Edition: Valentines

Happy, or unhappy Valentines day everybody. Today we've got some heartfelt words from some new people. Enjoy!


Remember to tell your friends and submit all your creative thoughts and secret desires!
westegg[dot]publishing[at]gmail[dot]com




I could forget

Antonio Urquidez

If you were a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl,
a taller, older glass of water.

refreshing and irresistible but not hard to forget.

if my hand didn’t rest on your hip quite as well as it did,
a different style or a different little yellow house down the street from mine.

my aunt called this morning for my dad.
told me she found my uncle Gino in a jail in Bakersfield
tell your father to check his email she said.

I’ve been smoking more cigarettes since you’ve gone.
we all yearn for a taste of fire.




Outside
Ezra James Woollan

leave for the night, don’t come back till you’ve seen it.
walk down the middle of your street, make sure its empty.
look at the streetlights. the yellow orange glow on the hood of a truck on bricks.
listen to the sound of your footsteps totally alone. don’t wear your slippers.

this is hell.

take this chance, and remember i will not be here when you get back.

Some time ago...
Tobias Newell

the worst day of my life?
i could tell you about when i broke my middle finger, or when my birthday just became another day.

or just the walk from my car to your house. the night after we talked for the last time.
snow crushing reluctantly under my boots, quiet crunches telling me to give up and go home.

i got in and out of my car at least three times.
the walk up to the front desk was the worst. my stomach had that feeling
churning or turning, i’m not sure. you’ve got to clench your teeth though when you feel it

i took the stairs up to your floor
to hold off the truth
just a little longer

i knocked only once, softly. then i called,
you picked up, but i didn’t hear your voice, just the sounds of crowds and laughing. you were in a club or a bar. i hung up.

Last Year

T.R. Johnson

Last year started shaky, 

Similar to the one before. 

It was up and down, 

Left and right, 

Neither here nor there. 

But along the line 

I learned some things 

About you and me and her, 

She left me twice 

And I’m sure 

She’ll leave again 

once more. 

But then again, 

You picked me up 

Or so I thought, 

When she walked out that door. 

And now I’m drunk 

Passed out again 

Drooling on the floor. 

This year started shaky, 

Similar to the one before. 

Life is up and down, 

Left and right, 

Neither here nor there.

Mr. Urquidez went to Colorado State University, he recently went through a break up. He is living in Los Angeles, writing screenplays and poetry.

Mr. Woollan went to the University of Ohio, studying History. He now teaches in Dayton City School district.

Mr. Newell is currently unemployed, information on his book, "Waiting for Maria" is available only by emailing tnewell@mindspring.com

Mr. Johnson No bio is available for Mr. Johnson, he remains shrouded in mystery, his words speaking for him.

Edition Four.

Today some new art from our first photography submission. Then a beautiful poem from a friend. Remember we always welcome new submissions: westegg.publishing@gmail.com

My Hair

Dad

Ana Morales first began taking pictures in 2004, when she took an "Intro to Photography" class at a community college. She enjoys making the outrageous beautiful, and the beautiful outrageous. More of her art can be found on her website: www.ana-luisa.com

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I remember you

                         after Flavius J. Fisher

Maggy Roza

The sun sets in a burst of color,

settling into the hills

the way I sank into your arms, the way

you gave yourself to me, the way you held

my hand as if you were afraid

I'd float away,

the nights we spent together

on Fisherman's Wharf, telling no one,

knowing everything, the way your passing

glances made me feel

          on fire             in harmony

doused in the light of God or the Devil,

and I don't know what the birds sing

at dusk in the swamp, because all I hear

           is your name

spreading like rings on the water,

      in my veins          in my mind

how  I wanted to shout that I loved you

but I was afraid of the echo, the way

the sun is afraid, the way it sets

in a burst of color

because every time might be its last.

Maggy is a poet from Sacramento, California. She has four siblings, idolizes Jack Kerouac, and despises Southern hospitality. She plans one day to write a punk rock opera.

Edition Two.

two poems today from three friends, enjoy!


1. Darkness
Jeff Reid


is the sound of footsteps
as a lover escapes into the night,
the stench of cheap perfume
and stale cigarette smoke
lingering in the air.
It is a Gideon's bible
turned to the book of Revelations,
the fiery glow of a neon vacancy sign
dancing in rhythm with the rain.


Jeff is a musician, writer, photographer and father living in Virginia and currently attending Randolph College.




2. floating
Anna Conn and Tyler Atwood


Can you hold my strawberry?
These are my one-thirty musings:


I have been figuring out things like yellow fever vaccines, picture frames,
         empty nest syndrome and chocolate icing.
I have been thinking about France a lot today.
It started on a napkin in Alabama and
goes well with coffee and grass.


You are obsessed with hats and I am obsessed with books.
We will be friends once and forever.


We sat on a rock in Georgia
after the Dakotas.
I put the schedule between the cereals.
Wednesdays we'd paint in Sienna;
We'd meet at the clock tower
and read there next to rosemary.


There's no bend in my fork —
lend me a spoon.
It's a two pitcher kind of day.


I wish you had the wind outside my window.


Anna is a senior at the University of Virginia, and she introduced me to co-written poems. Tyler is an English major, also at the University of Virginia.

Edition One.

1. Trouble in Eden

Jerry Wells

God wants you to know that he left

a crate of peaches on the front stoop.

He would tell you himself but you're

away and he doesn't like to leave

messages. He said you haven't spoken

to him much lately. Maybe peaches

are the real route to a woman's heart;

He would know, He always does.

It's not like you to forsake

Him like that. I know

you have your reasons,

you always do.

Your sheets fell off the line

the other day. I put them back for you,

I hope you noticed. They smelled like you.

That scent hasn't seen

my side of the Garden

since you left. I hope you

write back, either to me or God.

He worries, you know.

Jerry is a Junior at Randolph College majoring in English. He is also a member of the cross country team.

2. Daddy Issues

Maggy Roza

My dad packed his bags in late October and slammed

the door as he left. We watched him climb

into the passenger seat of Coach Mulligan’s white Suburban

through a crack in the blinds, and all Mom would say

as she stared at our lunchboxes

was that he was going to Chicago.

The first time a boy hit me,

I thought I was dreaming. People just don’t do that anymore,

I thought,

but he slapped me with the back of his hand

and his football ring sliced my cheek.

I watched the goldfish on my therapist’s desk drift in sickly circles.

She said that men would always be a challenge for me. She said

I’d have a hard time trusting them,

because my dad had never been a good dad, and it

was natural to choose men like my father.

Now it’s all I think about. I watch a girl in the mirror

at a party, rubbing up on a jock, and all I see are

daddy issues wrapped in a mini skirt.

Maggy is a poet from Sacramento, California. She has four siblings, idolizes Jack Kerouac, and despises Southern hospitality. She plans one day to write a punk rock opera.

3. juicies

ebm700

plum..p!

swollen

taut

begging me to

bite in

and eagerly

rip and tear

no care

only the need to

release

pour

into me

its ripened gift

and its grateful sweet sigh…

peach..y!

cleaved

to reach

its tiny pit

perfect

protected

in fleshy folds

pry

and try

with curious tongue

to tempt the bit—

shy

but yearning

to be exposed

encouraged

to finally meet

its devourer—

and yield…

cherry, cherry

toy and play

swirl and twirl

on sassy stem.

rouge red

stain on them—

the lips

that dare to take…

ebm700 is a woman of a certain age, musician, bodyworker. She enjoys her view of the river and the world, from her tiny turret in the city.