As a supplement to our main issue of The Closed Eye Open, we have an ongoing feature called Maya’s Micros. As the name suggests, it will be curated by contributing editor Maya Highland and will exclusively feature short form writing.
Since it can be a long wait between issues, we’ve decided to keep the creativity rolling by focusing on the littlest form of creative writing—micros. Whether you consider them micro-poems or micro-fictions, they are welcome here…as long as each individual piece is 108 or fewer. (Why 108, you may ask? Have fun speculating…)
We like the idea of saying a lot in a small space–the complexity of self-expression in balance with an economy of language. And of course, since they are short, they can be enjoyed within a few moments–perhaps a line or phrase sticking with you to carry along for a while.
We will update Maya’s Micros in small “batches” a few times per month until our next full issue is ready for release.
If you like what you see and would like to get e-mail updates, please e-mail us at theclosedeyeopen@gmail.com.
Click here to submit your micros for publication.
Also, you may follow us on Instagram @theclosedeyeopen.
Nimble Graces
On lazy days, I imagine
pendants dancing right
to left, looped, suspended
from a spinning fan. I pivot
to a Frisbee and watch a disc
balance, reverse, get caught
in mid-air. Or better yet,
I dream a diamond dangling,
designing angles, bending
into mirrors that reorient,
duplicate a windowed room,
redecorate the space,
display in triplicate
what sunlight left behind:
rainbow circles on the wall.
metamorphosis
entombed
in a battered cocoon
one elbow thrust
through a raw cut at defiant angle
pinpricks of daylight scalding
one newborn eye
the other still weepily
painted shut
furtive frantic wriggling
stopped mid-motion
at sensed approach
bound and blind
moment hung on
one endless breath
at last released
to praise the blade
that freed you
What the Magician Whispered
You may think it’s here, or there, but it’s not.
I try to make the transpositions zing.
Even before we’ve met, I’m ahead of you.
But I’m trying to please you. Really.
Productions and vanishes might just be
two sides of a coin; although our eyes
are seemingly made to look forward,
our minds can’t help thinking back. Really.
What you think, how you choose,
whether it’s conceptual, numerical,
or a value, it will be something I might
just influence with words. Really.
You might not want to be pleased.
If my method is transparent to you,
perhaps you see that I’m striving
to avoid disenchantment. Really.
Emily as the Slow Bend
This thread you hold
in your hands
was a rope, a full
tether that held Emily
& I together
at all times,
but I could not help
but chew on it
when I was, otherwise,
idle. It tasted like her!
Oh well, she’s stayed
close. Look
at the teeth marks
all over my arms.
We’re not subtle people.
The Last Bookstore
Genevieve Bascomb owned the only bookstore in a town that hadn’t had a library since -well, since the County fathers decided “there just wasn’t no call for one.” Genevieve always said hers’ was a fool’s errand, trying to sell books to people who would condone such ignorance. The town had four bars, a dance hall, three liquor stores, four churches (four graveyards), a Texaco and a Fina, a Stop-n-Shop – but only one bookstore. Drunk and stupid or washed in Blood of the Lamb, left little room any other option. She kept paperbacks that fostered free thought, under the counter, for the select few who shone.
Antoinette Kennedy, author of the memoir Far from Home, is a former teacher living in Hillsboro, Oregon. She earned a BA in literature from Marylhurst College, an MA in Franciscan Studies from St. Bonaventure University, and a certificate from The Northwest Writing Seminar at Lewis & Clark College. A recipient of an Oregon Literary Arts and Fishtrap fellowship, her poetry has appeared in online and print publications, such as Beyond Words, Passagers, Wingless Dreamer, and Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
R.B. Simon is a queer writer of African, Native- and European-American descent. She has been published in multiple journals, among them Terra Preta Review, The Green Light Literary Journal, Blue Literary Journal, Electric Moon, Cutleaf Journal, and Literary Mama, and she has upcoming work appearing in Sky Island Journal, Minnow Literary Magazine, Strange Horizons, Burrow Press Review, and The Hyacinth Review. Her poem “Clutter” was shortlisted for the 2022 Julia Darling Memorial Poetry Prize. Her chapbook, The Good Truth, was released in July 2021 from Finishing Line Press. Her more peculiar passions include clothing with stripes, giraffes, and coffee-flavored caffeine. She is currently living in Madison, WI with her spouse, young adult daughter, and four unruly little dogs.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ron Louie writes in Seattle. His poems have appeared in Philosophy and Literature, Neurology, JAMA, Cathexis NW, Pangyrus, and Maya’s Micros. He occasionally did magic tricks for kids in hospitals and clinics.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Darren Demaree’s poems have appeared or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including Hotel Amerika, Diode, North American Review, New Letters, Diagram, and Colorado Review. He is the author of sixteen poetry collections, most recently a child walks in the dark (November 2021, Harbor Editions). He is the Editor in Chief of the Best of the Net Anthology and Managing Editor of Ovenbird Poetry. He is currently living and writing in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
James Patrick Lockett, is a former stand-up and script doctor, recovering from 25 years in Hollywood, searching for a voice beyond TV dialogue. He has published short fiction, plays, and poetry, as well as his monthly column “. . .let ill tidings tell!” for AFRAID Magazine. His collection of COVID poetry—Pretty Words for the ICCONOCLASS of 20/20—was published last Spring by Sour Grapes Press. Between his internal battles with ambivalence and procrastination, Lockett writes and drinks too much coffee—evidence of this can be found at www.thehyenakitchen.blogspot.com.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ram’s Head—White Hollyhock—Little Hills, N.M.
—after Georgia O’Keefe
little red hills
ruched valleys
scrub-stanched
scrolled ram’s horns
muzzle picked
sockets
sky
lowering
clouds
behind no ear
hollyhock
bursts
Trail Marker
outside my speckled window,
trees wave bony arms.
inside hands flutter like leaves.
cold feet, cold toes, cold nose,
another day in cold storage.
last week, last conversation,
buried in frozen corners.
outside my speckled window,
masked marauders stomp
through dead flower beds,
among stones from streams,
forest, foothills shared
on warm days in June
with a boy in a blue shirt.
outside my speckled window,
a blackbird flies away, but
a girl lingers, crouches,
places stone on stone.
her face fades in the fog.
yet her tower stands,
solid proof of my yesterdays.
Ink-Black Trees
Ink-Black trees steal stars
From the cold mid-winter’s sky.
The theft begins in rivulets and
Trickles to branches then
Streams straight
Down trunks
Pouring
Black shadows onto winter’s crystal snow.
These thieves conspire all evening
Stretching and leaning their star-filled shadows
Far from the curious eye of a full white moon.
Fractioning Silk
in the morning
I was like hand sanitizer
thinner than spider silk
burning cracks
on cold skin
the white noise of liquids
caught fast
in an old pine tree
at times it can be
like learning to swallow
a bass drum
roots almost
always held
by limitless rebar
bent inward
as a prism
How I know I’m brave
I have moved to new cities by myself,
I have left lives behind. I have left relationships,
good ones, bad ones. Both are hard to do.
I have tried new things and failed
in front of people. I started writing poetry.
I read poetry. In front of people.
It’s vulnerable to be alive.
It’s brave to live.
Wandajune Bishop-Towle is a poet and a licensed psychologist in Massachusetts. She is the proud stepmother of a young man with autism, who is a frequent subject of her poems. A member of the PoemWorks community, her work has appeared in Quiddity, PMS poemmemoirstory, The Comstock Review, and other journals.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Mary Clements Fisher relished her careers as an educator and businesswoman and celebrates her current writer status. Writing makes sense of her mad and muddled moments. She’s published in Quail Belle Magazine, Adanna Journal’s Fall 2020 Issue of Mothering in a Pandemic, Passager Journal’s Pandemic Diaries, The Weekly Avocet #450, Personal Story Publishing Project’s Fall Trouble issue, and Prometheus Dreaming Journal. Join her @maryfisherwrites and maryfisherwrites.squarespace.com.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
James Wyman learned the beauty of writing poetry at a young and impressionable age thanks to teachers who inspired him. Now, as a teacher, he shares his passion for poetry with his students and the cycle continues. As a lifelong resident of northern New England, he has gained a unique perspective on the world of natural beauty and grown to appreciate the stoicism necessary to live a full rich life in those climes. During the summer, Jim can be found biking over the Green and White Mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire or kayaking in their rivers and streams. In the winter, he’s in the woods with his camera. The texture of that land, its myriad of color, and variety of seasons have, like his students, found their way into his poetry.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Dominic Dulin is a musician and poet out of Cleveland, Ohio. He is currently a poetry candidate of the NEOMFA program at Cleveland State University. He has had poetry published by Modern Haiku Magazine, Frogpond Journal, Bones Haiku Journal, and Surreal Poetics.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Mary Knothe’s love of poetry began my senior year of college in an introductory class. She continued writing and reading poetry after college ended. After breaking up with an emotionally abusive partner she turned to poetry to process the overwhelming details. Poetry held all that was too big for her body. Using everyday words, poetry untangled the mess her mind and heart were left with. It continues to guide her through life’s ups and downs today.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
You cannot copy content of this page