Monthly Archives: June 2015

Issue 11 Table of Contents

Cover Art

Cool Pond, Elliot Ward

Antioch Writers’ Workshop Poetry Contest Winners

Onset, Arnecia Patterson
Reading Literary Theory and Weeping, Brandon North
Lift Equation for Wilbur’s “Flight” Problem, T.J. McGuire
Bitter Old Leather, Jaylin Paschal
S(i)mile, Tucker Hauff


Summer Bycatch, Anne Randolph
Strings, Kris Cross
“Like, You Know,” Susan Iwinski
Eggs Fried by a Friend’s Father, Kerry Trautman
Where Air Grows, Rita Coleman
Ripped Off, Gina Giardina
Smoke Rings, Christy Lynne Trotter
Going Home, Aimee Noel
Gauntlet, Dayton J. Shafer
Black on Black, Kathy B. Austin
A Night in the City, Ridge C. Higgins
Strobe Light Storm, Joan Harris
Key West, Meredith Henrich
(I Swear I Mean It This Time), Megan Smith
The Circular Bar, Whitney Bell
After You Left, Maxine Skuba
Planetarium, Deborah Rocheleau
Image, Herbert Woodward Martin
Immaculate Hate, Herbert Woodward Martin


Tunnel Vision, Anonymous
Porcelina, Libby Ballengee

Cool Pond

pond page2mixed media

about the artist
Elliot Ward was born in Dayton, Ohio. He attended the Columbus College of Art and Design, where he studied illustration. After spending some time in Brooklyn, New York, he returned to Dayton to pursue additional studies. You can view more of his work at


Antioch Writers’ Workshop Poetry Contest
Best in Show

Nothing happens now.

Youthful and pretty float in a mirage
behind me, playing messages
softly under lace.

Fear outlines my turned-in feet
where I stand for all
or nothing that is left.

Alone stands next to me
in the Metro murmuring French
on a breeze from a train.
I stare into moving.

Dust bunnies litter my sweater.
Leftover warmth follows me on errands.
I walk on broken legs from antique chairs
to the marketplace after dark.

about the author
Over the course of her lifetime, Arnecia Patterson has moved back and forth between dabbling in and studying poetry–its reading, making, and understanding. She grew up in Cincinnati, and came to Dayton to attend college many years ago. Now, she has spent her entire adult life in Dayton, working and living while reading and writing.

Reading Literary Theory and Weeping

Antioch Writers’ Workshop Poetry Contest
1st Place, Adult

I hear a train whistle at 3 a.m.
and I’m not wearing overalls,
not singing “I was young when I left home.”
My guitar is near enough
that I could play a blues,
but I’ve neglected my Bible.
I get up from the kitchen table,
pacing where I’ve yet to put a couch.
The Promised Land can’t be Chicago:
I miss my family like a wanderer
even when I’m just ten miles away,
reading ecocriticism.
I know the bane of the caterpillar—
and it’s not a universal experience.
Shakespeare is too worldly for me
because I can’t speak as if I’m steam.
I imagine myself as a prophet,
and so I know coal is a limited resource.
I look for it when there is a new moon,
when I always find less than I need.
Because I have beliefs while there are slums,
I’ll visit my mother only enough
that it seems I’ve seen the future
each time I say I love you.

about the author
Born in Dayton, Ohio, Brandon North will be attending the NEOMFA program at Cleveland State beginning August 2015. The generalized desire to escape so commonly felt by Ohioans is transfigured into his poems, which have appeared in previous issues of Mock Turtle Zine.

Lift Equation for Wilbur’s “Flight” Problem

Antioch Writers’ Workshop Poetry Contest
2nd Place, Adult

Viagra won’t help.
At one hundred and forty-eight years old,
there are just some activities I used
to enjoy that I can no longer do.
My last time between a pair of wings
was over a century ago.
Safe to say my “flying” days are done.
Though when I was young
and could achieve proper lift,
I was a frequent flyer.
Starting off as a glider,
I was nothing more than a glorified kite,
one without balance or control,
which led to nosedives
due to premature navigation.
But as my flying experience
became more regular,
I was soon a motor-driven flying machine,
learned to shift my body weight for control,
to bank and roll,
account for wingspan, headwind, pressure.
With a steep angle of attack,
I would lower myself into position
through an opening in her wings,
that first Flyer, my first love,
arms wrapped lovingly around her framework
as I propelled myself forward,
and with the right amount of thrust
I would leave the ground—the upsurge
and rush of feeling lighter than air.
My first time lasted only twelve seconds.
But on that particular occasion,
at the height of my first flight
with neither drag nor drift,
I yelled, “L=KSV2CL!”
which is the equation for lift.
One look at me now, and you would hardly believe
that this old man could once get it up.
But as freaky as this sounds,
I have pictures to prove it.
Ask Orville. He was there.

about the author
T. J. McGuire lives in Dayton, Ohio, with his wife and his two daughters. His work can be found in Flights and Mock Turtle Zine.

Bitter Old Leather

Antioch Writers’ Workshop Poetry Contest
1st Place, Youth

I am used to old beer-guzzling men
with gunmetal hair beneath veteran caps,
with leather jackets and leathery skin,
and scars and wrinkles somehow defiant.
Openly private, and more likely to share social security numbers than war stories.
These old men, intoxicated and intolerable,
have tattooed their regrets onto their sleeves
and wear their piercings to remind themselves
that no matter how much space they take up,
things can still go through them.
Unapologetic and amused by life,
they shout—
“If I knew then what I know now,
I’d do the same damn thing,
because even after all these years
the sweet is just as potent as the bitter.”
Slow and steady is the beat of the old man heart,
but if you look closely, you can still see
a restless soul pressing behind their eyes.
I am used to old beer-guzzling men
sweaty and tired but not finished
and not afraid.

about the author
Jaylin Paschal is a junior at Northmont High School, where she works on the newspaper and literary and arts magazine. When she’s not writing, she’s reading.