 Arlington Literary Journal an ejournal also known as ArLiJo, is located in Arlington, Virginia and is sponsored by Gival Press. The intent of ArLiJo is to feature a variety of authors/poets/artists from around the globe whose work provokes readers to contemplate issues, etc. The work chosen promotes understanding and sensitivity across borders, even if initially the work may cause one to take a double-take. Staff: Editor-in-Chief, Robert L. Giron Associate Editor, Sarah Fannon The Reading Period for ArLiJo will open from January 15 to April 15, 2019.  Any work published shall remain the property of the author/poet/artist and for any previously published work to appear the author/poet/artist must still retain the copyright of the work. Please note that ArLiJo is an ejournal. Payment for publication is a book from a selection of books published by Gival Press. Books Available to ArLiJo Contributors NONFICTION: Sexy Liberal! Of Me I Sing by Stephanie Miller FICTION: Dream of Another America by Tyler McMahon Ghost Horse by Thomas H. McNeely Mayhem: Three Lives of a Woman by Elizabeth Harris Show Up, Look Good by Mark Wisniewski That Demon Life by Lowell Mick White Twelve Rivers of the Body by Elizabeth Oness The Cannibal of Guadalajara by David Winner The Best of Gival Press Short Stories ed. by Robert L. Giron The Second Act by Tim Brown Barrow’s Point by Robert Schirmer POETRY: Poetic Voices Without Borders ed by Robert L. Giron On the Altar of Greece by Donna J. Gelagotis Lee Poetic Voices Without Borders 2 ed by Robert L. Giron Songs for the Spirit by Robert L. Giron On the Tongue by Jeff Mann Bones Washed With Wine by Jeff Mann The Great Canopy by Paula Goldman Sweet to Burn by Beverly Burch Protection by Gregg Shapiro Honey by Richard Carr 12 Sonnets for the Zodiac by John Gosslee Adamah: Poème by Celine Zins |
Janée Baugher Featured on ArLiJo Issue No. 77 FULL MOON, 1919 —after painting by Paul Klee (1879-1940) Blur of space, diminutive union of hue to bristle, of browns taking back their night, of yellow lost in a room full of stares. Klee began green then surrendered yellow. His moon pinned like a compass needle. Mere round among angles of browns, blues, and definitive sides of squares, triangles. His brush strokes want something, like the way bread can’t feed a refusing mouth. No way to right the upside-down squares when the moon stares down warden-like. This night has lost its license to brighten and no amount of cadmium yellow will do. Hunger seeks you out, always backlit by yellow. Copyright © 2013 by Janée Baugher. Reprinted from The Body’s Physics by permission of Tebot Bach. STREET ARTIST, BARCELONA, SPAIN She kneels on a sheet of foam. The ventilation-mask dangling like a reminder from her neck goes unused. From a can of spray-paint, a yellow layer creams the page and from a sponge dabbed into color pools, the owl’s form takes shape. One swift zigzag of her finger across the still-wet paint for the lagoon. A bowl placed down then sprayed around, when lifted an ochre-red planet shaded at the edges. A knife’s slash through layers of paint reveals white trees. The glossy page from a shoe catalogue is crumpled and used to smudge-out mountains. A final signature like calligraphy, then she seals the shapes to the page by igniting aerosol from a can held over the picture. Without comment, she sets it among the other images which expand out like a moat between her and us. Although traffic blurs down either side of Las Ramblas and the fifty of us encircle her, she is entranced— the hands seem to move independently: one hand reaching for something the other has not yet released. Copyright © 2013 by Janée Baugher. Reprinted from The Body’s Physics by permission of Tebot Bach. CROP SEASON Discarded by the side of the road, I rise and begin to investigate. Crop names in the fence lines read: sweet corn, grain corn, peas, wheat, alfalfa. And it occurs to me I know nothing of crops, planting season, and predictions of rain. Perhaps a farmer can tell me— I ask one and he says You’re a felon here, a burden to society, where you walk the ground gives way. So I look over my shoulder— and he’s right—where I had walked is now sinkholes, stirring dust. In my wake, crops swivel, broken at the base and moaning. No, I did this? The farmer spits and turns away. I study the pattern in his faded flannel shirt and wonder, should I compact myself small enough to climb upon his back and ignite the strips of blue, strips of green? Copyright © 2013 by Janée Baugher. Reprinted from The Body’s Physics by permission of Tebot Bach. Biography: Janée Baugher is the author of two poetry collections, The Body’s Physics (Tebot Bach, 2013) and Coördinates of Yes (Ahadada Books, 2010). Her nonfiction, fiction, and poetry have been published in The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction, and Nimrod, among other places. Currently, she teaches in the graduate program at Northeastern University (Seattle campus). Robert L. Martin Featured on ArLiJo Issue No. 77 The Sculptor “Tis finished, ‘tis finished, And all is well My masterpiece, as close to Perfection as can be Only I, molded by the Hands of the Almighty, Am the completed one, The one who is finished All my work is dedicated To the glorification of The perfectionist who is The master of creation The perfect one who Gave me the capacity To expand my creative abilities To move toward perfection And find what it is like To live in the shadow Of his shadow” Copyright © 2015 by Robert L. Martin. Biography: Robert L. Martin’s works have been published in Mature Years, Alive Now, Wilderness House Literary Journal, Greensilk Journal, Poets’ Espreso, among others. He is the author of two chapbooks. He has won two Faith and Hope awards from In His Steps Publishing. He is currently the organist at First UMC of Wind Gap, PA for the past twenty two years. Mary Ann Nyamweya Featured on ArLiJo Issue No. 77 Mountain Lady, Tell It True for Ventura Valdez I think that I see Ventura Up past a misty ring of clouds Atop a mountain, simply standing Earthen green-hued robes aflutter I wonder —bout her storytelling Is that her voice I hear? It seems to tell of child-bearing For men, for women, for all The stories are like children, There are no falsehoods here! Weaving together, and linking arms They run with joy abandoned I imagine resting on thick green grass Closing eyes to find Ventura I feel her now, and the weight of her tales Becomes so light and free And so I say, Ventura, Tell me your stories, do, And I will tell you mine as well Our souls will mingle, truth will swell Along this open ocean . . . of poems Copyright © 2015 by Mary Ann Nyamweya. Previously published in The Sligo Journal: Fall 2014/Spring 2015. The late Ventura Valdez is the person for whom the annual poetry contest was named which is held at Montgomery College. Biography: Mary Ann Nyamweya has a VCU Philosophy degree, with recent course work at Montgomery College. Alongside a lengthy copyediting profession, her life has always included poetry, music, herbs, and a passion for color. When creating, this wordsmith uses her intuition and love of nature. |
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