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Displaying 16 results:

Thirteen Scifaiku for Blackbirds, by Joanne Merriam (10/12/09): Poetry.; It was autumn all year. / Blackbirds came and went.
Swan Song, by Joanne Merriam (10/6/08): Fiction.; "High fever. Dehydration. Recurring dreams of swans," the doctor has noted in the description area.
Werepenguin, by Joanne Merriam (3/10/08): Poetry.; Little things make her love him: / he says he'll call and does,
Little Ambushes, by Joanne Merriam (8/20/07): Fiction.; He twisted his fingers together as though emphasizing his alienness, every one of them looking like a slender thumb, and she thought his hands looked like a big, black spider wriggling at the end of its thread.
Harvest, by Joanne Merriam (3/26/07): Fiction.; Soldiers surround the area and shout at the humans to please step out of the line of fire. A tank raises its turret and somebody is shouting something about surrendering and then the aliens just aren't there anymore.
The Bather, by Joanne Merriam (7/3/06): Poetry.; but beautiful as the daze of nature's chlorophyll dynamos
The Purple Hippopotamus Wading Pool, by Joanne Merriam (3/6/06): Fiction.; Sherrie looked at him critically: dark hair, thin, tall, wedding band, nice suit. It was three o'clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and this was his fourth beer. Angela was sitting at his table, looking affordable.
Cherries for Buttons, by Joanne Merriam (2/27/06): Poetry.; I woke for a woman all tooth and whispered want. Like the oven she was / warm when met and cold when done.
The Greening, by Joanne Merriam (10/17/05): Poetry.; we know the sound / and see their footsteps' deep blue shadows and their occasional bodies
Settler's Song, by Joanne Merriam (7/25/05): Poetry.; the way plumigan flock to the mowthorn at suggestions of snow.
First Contact, by Joanne Merriam (6/13/05): Poetry.; Try sign language, semaphore, a series of notes. / Feel how the walls freeze and can't breathe.
The Rainy Season, by Joanne Merriam (3/21/05): Poetry.; It's August and rain makes the air fresh / as it dances on our roof. It's my first time in love.
Surface Properties, by Joanne Merriam (1/31/05): Poetry.; I wish we'd never come here.
Walking Hibernation, by Joanne Merriam (10/4/04): Fiction.; Jennifer pulled out her sword. She hadn't used it in years, but nobody else seemed capable of defending them. "Anybody got a gun?" she asked, and several of the men went for their sidearms. "Silver bullets?" A general shaking of heads. Jennifer sighed and walked toward the back door, which was beginning to sag inwards.
No Words, by Joanne Merriam (2/3/03): Poetry.; we just have no words for what they are.
Mirror Points, by Joanne Merriam (12/23/02): Poetry.; Somewhere an ion or electron slows as it enters a stronger magnetic field, and is turned back.

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