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Walking My Father Home. Fiction by Dave Kavanagh

Walking my father home I have cousins who hated their fathers, I never did. I never went hungry because my old man had spent a week’s wages in the pub on a Friday night. I was never belted for looking at my Dad the wrong way when he was pissed, but I did live closeContinue reading “Walking My Father Home. Fiction by Dave Kavanagh”

Salad Days. Fiction by Pat Jourdan

Salad Days Lettuce leaves, like cockle shells layered on each other, circled the edges of the plate. Coming round from the opposite direction were slices of ham. Tomatoes, beetroots, and cucumber slices filled in the middle space. Sometimes there were also halves of boiled egg. It was all held together by large dollops of thickContinue reading “Salad Days. Fiction by Pat Jourdan”

Before I see You Again. Fiction by Annie Bien

Before I See You Again He ran—on the loudspeaker, “SQ 63, gate E7, now open for boarding”—his shoes tapped the floor—not her flight, there’s still security—an old couple appeared in his path, the husband helping his wife into a wheelchair, dim sum pastry bags swinging on handles—the older man’s eyes widened seeing him, would heContinue reading “Before I see You Again. Fiction by Annie Bien”

WordCity Literary Journal. December 2020 Issue 4

Letter from the Editor, Darcie Friesen Hossack When we decided to create an Autumn and Winter Holiday-themed issue of WordCity for December, we had hoped to gather together a celebration of as many religious, cultural and seasonal offerings as possible. We hoped. We held our breath. And then, poets and writers began to respond. WeContinue reading “WordCity Literary Journal. December 2020 Issue 4”

That Glorious Song of Old. Poetry by Lori D. Roadhouse

THAT GLORIOUS SONG OF OLD Wheelchairs and daybeds pushed into the main lounge Patronizing smiles of local touring songsters bob condescendingly, fearfully, up and down to jingling bells lights twinkling in odd syncopation fruitcake doled out to those without restricted diets Virgin Mary and virgin eggnog Raise a toast in palsied hands and swallowContinue reading “That Glorious Song of Old. Poetry by Lori D. Roadhouse”

Diwali. Fiction by Lakshmi Kern Devadass

Diwali Diwali is the Indian puja with oil lamps burning luminous at dusk Fireworks burst, color paint the sky with dreams for tomorrows Joy, hope, children and families feast and dance everywhere Singing boisterous mantras for happiness Crowds of flames leaping higher opening heaven’s gates Inviting the Goddess of Diwali to homes made sparkling forContinue reading “Diwali. Fiction by Lakshmi Kern Devadass”

Cécile Savage in Conversation with Jane SpokenWord

In this month’s podcast we introduce you to Cécile Savage, a jazz musician, composer/improviser, singer, poet, and single mother. In our interview she shares her personal experience of parenting a bi-racial child and shattering the glass ceiling of the role of women in jazz. Throughout history, women have made significant contributions to this male dominatedContinue reading “Cécile Savage in Conversation with Jane SpokenWord”

3 Poems by Masudul Hoq

Christmas Letter Drowsy leaves of pine- Olive forest- December-snow has become the white page Across Europe – There, I’m writing a letter. Letter, engraved on the ice While my hands are getting frozen. You are searching, on the way to Bethlehem Walking and walking, many decades before. Still I have no ideaContinue reading “3 Poems by Masudul Hoq”

Three Six Five. A poem by Jordan Lide

Three Six Five A new year will bring The cleansing sensation Of new beginnings Or the bitter reminder Of old regrets Return to Journal Jordan Lide is a senior at the University of Wollongong studying Management and Theatre. She freelances as a writer and has had works published with the Tertangala, Hyde Magazine, and theContinue reading “Three Six Five. A poem by Jordan Lide”

The Tourist Visa. A poem by Sylvia Petter

The Tourist Visa “The North Pole is melting so where do we go?” “Why, off to the Jungfrau, she’s covered in snow. I’ll call myself Rudi,” the last reindeer said, “and we’ll fly down to earth and just park our sled.” “But what about visas? They’re sticklers, I hear. We can’t say we doContinue reading “The Tourist Visa. A poem by Sylvia Petter”