Author: Admin

Cheyenne Dorsagno/Poetry

People I Knew   1   When I first met you, your shirt was striped – fat purple, thin black, medium pink, white too! No pattern, varying thicknesses. “I like your shirt,” I said. That was a lie.   You said there was a dead body buried in your front yard but we could not dig it up. In the third grade, you had sex with a boy in red boxers on the school’s theater stage after he pounced on you. In the cafeteria, you punched a girl then called the principal a miserable whore, tyrant mother type because she can’t have her own children. You stole five dollars from your brother. I dropped it in the bathroom so that he would find it there and not blame you. So casual, you believe yourself. So many times you’ve looked to me, shamelessly. Your sister calls you during lunch to ask if you’ve taken her red sweater. On speaker phone, you look at me and ask “Am I wearing a red sweater?” “Yes,” I say, though it was white. I did not realize that I was backing you up on the truth this time. You’re a natural blonde but an avid dyer of your roots. You can see into heaven, made of cotton candy clouds and Gumdrop Mountains. You’ve seen the legendary evil, white squirrel in your backyard. You won...

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Tonya K. Dale/Creative Nonfiction

I know why the dog next door cries at night. He’s the black-and-white mutt, the shaggy prisoner of a fenced-in portico…four feet by four feet. Cement floor.
No one is home, usually, where he lives, except for him. And so he talks to himself, and me, and the other neighbors.

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On Location / London

In its 9th year, the London Burlesque Festival dares to be the biggest burlesque festival on the planet with a staggering seventeen days of neo-burlesque shows and more than 100 performers from around the globe…

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Mark Levy/Casual Observer

I’ve been spending time in my doctor’s office lately, not because I’m sick or injured, but because I’m one of the few patients of his who’s insured. See, he’s got two kids in college and a Ferrari that is only three payments from being paid off. So he really needs me more than I need him and we both know it…

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Peter Krok/Poetry

    Looking For His Mind     How many times did he tell himself, “This too shall pass?” How many times did he fall into darkness where his glasses did no good? He keeps falling, heavy with questions. The Master asks, “Where are you going?” “I am looking for my mind.” The Master replies “You must take another path.”   He walks to Warsaw, greets the Polish Poet, bushy-browed with a fixed stare, asks, “Where is my mind?” The Poet answers: “You are not done with your changes – to be grateful is enough.”     Lamentations for Kensington     Here lived Poles, Krauts, Jews, Ukies, Slovaks, and so many others from Eastern Europe. Here the shoemaker mended shoes and priests the souls of immigrants.   The cobbler’s store is shuttered. Where bottles were thrown against the walls, the streets sparkle with broken glass. Here are the wounds of drugs. Pawnshops blister the Kensington and Allegheny corridor; junkies unload their swag for cash without bargaining.   North Catholic High is closed, the playing field where immigrants headed balls now sore with weeds and litter. Once a blue-collar neighborhood, it lingers with the ghosts of machinists, steel workers, truck drivers, mill menders.   St. Bonnie’s reddish brownstone’s gone, its stained glass hanging in someone else’s window. That house with the coal cellar still is there on a street of abandoned...

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The name Ragazine was coined in the mid-’70s in Columbus, Ohio, as the title of an alternative newspaper/magazine put together by a group of friends. It was revived in 2004 as, the on-line magazine of arts, information and entertainment, a collaboration of artists, writers, poets, photographers, travelers and interested others. And that’s what it still is.