Word Catalyst - New Issue

A new issue of Word Catalyst mag is up...a vibrant December issue with something for everyone, art, poetry, photography, and stories. Read it here.

Chain Fiction - New Post

Stop by and enjoy my next chapter at Chain Fiction, where I'm writing a story with another writer. Here is a snippet of my latest chapter:

Janey studied the sorrowful lump of a man. He certainly didn't seem as dangerous now as when he dragged her screaming from her home. Now he was small, wounded, defenseless, defenseless like her. She relaxed. "Could I ask you something? Why did you kidnap me?"

In the dim light his body went rigid. "It was all about your dear hubby, lady. I needed to control your dear hubby."

"Why?"

"He was getting too close. That's all. He was getting too close."

She and Bud never thought his work would put his family in danger. A medical examiner normally doesn't delve into the violent side of police work. But then, Bud was no normal medical examiner. "Did you commit a crime?"

"YEAH, I COMMITTED A CRIME! Now back off!"

"It must have been a terrible crime. I'm just saying, kidnapping me was an extreme act."

He bolted up. "Are you trying to make me insane?" Read more...

Hey, it's something!

Check this out! Kudos to Carbolic for a great one!

Carbolic Smoke Ball: THE ROONEYS PROMISE TO SPARE NO EXPENSE TO DRY OUT FIELD FOR SUNDAY'S GAME:

Chance Encounter

For the Word Catalyst Challenge:

Chance Encounter


Snowflakes drifting at frenetic pace,
lacy edges longing to collide.
Accidentally twirling I spied your face,
snowflakes drifting at frenetic pace.
Watching you float with style and grace
smiling coyly, trying to hide.
Snowflakes drifting at frenetic pace,
lacy edges longing to collide.

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

Separating the Boys from the Girls

Catholic school separates 7th- and 8th-grade boys and girls for math and language arts: "'In math, the girls can ask questions,' said Ms. Baverso, who has taught at St. Bede since 1999. 'They don't feel dumb, the boys aren't loud, it's quiet. Those are the things they need.'"

I don't usually fall in step with the latest trendy ideas, but I think there is a good point here. I went to an all-girls school and never felt held back in any way. Now I'm a smarty pants to the oompf degree because no one ever told me I was stupid or overlooked me to pay attention to the boys first. I'm just saying, society has a subtle bias...hmmm, or is it so subtle?

In 250 years, Pittsburgh reinvents itself many times - Pittsburgh Tribune-Review

In 250 years, Pittsburgh reinvents itself many times - Pittsburgh Tribune-Review:

A must-read to truly realize the strengths and virtues of Pittsburgh!

Hats with Roses

Down to the Wire by Trish Biddle

For a Word Catalyst Challenge:

Hats with Roses

Two skinny dames, glasses held high
to ponies racing, two by two.
Fortunes rest on hooves flying high.
Hats with roses and ribbons, too,
being pretty, nothing to do.
Shoulders, wallets laid bare again
betting on ponies, lose times two,
Glamour today, tomorrow pain.



Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

The Painter (The Yellow Blouse)

This is the second part of a writing challenge to interpret this painting with both a poem and a story.
Please see the poem for the first part.

The Painter

The Yellow Blouse, part 2

She's posing for me. The love of my life, tightened lips, eyes that turn away from my gaze. Does she find me abhorrent? Her mother insisted... insisted on this portrait. For I, lame troglodyte that I am, could never have summoned the courage to ask her to sit for me.

I'm just a simple man, an artist, but I have gazed upon her beauty all my life, since we were mere children playing together on the streets of this little village. Even as a child, she was sprightly and determined. And I, poor soul that I am, laid back in fear of her awesome light. Indeed, as young people, she was known to bully me a bit.

And then, we grew older, and her attention waned. When I entered a room, she bustled away, averting her gaze as though I came bearing the plague as an unwelcome gift. Soon I found her disregard cut me to the quick as I moped away in sorry rejection. I never had the courage to act on my love, so I deserved the disdain of her avoidance.

She looks so lovely today in her yellow blouse. It hangs over her sweet bosom in folds of beauty like an angel. Ah, and the cross reminds my lustful cravings to retreat and heed her virtue. Alas, I shall never have my precious. I cannot even keep the painting, as I must deliver it to her mother forthwith. I shall never possess even the slightest trinket of her being.

Verily, I don't believe I can survive this life with such agony in my heart. Today, I shall gather my paints, present the canvas to her mother, nod goodbye to that lady and her sister, with nary a glance at my love. I shall go home and retrieve the revolver from my desk drawer...and end this wretched sadness forever.

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

(An interpretation of this painting discovered by Bob Church)

What is left?

Gray clouds pause
Enveloping me
Hot vapors
Suffocate
Heart paralyzed in terror
What is left for me?

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

Hotels go high tech to make your stay cushier

Hotels go high tech to make your stay cushier: "Hotels go high tech to make your stay cushier Saturday, November 17, 2007 By Heather Newman, Detroit Free Press Walk into your room -- which is already set to your favorite temperature -- and the lights come on. Order room service by remote control, or by touch screen on the computerized phone by your bed. When you're done eating and place that room service tray outside your door, it calls silently to housekeeping until it's picked up."

Geez, I feel so dowdy. I don't travel much and this astounds me. I haven't stayed in a hotel for, I dunno, 30 years. I think I may now just for the entertainment value.

The Yellow Blouse

The Yellow Blouse
Painting by William Merritt Chase

The Yellow Blouse


Sister dear, why stare you so
with eyes of coal?
Blackest black, deadened by woe
bulleting soul.

Tightened smile, eyes shooting pain,
what makes you sad?
Yellow blouse hides well your strain
to appear glad.

Mother made you wear that rag
despite words bold.
Lovely bodice wrapped in bags
of lace and folds.

The painter, he has your heart.
Love sick pain maze.
Your lips tighten, your eyes dart
under his gaze.

Hiding under yellow folds.
Heart beats denied.
Smothered love, truth never told.
Silent, you cried.



Copyright 2007 JO Janoski