My grandson

by Ty Andrews

Drawing


Strange 7

by Daniel Strange

Art


Strange 4

by Daniel Strange

Art


I Left Mississippi

by Benjamin Williams

Poem


"Forecaste"

by Lynn Norton

Poem


New Start

by Michelle Pond

Photograph


The Quail Hunt

By Trina Mioner, Army

Writing Type: Poem

By Trina M. Mioner
VA Medical Center--Cincinnati, OH

A new place, away from family and friends,

Feelings of isolation, loneliness and the blues.

Shoot pool to socialize; that’s what we do.

A woman in the Army takes things in stride.

 

I welcomed the invitation, but found it quite odd.

An officer, a gentleman extended to me, a private,

Hunting for quail. What fun it would be!

Ignorant! I was the hunted. How could this be?

 

He spread his coat for me to lie down.

We would see quail when the sun crowned.

He said, “Get comfortable,” with hearty laughter.

It seemed appropriate, not knowing it was me he was after.

 

Don’t fight; it will make matters worse.

Over in minutes, no wounds to nurse.

I said, “No!” It didn’t matter.

No one could hear the screams and the clatter.

 

He brushed off his coat, dirt and debris,

Offered his hand of friendship. This couldn’t be.

I found out later, Quail Hunting is slang,

An invitation for those new to the gang.

 


Take My Hand and Walk With Me

by Gene Groner

Poem


My grandson

by Ty Andrews

Drawing


Cat's in the Cradle

by Tom Lauterback

Prose


Strange 8

by Daniel Strange

Art


Head Trip

by W. Joseph O'Connell

Poem


Growth

by Michelle Pond

Photograph