moskal charlene bio
Heffernan gloria bio photo
Rosch eifert, deborah bio
murphy joseph poet bio
Morgan Cara Long-Night Forest
Karen Henry Night Forest
Fendt, Gene, Frog Prince bio photo
Meier Barbara Storm Woman
moises Louise bio (2)
glancy, diane photo
Vojta agnes with eden
Night Forest: Folk Poems and Stories Illustrated by artist Elka Trittel and featuring award-winning poets Katharyn Howd Machan and Gary Baumier, this collection champions folk voices who embody wonder through the charm of old tales with new bite. Reading this collection will make you want to take up the mythic path and find the heart of your inner hero. The collection contains works by over 50 international poets as well as six short stories: "Fomka" by Katie Sakanai, "Briefest Use" by Hayden Moore, "Swan Song" by Caroline Sidney, "Just a Pile of Stones" by Kevin Callahan, and "Eleventh Night" by Lauren Tunnell.
KATHARYN HOWD MACHAN is one of two featured poets in this collection. She inspired our anthology topic with her poem "Clouds" a free verse poem from the perspective of the Giant's wife in the folk tale Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack the Giant Killer. She is the author of 39 published poetry collections, most recently A Slow Bottle of Wine, winner of the 2019 Jessie Bryce Niles Chapbook Competition, and many magazines, anthologies, and textbooks, including What the Piper Promised (winner of the 2018 Alexandria Quarterly Press Chapbook Competition.) She is a professor in the Department of Writing at Ithaca College, specializing in fairy tales and featuring Ithaca, a small city in central New York State, resplendent with gorges and waterfalls and a long lake. She says that for three and a half decades her work has been picking up where Rod Serling left off. Her specialty courses, besides poetry, are Writing Science Fiction and Fantasy, Women and Fairy Tales, and a first-year seminar called Fairy Tales: The Hero’s Journey. Read her poem below.
ELKE TRITTEL: ART. Elke's mixed media originals landed on our pages from her studio in the south of France provides her fans with a colorful journey into the wonderful inner world of the interior imagination. Her dreamscapes and characters evolved from her fifteen years of traveling around the world. Primarily selling her originals from Instagram and to collectors, she works in acrylic painting, collage, and mixed media with a zest for humor in her work for all to enjoy.
GARY BEAUMIER's winning entry for our Love Poetry Contest, Night Forest was selected to receive our 2020 Vision Award by our staff--which titles this year's anthology. Beaumier is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee in English Literature, and has been a long-time poet. His work has been a finalist for the Luminaire Award, as well as a finalist for the Joy Bale Boone Award for his poem, The Migratory Habits of Dreams in Late Autumn. Find his book of poetry From My Family to Yours published in 2019 by Finishing Line Press, and his second book to be released in 2022 by Uncollected Press. Gary says, "I have been a teacher, a book store manager, and a gandy dancer (for one summer a long time ago). I used to build wooden sailboats, and I once taught poetry in a woman's prison. He says he is often found walking by Lake Michigan.
by Katharyn Machan Howd
is the word I like to use.
Then I smile.
I’ve written the story 56 times
and burned every version. With glee.
That boy was like a golden harp himself
and I knew I could play him.
I’d wanted my husband dead so long
I’d forgotten when I first wished it.
Maybe I could have just melted gold
to pour down his snoring gullet.
Maybe I could have plucked the goose
and forced feathers into his throat.
But if he’d woken? Another fist
to my face, kick to my aging ribs.
No, the boy was best.
Him and his hunger, his greed.
Once, twice, thrice he came.
I helped him feel confident, safe.
I was the one who whispered darkly
to the unplucked strings:
That bellow, that roar as the big oaf woke,
that fumbling long run to the stalk:
I hid my laughter, waiting, watching
for the gleam of that axe far below.
Once there was a woman in the night forest
who could hear above the register of most.
She would listen to mice sing in chorus
or coyotes comfort their young
over the flash and rumble of coming weather.
There was the night when I stayed in the garden
late into the hours and you called for me
and together we watched the gods
toss stars across the sky and later
we returned to our bed and I watched you
over the vastness of our pillows
as your breathing fell into a rhythm
and you separated from me.
Have your dreams returned you to a wooded place,
dusted in moonlight, where you keen your ears
to other selves, selves beyond the register of my knowing?