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Artist and Writer based in CA. Can’t get enough vivid colors, well-told stories and walks in the woods. Visit: and

a poem in parts

He likes to take photographs of
Abandoned shoes
Likes to contemplate who walked in them
Why they left them behind

He likes to take pictures of
Abandoned objects
To me it’s just junk
That he calls art
A doll
A suitcase
Things whole or ripped apart
Pieces of clothing
A chair
An old TV
Piles of things unidentifiable there
That once meant something to someone

A baggie full of puzzle pieces
A car deep in the arroyo how did it get here
I walk on not interested
As he stops
To frame it just right
Considering the light
Wrapped up in…

being different is easier when the right friend comes along

I used to get into so much trouble as a teen. My mom had her work cut out for her, I tell ya. And I was the youngest of seven so you’d think she’d have had it all figured out by the time she got to me. But, no I wasn’t anything like my sisters, they were all proper and stuff. I was more like my brothers. Curious and mischievous and into everything all the time.

When I was thirteen and in the seventh grade at a rough and tumble middle school, I fell in with the wrong crowd, I…

if the truth be told

I didn’t know how hard it would be.

Truth-telling can be tricky but when you see the kind of stuff I just saw? Well, that’s just more than I can handle. I started this thing as a fun parlor trick, something I read about in a book. A way to impress people, stand out in the crowd. To get them to like me by telling them what they wanted to hear.

Don’t get me wrong, I love knowing stuff other people can’t possibly know about themselves, I thrive on that, in fact — being the holder of the truth, keeper…

roads horizons love unknown


Ten days. That was how long Jimmy said it would take us to drive from New York to San Francisco. Comfortably.

I don’t want to drive more than five hours a day if I don’t have to, he’d said to me as we finalized our plan. I usually go along with whatever he says. It’s just easier that way. And what did I care how many days it would take us to get there? I’d been counting down days for the past two years, seventy-three days and eleven hours.

Now? We were driving towards a new life, one I…

begin again

Remember when Monday
was the least favorite day of the week
back to work back to school
the ease of the weekend over too soon
Day of the Moon
come all too quickly
all leisure behind
back to the grind

But now it’s all the same
a whole new game
is being played by most of us
we barely keep track of what day
it is
no longer a fuss
lost in gray shades of sameness

But no, I say
take notice
the Day of the Moon
new beginnings
each Monday is the chance
to wipe the slate clean
Begin Again…

reviving the lost art of putting pen to paper

Finding that handwritten note from mom was like a resurrection. Right then and there. My brother Frank and I were in the bedroom of her house the day after she died, sorting through all the stuff. I pulled open the top drawer to the old dresser she’d had since we were kids, the one she’d moved across the country just once.

I found a book tucked in between some scarves, one of the mystery novels we’d passed back and forth between us. I pulled it out and looked at the cover and smiled. I cracked it open and a slip…

Getting there, through the dark and the light

Looking back on it all, it feels like it didn’t even happen. How could it have?

We talk about it like it was real but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. Watching Alice emerge from Caribbean waters is all the proof I need that things can change for the better. In good time. I’m under the shade of a palm tree watching her glide towards me. Water droplets shimmering off her skin in the brilliant sun. Pulling her hair into her hands to squeeze out the water, she catches me watching her from my perch. …

a poem

At times
Things feel

Other times

We are amnesiac
To the intertwine
To the wind and rewind
The repetition of events and words and thoughts
That become who we became and are becoming

We are existing at once
The culmination of all things done
Merges with future movements
We can’t know
Our Akashic Record

Everything is broken
We think
We look back to when it wasn’t
Wasn’t it?
Hit the karmic undo button
Return to

Other times

“Weren’t those the good ol’ days”
We ask
We are sure they were
What now
We wonder
How can we fast forward

A man searches for an answer to a question

Bobby’s wife left him. The couch. The TV. The bedroom furniture. She left him the toaster, the blender, but not the expensive juicer they bought as part of their New Year’s resolution. She didn’t leave him a note either. Bobby called his sister Josie and asked her. Why, do you think, there was no note?

She told him.

“It goes without saying.”

Bobby didn’t like that answer and began to scour the apartment for clues. In his mind, everything had been going along as usual, fine in his estimation, just fine. He had no complaints. Saw nothing wrong.

Did I…

a short story

This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. So far. I mean, we have a lot of those, right? Birthdays when we’re kids. Wedding Day. A first-born child. This. This was the best day yet. At least. Until it wasn’t.

It didn’t start out that great for my niece Julia. She woke up that morning to an email from her boss telling her he had to let her go. A reorganization was underway, last-hired-first-fired kind of thing, you know. They loved her work, but it was just the method they had decided was most fair. It was…

Mary Corbin

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