Bastion He recognized the cliffs as his last bastion of salvation. By John G. Stamos Bastion John G. Stamos He made it down the dark stairway and out into the bright summer sunlight with only the clothes on his back, a watch on his wrist, and enough bus fare for a one-way ride with transfers.
My Atticus Finch Takes Aim Reading Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird when I was ten years old brought to mind an even earlier childhood moment. In “My Atticus Finch Takes Aim”, I recall how my own stoic, bespectacled father used his sharpshooter skills to save my brother and me from an unexpected intruder. By
Sower Seed sprouts in varied conditions, but its viability is unpredictable. Sow it first to know its ultimate quality. “Sower” is my testament to seed’s transcendent whimsy, beauty, and power. By Lane Cook Sower Lane Cook Spring strewn like a baby rattle exploded across the clay. Please sprout the garden waits. Summer shorn, sweet
So Long, Old Friends, So Long With “Hello, life’s new chapter” comes “So long, old friends, so long.” By John G. Stamos I just sold my house in Michiana Shores. Regular readers of my stuff here might recognize this as a big deal for me, as it’s a key part of the process of moving
Carl Jung Is a Butthole Carl Jung is a butthole for what he’s doing to my head right now. By John G. Stamos You run into all kinds on social media. I spend time on certain platforms partly because of the friends I’ve made there, and partly because of my job. But many others are
“The Liberian Peninsula” Spain and Portugal on “the Liberian Peninsula?” Honest to God, you can’t make this stuff up. Maybe if people took the time to actually read, social media wouldn’t be such a stupid place. By John G. Stamos Read? Are you kidding? “Once I was a scuba diver in the sea of words.
Seagrass “Seagrass”. My latest poem. A little Nietzsche with even less Hawthorne. By John G. Stamos Seagrass John G. Stamos Directionless direction, magnetic fields at the poles, and ice is sliding Off shelves, in shelves, in sheaves, to hear them tell it, or it’s not, to hear them tell it. These fields are fallow, Their
Smells Like Plagiarism to Me The written word is a demanding tool. Its use requires giving credit whenever and wherever it’s due. This includes in social media posts. When vapid “influencers” scrub the internet for information to use in their fatuous social media proclamations without acknowledging its sources, it sure smells like plagiarism to me.
Ditching Misconceptions Pushing a digital publication is all about ditching misconceptions. Let me dial you in to how something as simple as your own name can torpedo you, the way a jumbled social media ID takes the wheels off your train, and why (free) subscriptions to The Renaissance Garden Guy matter. By John G. Stamos
Shattered In the Mid-1970s Splurging on Letraset in the production room of a small newspaper. By Russ Smith A few weeks ago I ran across a brief thread on Twitter about the now nearly obsolete press-on sheets of Letraset typefaces, a staple for artists and small newspapers before computers took over. As a young journalist,
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