sage in bloom
"O Youth, O Beauty, Too Soon Past,"
a poem, awarded second prize in a contest at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, 2008.
My Heart's in the Highlands, a one-act play, awarded honorable mention in Writers Digest 79th Annual Writing Competition, 2010.
The Cloud of Doom, a science fiction novel (Brillig Books, Omaha, Nebraska, 2006}.
"O Youth, O Beauty, Too Soon Past" and "Centaur," two poems, published in the University of Nebraska at Omaha's annual literary journal Celebrate: A Collection of Writings by and about Women, 2009.
Twenty poems published over seventeen years, 1993-2010, in journals such as: Backroads, the annual literary journal of Iowa Western Community College; Lyrical Iowa, the annual organ of the Iowa Poetry Association; and the quarterly journal Fine Lines of Omaha, Nebraska.
No Cross for Jesus
Three travelers from the future sat on a bench in a courtyard open to the sky. They were there to observe the results of an experiment.
On a balcony stood Jesus and Pontius Pilate, who pointed. "Your accusers say you claim to be the king of the Jews. Are you king of the Jews?"
A donkey brayed.
"I didn't hear you. What did you say?"
"You have said it."
Pilate looked down on the audience. "I have asked this man other questions regarding his alleged offenses. The answer you have heard is typical. He refuses to defend himself."
An old woman in the crowd stood up. "Your honor, that's because he is not in his right mind. I know because I am his mother." (More . . .)
A Nice Card
It was a nice card. On the outside, a dark blue, flowing mechanical script read, "Thank you," against a tasteful pastel blue. On the inside in blue ink, a hand-written note. "Thank you for boosting the ego of a lonely, abandoned middle-aged woman. I will never forget your kindness last summer. Ava." A nice card in the same way a pastel blue gravestone would be nice.
We had met, for the first time, a summer thirty years before. Middle age was just knocking on my door and she was a nubile twenty-something divorce'e. In mourning over my own failed marriage, I couldn't respond to her breathless, "You are so virile!" Over the following years, I occasionally glimpsed her playing the piano at the Unitarian church or singing in the choir. Once I sat next to her when she was on the board of directors and I was treasurer. When she was half of a married couple, I tried to sell them life insurance. Greg, her new husband, ran a lawn service. By then, she had her therapist certificate. A few years later I saw, listed in the local community college flyer, her non-credit course for couples, "The Doable Dream."
Yes, Sir, That's My Baby
I am riding with Papa Hemingway in a beat-up, open convertible. Between us on the
cracked brown vinyl seat lies a naked baby.
The big man stops in front of a house on the beach. He leaves the engine running and steps out. He lumbers up to the house. The screen door bangs behind him.
The sun is hot. The baby whimpers. I pick the kid up, swing the long, heavy door out, step out and let it swing back. The car rolls forward a few feet, stops, rolls backward and stops again. I walk up to the house and knock on the screen door. I smell cigar smoke. (More . . . )
Jack Loscutoff comes alive on these pages as he crafts honest and uninhibited stories about his immigrant Russian heritage and his American education.
A very touching and sprightly collection of poems by a couple, one half from my alumni Pratt Institute, Marilyn June Coffey. The other half, Jack Loscutoff is being published posthumously.
Jack Loscutoff’s forte, as a writer, is the short story. Here, in A Line of Shorts, is a collection of some of his finest.
In The Cloud of Doom, a threat from outside our solar system causes a world-wide panic. People react to "The Cloud" in destructive ways. We also see the deadly results of abusing the earth. Will civilization survive?