Summary

Issue 15: Walking through Clouds is a (mostly) micro- (yet double-sized!) issue featuring micropoetry, microprose, short videos, and micropoetry-related artwork from writers and artists around the world. It is also the last issue of Gnarled Oak.

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Contents

Poetry — Robin Turner

old friends — David He

Haiku for the Lost — Marie Craven

mosquitoes — Ben Groner III

night party — Blessed Ayeyame

Black ants carrying — Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo

Moth — Mary McCarthy

Leaves — Olivier Schopfer

That Great City — Grove Koger

on the edge of town — Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

Upside Down — Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

through my eyelids —Bill Waters

stormwater drain — Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy

we’re still expecting — Chibųìhè Obi

rainy afternoon — Praniti Gulyani

Fog — Meghan DePeau

fog blanket — Devin Harrison

summer’s end — Hifsa Ashraf

Coal Bucket — Gareth Culshaw

Crushed Bits — Jeff Bagato

the darkest — Jan Benson

Deprived — Daya Bhat

And still you remain — H. G. Warrender

Ice — Mike Gallagher

a bridge — Robert Witmer

solstice night — Debbie Strange

Spring Again — Fabrice Poussin

Solar Therapy — Marie Craven

Consider pigeons — Kris Lindbeck

Job 30:29b — Laura M. Kaminski

Missing birds — Steve Klepetar

birds feed off of me — Jamie O’Connell

two crows — Kris Lindbeck

Arr. for viola — Jean Morris

Through the Woods — Aliisa Hyslop

I end up at the same place — Chumki Sharma

Everything Ends With Amen — Laura M. Kaminski

Editor’s Note

Four years ago, when I was putting together the acknowledgements page for the collection that became Highway Sky, I was saddened to see that so many of the wonderful online journals that had published a fair number of those poems were no longer active. They had all done good work, but the editors had moved on.

I was eager to try to give something back to the online poetry community from which I had gotten so much when I started to write poetry seriously in 2009. And I had this site that wasn’t doing anything, so late in the summer of 2014, I started rebuilding the site. I didn’t do anything more original than just steal ideas I liked from various journals that had been gracious enough to publish my own work. 

Not sure anyone would submit, I sent emails out to writers and artists whose work I admired and to my surprise I got enough responses for the first issue. And then more and more over the years. At first, I think I knew most of the people who submitted but it wasn’t long before I started getting submissions—wonderful submissions—from writers and artists whose work was new to me.

I suppose I figured it would stay small, maybe last a year or so, but it grew and developed an international following. For four years, I have had the delight of having an inbox full of wonderful work, and the often painful and exhausting experience of having to return a lot of work that I liked.

The experience of editing a journal for the past four years, a true education in the four-year college of art and literature, has taught me so much. So much about the work that editors put into a journal that is above all a labor or love, but also a renewed appreciation for those who submit. It is to the individual writers and artists who entrust a particular journal with their work, who graciously allow an editor to publish their work that so much thanks should go.

And so I wish to thank in general all those who submitted to Gnarled Oak over the years and for those who gave me the distinct honor of publishing their work. Seriously, I am grateful because without you this never would have gotten off the ground.

Specifically, I would like to thank the following:

Angie Werren who kindly responded to my pleas for submissions to get the first issue going with so much fine work that really set the standard; 

Erica Goss who sent in the very first unsolicited submission—you made my day and gave me more confidence than you’ll know; 

Olivier Schopfer whose images have graced many a cover and even more issues;

Jean Morris for such a wonderful variety of work and for catching typos and errors, your close and careful reading has always been appreciated;

Laura M. Kaminski for your tireless support and promotion, I am truly grateful as well as for all the wonderful poems you let me publish;

and finally, 

Marie Craven and Debbie Strange, true frequent fliers, each of whom had work in nearly every issue right from the start. Thank you for considering this journal worthy of your work.

And to everyone who read Gnarled Oak on a regular basis, who retweeted and shared and liked and otherwise helped promote this journal, you have my thanks.

Gnarled Oak has been fun, and it has been an education, but at the end of the day, it’s time to move on. This has been a labor of love, but I am excited to get back into my own work for a while. And so a thank you to the writers and artists who helped make this last one so special. You’ve truly allowed me to wrap this up in fine style.

See you ‘round the ‘net.

With gratitude and thanks,

James Brush, editor
May 31, 2018

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Gnarled Oak — Issue 15: Walking through Clouds: Read online | Read the PDF (right-click/save-as to download)

Summary

Issue 14: Chain of Years (Nov-Dec 2017) is an unthemed issue featuring poetry, prose, videos, and artwork from writers and artists around the world.

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Contents

A Night So Beautiful We Had to Burn Down the Senator’s House #25 — Darren C. Demaree

at the port — Erin Leigh

My Body Is Mine — Jade Anouka

First Kiss — Elizabeth Moura

notes on bones — Audrey Gidman

felled branches — Lee Nash

To Johannesburg, with love — Abigail George

Breaking Through— Olivier Schopfer

First Grade Activist — Marie Craven

How the Grateful Dead Got Their Name — Steve Klepetar

the animal inside it — Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

In Twos —Stella Pierides

hand-flapping — Marianne Paul

street in a downpour — Diarmuid Fitzgerald

Halfway to What’s Next — W. Jack Savage

night pond — Enrique Garrovillo

In Darwin’s Dream — Eduardo Yagüe & Matt Mullins

autumn chill — Debbie Strange

September 17 — Mary McCarthy

October — Mark Gilbert

The Rivers of Flame — Steve Klepetar

slack tide — Christina Sng

Advice Dyslexic — Marie Craven

Practice of Leaving — Chumki Sharma

The Last Day — Christina Sng

Editor’s Note

Happy New Year, everyone. It snowed here last night, which makes it twice in one month, twice in one winter, and twice in the past three years, I believe. It’s an unusual thing in central Texas. It doesn’t stick, but it flutters down pretty and makes everyone stop what they were doing.

Wow it’s snowing, did you see the snow, how much did you get, what did your kids think of it? These are the questions you hear repeated all through the next day. And then it dries out in the middle of the night and it’s sunny and cold, cold enough for the bird bath to freeze, which is in itself a novelty since ice isn’t usually seen outside of a drink.

And that’s how 2017 ended around here. Surprisingly quiet and peaceful. Now it’s 2018 and I wonder what this newest lap around the sun will hold. Hopefully a lot of poetry, a little more of it around here before we call it day. Best wishes to everyone in the new year.

With gratitude and thanks for making Gnarled Oak part of your 2017,

James Brush, editor
Jan 1, 2018

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Gnarled Oak — Issue 14: Chain of Years: Read online | Read the PDF (right-click/save-as to download)

Summary

Issue 13: Once Upon a Linear Time (Aug-Sep 2017) is an unthemed issue featuring poetry, prose, videos, and artwork from writers and artists around the world.

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Contents

first day of school — Anthony Q. Rabang

Once Upon a Linear Time — Marianne Paul

Before We Stepped Outside — James Croal Jackson

Trees and Names — Clyde Kessler

Saving Face — Mary McCarthy

Natural Light — Anna Kander

In the Temple — Marie Craven

Boat — Olivier Schopfer

abandoned home— Billy Antonio

On the Way to the Ocean — Marianne Szlyk

Three Poems — Tara Roeder

There Must Have Been Starfish — Jeanie Tomasko

summer heat — Mark Gilbert

into the night — Marianne Paul

Hollow — Steve Klepetar

Skeletons — Alixa Brobbey

Bad News — Helina Hookoomsing

parachute silks — Debbie Strange

our tracks — Marilyn Fleming

At the Edge of the Forest — Ben Groner III

Growing Alone — W. Jack Savage

In the Wadi — Devon Balwit

In Homage to Those Who Metamorphose
 — Sarah Bigham

Death Meditation — Marie Craven

country road — Jennifer Hambrick

Editor’s Note

I tend to say yes when volunteers are needed, which is how I wound up coaching soccer and leading a Cub Scout den (and getting way behind on Gnarled Oak). I did both of those things growing up and now that my son is old enough for these sorts of activities, I’m happy to help make them happen for him. It’s fun.

As a Cub Scout leader, I had the pleasure of taking a bunch of first grade boys for a nature walk last week.  Being quiet to listen for birds was tricky, but they discovered so much: rocks, caterpillars, mushrooms, dragonflies, fish and turtles. It was a joy to see these kids look beyond the playground and themselves to the natural world that exists even in one little pocket of the suburbs.

It’s a beautiful thing to open your eyes on what is old and all around in such a way that it all seems new. Seeing things through their young eyes was a gift, and it made me think of Gnarled Oak (because I was running late) and how through it we experience so much made new.

And I’ll leave it here because this issue ran so late. So, without further ado, let me just say thank you to our contributors for their work and our readers for their time. See you in a few weeks for an October issue that will hopefully be more on time.

With gratitude and thanks,

James Brush, editor
Oct 2017

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Gnarled Oak — Issue 13: Once Upon a Linear Time: Read online | Read the PDF (right-click/save-as to download)

Summary

Issue 12: Refuge (Apr-May 2017) is an unthemed issue featuring poetry, prose, videos, and artwork from writers and artists around the world.

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Contents

Lenting — Tiffany Grantom

i woke this morning — Neil Creighton

Avoidance — Mary McCarthy

Landmine in a Field of Flowers — Matt Mullins

snow angel — Tom Sacramona

The Island — Barbara Young

Look Both Ways — Jane Williams

The Two Ends — Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy

Song for Awe & Dread— Tommy Becker

long night moon — Deborah P. Kolodji

whiteout — Marianne Paul

Practice Makes Perfect — Elizabeth Vrenios

Enchant(ed) — Misha Penton

highway dusk — Malintha Perera

Sacred Stones — Lawrence Elliott

Trees — Olivier Schopfer

The Spoilt Season — Steve Klepetar

Ode to the Corner of the Drug House Down the
 Gravel Road Off the Two Lane Highway #51
 — Darren C. Demaree

The Stars Are All Dead and Have Fallen
 — Barbara Young

heel cups — Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

usual questions — Christina Sng

crow moon — Debbie Strange

Listen — Ken Poyner

Anatomy — Marie Craven

Refuge — Steve Klepetar

Editor’s Note

This week I took my son to the Bullock Museum of Texas History to check out the Stevie Ray Vaughn exhibit. They had his old Stratocaster under glass, beautiful and beaten to near ruin.

“Why does it look all messed up?” my son asked.

We turned and watched some footage of him performing “Pride and Joy” on Austin City Limits. “He could play like that,” I said, “because he practiced so much that his guitar wound up looking like that,” I said pointing back to the old Strat.

Maybe it’s true, or maybe he bought it already beat up. Still, there’s a good lesson there about practice, I think.

Later, I sat at the table to do a little reading and work out exactly what I would write here, cup of coffee topped with whipped cream on the table beside me. The fly that Simon the Cat has been too lazy to kill the past two days buzzed nearby and then I heard more intense buzzing, high pitched and fast. Desperate.

I glanced at my coffee cup just in time to see the fly disappear beneath the whipped cream to a hideous high-temperature doom, those buzzing notes still ringing in my ears.

Then after a moment of silence for the fly and a quick trip to the coffee pot for a fresh cup, I continued reading Fear of Music by Jonathan Lethem, an analysis of one of my favorite albums, Fear of Music by Talking Heads. That album, and their next one, Remain in Light, are the kinds of work that make me want to write until my computer and pen look like Stevie Ray’s guitar.

I’ve a suspicion that pens and computers of many of Gnarled Oak’s contributors must look pretty well-used too. How else does such fine work as appears here come about except through long practice and hard work. And coffee, too, perhaps.

* * *

This issue ended three weeks ago, and so my apologies for the tardiness. But here we are at last.

I especially liked this issue for the number of videos I was able to include (thanks to Dave Bonta at Moving Poems for a well-timed shout-out to Gnarled Oak that resulted in substantially more video submissions than usually come my way).

And, as always, thank you to all who submit to and read Gnarled Oak.

With gratitude and thanks,

James Brush, editor
Jun 2017

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Gnarled Oak — Issue 12: Refuge: Read online | Read the PDF (right-click/save-as to download)