An artist, introvert, music lover, coffee drinker and gardener or A human, otherwise known as Noe.

“PERSONA”

I love when I’m alone that makes me happy somehow, but I do socialize sometimes. This Pet is the only friend of mine.

~Noe Elfa

Noe Elfa, is a self-taught Illustrator who, fell in love with drawing and since 2016 has used it as a means to express their feelings .

You can support the artist either through patronage at:

https://ko-fi.com/noedrawings and purchases at https://www.redbubble.com/people/elfacreation/shop?asc=u

Or just admire their work at their WordPress Blog: https://noedrawings.wordpress.com/ or on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/noe_drawings/

Lost World

LOST WORLD

-By Joni Caggiano

Misplaced in a forest of petrified people

with counterfeit smiles and fixed stares.
The trees have quit clapping with parts disfigured

from clear-cutting, and fire.
I drift on a rain cloud that has no water

while fairies stay warm in a bubble of air.
Their numbers have dwindled like bees

as tears fall through the cloud turning to ice

my ducts are now empty as I will soon be.
Bits of me are falling, turning to white stone

no part of the earth or the moon can I flee

so I will become part of the forest or sea.
My cloud is falling gently, and I land in a nest

where a grayish eaglet lay stiff with siblings,

in a tree,

that is singing

as I

yield to my death.

Joni Caggiano is a self-published author of the book, “The Path Toward the Light.”  Her blog is the-inner-child.com, where she has published many poems, photography, and short stories. Her blog is an effort to give back as a survivor as an Adult Child of Alcoholics and to also write about things she feels matter in this world we live in today.  She started writing songs and poetry at the age of thirteen and have been writing ever since.  

A King In Darkness

“Did you know that King Richard II was starved to death by his captors?” said Arabella, as Mark wandered back into the living room.

“Uh, no,” replied Mark, vaguely. Arabella could see he was distracted, as he loaded his mug very deliberately into the dishwasher. How he managed to do even the most basic thing so incredibly slowly was beyond her.

“Yes, he was imprisoned in Pontefract Castle, after being usurped by Henry, Duke of Lancaster – who became Henry IV. There’s a source in this book that says he was kept in chains and started trying to eat himself.”

“Self-cannibalisation is probably a fetish, isn’t it? I expect it would be rather alarming to Google it,” said Mark, becoming more interested, as he sat down on the sofa next to the cat.  The cat opened his eyes briefly, looked at Mark suspiciously, then closed his eyes again. It seemed that the cat wasn’t terribly interested in English history.

Arabella put down her wine glass on a little wooden tool trolley, one of Theo’s toys. A classic local mum network bargain, she’d been pleased with it – £5 and a slightly annoying drive through the suburbs to pick it up, rather than £45 new. And wooden, so it would pass muster with the plastic toy police. Theo had played enthusiastically with it for a few twenty-minute stints over a period of a couple of weeks, but didn’t seem to be particularly interested in it anymore. They kept it in place in the living room next to the sofa, referring to it affectionately as the “occasional table”. The things that you find killingly funny after having kids would surprise your pre-parent self, if you could go back in time and tell yourself. 

“It’s mad, isn’t it. All those famous history stories that we all know. Divorced, beheaded, died. My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse. And I knew literally nothing about this king until I read this book. And it’s really salacious and gory, what happened to him. I wonder why it’s not more famous?”

Mark sat back on the sofa, watching Arabella getting more and more animated. She got all obsessive about things like this for a while, until it passed and something else piqued her interest.

Doesn’t he understand that I’ve got nothing else to do with my brain all day, she thought, waiting for him to reply, to engage in a conversation about something other than money or how tedious each of their days had been.

She sighed and got up from the armchair.

“I’ll get dinner rolling, then, shall I?”

Later, Arabella closed her eyes in bed and tried to go to sleep, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d read. It was unimaginable to be so hungry that you started to eat yourself, to tear at your own limbs with your teeth. Unimaginable to be kept naked, in chains, in the dark. He must have been driven completely mad. If he wasn’t mad already, which by all accounts he may have been. Not by all accounts, actually – by that account. Which Arabella acknowledged to herself might not be true. It might be legend, or myth, or propaganda. It might be tabloid-friendly popular history, rather than weighty, properly-researched reference material.

But as she lay there next to Mark, who appeared to have fallen asleep already, she kept imagining what it would be like to never see the light. That kind of torture, without even taking the starvation into account, would be enough to break your mind into pieces. Alone in the darkness for hours and hours, days and nights merging into one. Alone with your memories and your regrets. Missing people you loved, raging against your captors and those who had betrayed you.

And there was so much to know, so much to learn. How astonishing and terrifying to think of all the things that were out there to discover, to read about. Infinite knowledge. Infinite light and infinite darkness.

Hannah is a freelance writer and blogger, who shares fiction, poetry and other ramblings at Secret Scribbles in London and ideas for living more sustainably at The Everyday Radical. She is currently also working on a strategic project with a public sector client, and is in the very early stages of writing a novel. Hannah lives in South East London with a marauding toddler, an occasionally-marauding husband and a rescue cat, known as The Fluffbeast, who believes he has a very tragic life.

Looking to submit to us? We’re accepting Poetry, Fiction, Articles and Art! Please get in touch.

When Two Equal One

Photo courtesy of the author

When Two Equal One       (Elfje series or singles)

By JulesPaige

Partners

Who knew…

You would perfect

Cover thievery to an

Art?

In 

Deepest sleep

I am woken;

Thunderous lion night breathing –

Yours

Happenstance

Coincidence, chance;

Once two strangers

Took respectful bonding vows –

Marriage

Over

Forty years

We have created 

Our own semaphoric love

Code

Reputation

Ours secure

Thriving with humor;

Boundless, breathless, blissful, bonding

Us 

Photo Courtesy of the Author

The Elfje form originated in The Netherlands where it is used to teach young children to write poetry. The word Elfje means ‘Elven’ or ‘Fairy’ poem (from ‘Elf’ meaning ‘elven’ or ‘fairy’ and the sufix ‘-je’ meaning ‘little’). The form consists of 11 words spread over 5 lines.  You can find out more about the Elfje here: https://simplyelfje.wordpress.com/about/ 

Writing under the nom-de-plume of JulesPaige, the author is primarily a poet who is also involved with other writing genres. As well as other hands on crafts and dabbling in photography. They have been writing for about sixty years and have had various pieces published online, for magazines, newspapers, other blogs, books for charity and was recognized professionally recently for flash fiction. 

Find them at: https://julesinflashyfiction.wordpress.com/

Looking to submit to us? We’re accepting Poetry, Fiction, Articles and Art! Please get in touch.

My BFF Taught Me How To Drink

My BFF Taught Me How To Drink- By Kym Smith

The summer I finally got my picture ID (since I didn’t have a driver’s license yet) my best friend Kaye decided she would take me out on the town. Never mind that the last words out of my mom’s mouth were, “NO Drinking!” We were out to prove a point, by God we were going through with this thing. The plan had been in the works for quite some time, Kaye’s brother worked at a honky-tonk bar in south Ft Worth, she considered herself the authority on drinking. What I couldn’t have known and should have learned that night was this night would go down in history as the worst yet funniest drunk story in my long history of drinking; I should have learned something about mixing my alcohols, however, that lesson did not stick. I like every other teenager on the planet, considered it a rite of passage to go out drinking once I became the legal age. At that time in Texas, legal was eighteen. I had never had a drink in my life unless you consider sneaking sips from the glasses of Tom Collins I would occasionally make for my dad. My parents were champion drinkers; my mom had one of those nifty little beer coolers where the keg goes inside, and the tap is part of the bar top that makes up the cooler. She literally went into the city every week or two to the Miller Brewing Company and had her keg refilled. Or bought a new one, I was a little kid, how do I know how these things work? All I know is we accompanied her, marveling at the giant brewery and all the cool neon beer lights on display. Once we got home, she would roll the keg inside somehow and hook it up to the tap. Dad kept his liquor and bar tools on the tiny bar next to the tap. At some point, she became the proud owner of a neon beer sign, probably a gift from the management for all those years of weekly purchases. I could not even stand the smell of beer, Mom’s beers didn’t interest me, so of course, it makes total sense that the first thing I did after procuring my ID was to go purchase a six-pack of beer. Not only that, they didn’t even card me! I was incensed! Regardless, I headed back to Kaye’s car, popped the top off the first bad boy and chugged it like I knew what I was doing. It was gross, so I had another thinking it must need to “grow” on me or something. Nope, not so much. Well, of course that was not the end. Kaye had much bigger plans in store for this lucky girl. I should have been smart enough to sense the doom looming in my future, but no, I was so happy with my newfound freedom I didn’t think about what could possibly be next. The next stop was her brother’s bar, The Daily Double. I had never been to a bar before, even with my parents, in fact, I don’t remember them drinking at a restaurant or anything. They were the at-home or at a friend’s house kind of drinkers. Kaye decided it would be a good idea for me to order something called a “Wild-ass Indian,” which was a mixed drink served in a mason jar that consisted of a shot of everything behind the bar yet tasted like Kool-Aid. I was in trouble then. Walking around the bar like I was cool or something, it never dawned on me that mixing beer with liquor was going to have serious consequences. Kaye was on a mission I tell ya because the next thing I know, I’m puking in the bar’s parking lot and she offers me a cigarette, telling me it would make me feel better. This was my best friend, can I remind yall of that fact right now? I vaguely remember her brother Kent lurking around in the parking lot, possibly checking on us, and Kaye trying to hide from him. She must not have wanted him to know she was trying to corrupt me. What I did not know at the time and didn’t find out until years later was that I am also severely allergic to gin. That must have been one of the ten or so shots that went into the drink. It’s a miracle I ever touched liquor again. After the cigarette, as if I wasn’t dizzy enough already, the world

spun out of control, but I was not giving in. I refused to pussy out on what was supposed to be an epic night, so when Kaye spied the Opry House-an historic movie house at the time, I was not going to refuse the chance to see the latest hit…The Deer Hunter. Unfortunately for me, the only seats left were on the front row, so we literally had to slink as far down in our seats as we could go while staring up at the overly large screen. All that action moving in front of my eyes was evidently more than I could take, I puked again right there on the front row. Laughing at me now, Kaye escorts me to the bathroom, hanging over the stall next to me as I puked some more and asks me if I’m having a good time yet. I was too naïve to know she was messing with me, having a grand ole time at my expense, and so I said yes and that I still wanted to try and watch the movie. We found a seat further back this time, but the motion was still more than I could take, we ended up leaving before the intermission. Had I known it was going to be such a depressing flick, I would have asked for my money back. Back we went to the car which had the beer growing hot in the back seat, so Kaye could drive me home. I dreaded trying to sneak into the house, remembering the warning Mom had left us with. Somehow, I managed to play it cool, kept my head down and walked right past her to my room. She never said a thing, knowing full well I was drunk but never letting on. The next day I had a hangover from hell, she left me alone to sleep it off, never mentioning it again until days later in passing. Of course, I lied about it, I didn’t want further escapades with Kaye cut off forever. Let’s just say though for the record that I never trusted her again to order my cocktails.

Kim Smyth is a freelance blogger, a writer from the DFW Metroplex who lives at home with her hubby Dave and their three furbabies. She runs two blogs, contributes to different publications on Medium and has been published in Therapeutic Thymes and VitaBella magazines. 

Find her at https://kimmy1563.com

Looking to submit to us? We’re accepting Poetry, Fiction, Articles and Art! Please get in touch.

The Exquisite Doodles of PMu…

Phoebe (PMu to her friends) has an online art blog where she has posted a drawing a day, every day for nearly 5 years.  Her belief is that art is for everyone, and it doesn’t have to be ‘worthy’ to be worth sharing.  Drawing and other creative pursuits are skills that with practice and time can become talents.  And hers definitely are, as I would say, exquisite.


You can find her at any of the following: (www.pmuink.com)On Instagram (@pmuink)On Twitter (@pmuink)On DeviantArt (https://www.deviantart.com/pmuink)On Lulu (https://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?contributorId=1556640)On Patreon, although don’t expect any hidden rewards (https://www.patreon.com/pmuink)And if you like what you see, buy her a coffee and help fuel the beast (https://ko-fi.com/pmuink)

Always looking for art submissions: Email us at TFESubmissions@hotmail.com Subject: Art Include a short Bio, jpg samples and any links to social media.