Suburban Witchcraft Magazine – Issue 2

Reblogging the release of the second issue of Suburban Witchcraft magazine. I have poems, a short story, art, and a photo in this issue. Feeling pretty proud. Check it out! It is beautifully put together and has great writing and art throughout. There blog can be found here,, they’d love to hear from the readers.

Summer greetings, everyone!

Issue 2 of Suburban Witchcraft Magazine is now Live, featuring stories, photographs, poetry and art!

You can read the magazine here: or by clicking on the cover image above!

Our submission period is : always! If you are interested in being part of our Issue 3, you can send your writing, artworks and photography to We look forward to seeing and showcasing your creations!


I have been stuck on thoughts of Will Smith smacking Chris Rock at the Oscars. The poem is based on something that really happened.

Was my pick up code
Coffee ordered in advance
I chuckled thinking
Maybe it was a sign
As I had been toying
With the idea of
Discussing THE SLAP
Thoughts dancing as I walked

Upon entering I saw an older man
Hand on small cup
Look about awkwardly
Shift to the large cup
Ready for pick up
And furtively sneak away

I knew it was mine
Didn't need to confirm
But I did anyway
Blood boiling, I struggled to keep my cool
Checked the receipt

I envisioned a conversation
A confrontation
But the language barrier...
My brain running wild
Getting worked up
Imagined smacking him

Oh Will!
It was a sign
But not to share an opinion
But a warning
Control your urge and wait
So I did

The coffee shop made good
I left coffee in hand
And receipt in the pocket
A reminder to stay calm

As I passed I spied O. Will on his cup
And gave, a bewildered Will,
Grand wishes for a good day
Calling him by his new name
Trying to tamper down thoughts of ill
With a subtle mocking farewell

The Perfect Tea

This was written because I had this prompt for March: Scenario: Write a story about a conflict that breaks out over something ordinary (like tea, perhaps) .Scenario: Write a story about a conflict that breaks out over something ordinary (like tea, perhaps). And with the prompt mentioning tea I could not stop myself from from fixating on tea being the crux of the problem. Here is my story.

Which one was it? Hanson thought as he looked at the boxes of tea. He had written it down but left the paper at home. All he could clearly recall was it was a tea with like 3 names on it and one of them was tea. He seemed to remember writing berry but that didn’t narrow anything down. There were strawberry teas, blackberry teas, wild berry teas, hawthorn berry teas, açaí berry, and that was just the types of berries not the various concoctions they stuck the berries with. How in the hell were there so many fucking teas?

He decided to get the other things he remembered from the shopping list and see if he could figure it out while he shopped. He ordered the right pastrami, boar’s head, the kind he never bought because it was a few bucks too much a pound. Then moved on to the pumpernickel rye bread from the artisan bread section. He chose the most beautiful looking organic cucumbers. Then got the glass jar of expensive milk from local farms with happy cows. He knew that was everything he was asked to get besides the tea. Damn it, what was the flavor? If the tea section wasn’t so stupidly big he’d just grab all teas with a berry in it. That wasn’t an option though, because that would be like 40 different containers of tea. Seriously, what was with the tea section?

“Sir, you seem overwhelmed. May I be of assistance?” Hanson turned to see a woman dressed in the store’s apparel. He didn’t think she could help but then an idea occurred to him.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to get some tea with berry in it but I have forgotten the name. Maybe you could show me the most popular kinds?” His voice went very high as he ended this ridiculous question as did his shoulders. He knew he looked like an idiot. Instead of laughing she nodded.

“Ah, well, tea is a tricky beast, as popular doesn’t always equate to the right one. But you seem to be in a pickle and I can definitely give you the information you asked for. Are you sure you can’t just call and check?” Said the lady with the name tag saying Pam, Tea Specialist.

He made the face, the one he wasn’t supposed to make, and swore Pam frowned. “Yeah, you see. I can’t. That won’t go well.” He shrugged again and his face, still twisted in that rictus, turned a bright shade of red.

She nodded but looked disapprovingly at him for a second, that seemed to stretch forever. “Very well. Blackberry swirl, Strawberry delight, berries on parade, vanilla berry pie, straw-cherry vanilla dream, and boysenberry patch are the frequently purchased berry teas here.”

Hanson nodded, “thanks.” Then swept a canister of each into his basket. Pam was not impressed and clicked at him disapprovingly before moving away. He turned, lined up and paid. Then headed back to the set.

He maneuvered through the trailers until he found himself standing in front of her door. He knocked and waited.

“Hanson, that has to be you, only you knock like that. Come in.” Came the exasperated voice.

He entered and took off his shoes and slipped on booties before touching the carpeted areas. He put the bag on the little counter of her kitchen.

“I almost sent a search party for you. Tell me you got the pumpernickel rye.” He nodded. “The pastrami with the pig on it?” He nodded again. “The caramel apple tea?” His face made that look again, in front of the person who forbade it. His mouth began to water as he felt his gorge rise. He started breathing and trying to relax. She stood up and walked to him. She got right next to his ear and hissed “Well what tea did you bring me, Hanson? You did bring tea right? The main reason I asked you to run this shopping errand.”

He hated when she spoke like this. Quietly and directly into his ear, it tickled and always scared him. Which was his usual state around her. He felt sweat begin trickling down his back. He opened the bag and slowly pulled out each canister he had purchased. Every single can stacked in front of her and none of them were caramel apple. He looked straight ahead and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“You’re making that pathetic face again Hanson. And you didn’t bring me the right tea.” She was now in front of him and he let his eyes briefly check hers. They were completely black and he could feel the heat of her breath. It was way too hot, he tried to move his eyes up and away but couldn’t pull his gaze. He fell in, or maybe he was pulled. He entered the pitch black and felt the unending heat. He screamed but had no hope of being heard. He was wrong

He heard a cluck of disapproval, and a familiar voice, “You asked the wrong question Hanson.”


This image was created by Sarah-Jane Crowson. Then it was selected as the image for Rattle magazine’s ekphrastic challenge in February.

I have enjoyed writing ekphrastic poetry as you can see from my past few entries. I was turned onto it because of a WeChat group here in China, called ASPZ -poetry. They create a magazine for poetry and art, one of my art pieces found a home in one of the issues. Anyway, a person in the group put out a 14 day challenge for ekphrastic poetry and I was intrigued. While doing the challenge, I was introduced to’s monthly contest and began participating (more info can be found here In February, used this image for the February ekphrastic challenge.

The image was created by Sarah-Jane Crowson and I instantly became a fan of her work. I spent some time exploring her work, she is an artist and a poet so she must be good people. I encourage you to check out her site after you read my poem.


I spotted her waving,
Antlers catching my eye.
She cut a striking figure,
In her ‘proper lady’ attire.

I looked up from solar map,
And peered about, so sure I was,
That she could not mean me,
But I was alone in my study.

Glancing back down,
I saw her beckon me follow,
Stepping into the page,
And then onto stage.

The floor before me giving way,
The deep blue, crested with waves,
Blended seamlessly with night sky,
Stars twinkling afar.

Jellyfish floating by me,
Whispering words softly,
And soothingly as they passed,
A message of coming home.

My world forgotten, a dream,
Or perhaps a nightmare of dullness,
Shaken off in waking here,
I knew I could begin anew.

I promised…

I promised
Not to play in the mud
And I had meant it
But it was inevitable
The day was a hot one
My cousin and I wanted to swim
But ended up with a sprinkler head
Attached to the hose instead

Our lawn was fighting the summer heat
And the grass was sparse
So water landed on grass and dirt alike
I swore to stay clean
Only to get wet
Because I had ruined
Several outfits already
But then I slipped
Landing in the mud

My cousin laughed
And told me I was in trouble
So I threw a handful of mud at him
And a mud fight erupted
Amid squeals of delight
Until we heard our names
Yelled from the kitchen window

Expert Level

It wasn’t my day
Was the first thought
I had the moment before impact
The water was cool as I entered
But murky
Like a cup of coffee
With half dissolved powdered creamer
Floating in chunk form
No matter how hard you stir

The ground gave as I landed
Partially absorbing me
And shooting mud up my nose and mouth
I was the vanquished
The defeated
The mountain had seen me coming
Dispatching me with a foot sized boulder
As I careened, overconfident,
Down the slope

I pulled myself out
With a strange sucking sound
Leaving my cheap watch
In the muddy quicksand
Impossibly lost now
A souvenir for a future civilization to uncover
Along with a stupid looking face print
Left when it had smashed into the earth

No hope of dignity
Was left me
As my younger cousin rode up behind
while he asked if I was okay
Parts of me stung and
My nose felt horribly clogged
But only my pride felt irreparably damaged
If only I hadn’t declared
“Watch this!”
Before I had started

The Creature

While writing ekphrastic poetry in January I was told about’s ekphrastic poetry challenge. They get work from artists and ask their poets to write a poem about it. There is a prize involved but I did not win so it does not matter. January’s challenge was a photo by Matthew King called “Dark Figures”. You can see more of his work at

The poem writing took a while to come about because I look for something to identify with. So I downloaded the photo and then waited until I found my focus. I hope you enjoy.

Dark Figures by Matthew King

The Creature

They moved nearly in unison,
Once one took flight
They all followed excitedly.
“What did you find?,”
They all called.
Of course, there was no answer.
Then they saw it,
A 2-legged creature.
The kind that was unaware;
That usually had food.
“Does It have food?” cried one.
The question about food,
Spawned other cries.
“Where’s the food?”
No bird was sure.
So, they flew around the creature,
Calling out about food,
But the creature only looked down
Staring at an inedible box.
“No food!” one called out.
And it was frantically repeated.
Until one said,
“I think I should poop.”