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 in between our full issues.
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.
Resolute
If the old house on the cliff could talk
Would it shout, straining to be heard over the pounding waves
“I am still here! Through it all, I remain and welcome any who come in search of peace?”
Or would it whisper its secrets with each wooden creak
Like pain hiding in a corner,
“In the dark of night, hear me breathe the souls who have loved and lost on these worn floors?”
Still standing
despite years of assault by salt and wind and people
Resolute against the world
Crying for the world
Empty and alone
The Road to Nod
Instead of killing me, he sent me packing,
first-born good-for-nothing—alive only
to cruise back-alley byways and dives—
no longer handsome even, marked so—
outsider, exile he called me.
Is it too much to want to be loved
the same as that darling idiot, my brother,
who gave no more than I did and yet
was cooed over.
What welcome will I get, a man
like me—like my brother gave,
meeting at home or in our separate fields—
what does it matter now, to recall;
was I my brother’s keeper after all?
En Plein Air
“Ah, grief makes us precise!”
—Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers
1
the patterns shimmer,
fade into the thickening fog,
wet mist on wet paint
2
the full moon rises,
brushed by the coral sunset,
sea wall and canvas
3
the tide topples
a precarious easel,
then moves on, dripping
4
wet paint spatters—
you look up at the gulls,
forget your footing
5
surf casting,
en plein air painting
catch and release
6
forgotten paintings
are footprints in the sand
in blue tidal pools
Love Evolution
Who sees the wonders in your voice?
Who sees the smile on my face when you break ice?
Who knows your unblemished love?
What made me a woman of joy with burned stoves?
Someone has to deploy all;
Someone has lost his (蓝/blue) kale.
Who wants to take me to the orifice?
Why need my name for the sacrifice?
Ann—the “grace” spill of a girl withstanding the altar
Who keeps your light in her dark swirls.
Airport Relativity
First person, present tense strikes you as odd:
how I greet, record your emergence, this
crowd of funneled souls, details that never
occurred, not regarding your arriving,
4:10, 5:20, and here I am at
8:30. None of that matters, had, has
to happen. I write, true or not, wait, see,
then don’t, your distinctive stride, hazel gaze
in eight rushing women, your breakthrough now,
those other times, into my open lines.
Let’s face it, Allison Walters Luther is a mess. She grew up in Southern Indiana and has since lived in England, Florida, Southern California, and Washington state. A writer and poet since the age of seven, she has Brain Dragons instead of Plot Bunnies and they frequently battle each other, leaving Allison a weeping, distracted blob. Her use of imagery has been called “immersive” and she often leaves stories open-ended, dashing off into the sunset and cackling “No story is ever really over!” You can learn more about her at allisonwaltersluther.com or find her on Threads as @allisonwaltersluther and BlueSky as @AllisonLuther.
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Joshua Kulseth earned his B.A. in English from Clemson University, his M.F.A. in poetry from Hunter College, and his Ph.D. in poetry from Texas Tech University. His poems have appeared and are forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, The Emerson Review, The Potomac Review, The Windhover, The South Carolina Review, and others. His poetry manuscript, Leaving Troy, was shortlisted for the Cider Press Review Publication Competition, and is currently under contract with Finishing Line Press. He is an Assistant Professor of English and Creative Writing at Franciscan University of Steubenville.
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Edward Baranosky has painted seascapes since he was seven years old. His focus on marine-scapes, draws him back to visit his native home in the American east coast, for inspiration from the North Atlantic. His work emphasizes the present — in the ever-changing moments of water. As a poet and artist, he crosses the channels and pathways between the visual and the textual. He continues to exhibit in the United States and Canada. Baranosky owns a small press EAB Publishing, for poetry and related material. He currently lives in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Website: https://painterpoet.weebly.com
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Ann Huang is a multilingual Chinese American poet, filmmaker, and visual artist based in Newport Beach, CA. Her poetry has been featured in Denver Quarterly, Ruth Stone, CONFRONTATION, Poets’ Choice, and Contemporary Verse 2. She’s Ephemera’s June 2023 Poet. Her latest manuscript, Garden by The Glass Door, is the Wisconsin Poetry Series’ 2024 Semi-finalist. Her collection of poems, Saffron Splash, was published in 2024 by The Raw Art Review.
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D. R. James, retired from nearly 40 years of teaching college writing, literature, and peace studies, lives with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan. His latest of ten collections is Mobius Trip (Dos Madres Press, 2021).
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