Nightingale & Sparrow

Author: Marcelle Newbold

  • Karen E Fraser

    KF Profile pic

    Karen E Fraser

    Poetry Contributor

    Karen E Fraser is a Melbourne-based writer and poet, with degrees in Professional and Creative Writing, and Anthropology. She has been published by Humana Obscura, Bloodmoon Journal, Freeverse Revolution Lit, Querencia, Wee Sparrow Press, and Poetica Christi Press. Karen has held professional roles as a writer, and editor of Verandah Journal. Her poetry embraces the beauty of the natural world; activism, advocacy and social justice; and the absolute necessity of freedom, love, dignity and belonging.

     


    Works in Nightingale & Sparrow

    The Gravity of Tenderness

  • Kersten Christianson

    Kersten Christianson BW

    Kersten Christianson

    Poetry Contributor

    Alaskan Poet, Moon Gazer, Raven Watcher, Northern Trekker, Teacher. Kersten Christianson derives inspiration from wild, wanderings, and road trips. Kersten is the poetry editor of Alaska Women Speak. She has authored Curating the House of Nostalgia (Sheila-Na-Gig, 2020), What Caught Raven’s Eye (Petroglyph Press, 2018), and Something Yet to Be Named (Kelsay Books, 2017).  Kersten lives with her daughter in Sitka, Alaska and enjoys road trips, bookstores, and smooth ink pens.

     


    Works in Nightingale & Sparrow

    At the Edge of Hope

  • Breakfast

    Breakfast

    Grant Burkhardt

    Grant Burkhardt

  • The gravity of tenderness

    The gravity of tenderness

    Karen E Fraser

    delicate petals creak open
    slower than snowflakes falling
    in an airless, lavender sky.
    wide-eyed stamens quiver, waiting
    patiently to be pleasured by bees.
    stems of ear-shaped leaves
    silently unfurl a lush fullness
    in blinding verdant greens.
    the light of life remains fully switched on,
    fizzing with moon-neon phosphorescence,
    ever emergent, ever consuming, gifting and
    receding in waves that spiral through
    an inescapable fragrance-
    a constant, unnameable
    yet deeply known by the gentle heart.

    Karen E Fraser

  • Letter from the Editor Sakura Issue

    Letter from the Editor

     

    Dear Reader

    Welcome to the enchanting world of sakura! As we unveil our latest issue of Nightingale & Sparrow Literary Magazine, we invite you to immerse yourself in a realm of delicate beauty and ephemeral wonders. It is with great joy that we present our eighteenth issue, marking yet another milestone in our journey.

    For this issue, we asked writers to capture the essence of sakura—the pink and white world where everything feels delicate and fleeting. We sought stories “about a moment of fleeting beauty, a memory that lingers like the sweet scent of sakura.” And oh, dear readers, the responses we received were nothing short of breathtaking.

    Within these pages, you will discover tales that encapsulate fleeting beauty, moments that leave an indelible mark on our souls. Love and loss intertwine in narratives that resonate deeply, while quiet realizations about the passage of time gently unfold. Our talented contributors have masterfully harnessed the power of sakura to transport you to a realm where beauty and transience coexist.

    As you delve into the tender tapestry of words and emotions we’ve curated for you, you will encounter mesmerizing pieces such as “At the Edge of Hope” by Kersten Christianson, “Sweet Sorrow” by Jennifer Geisinger, and “Seattle Sunrise” by Lindsay Pucci. These captivating works invite you to reflect on the fragile nature of existence and the profound impact of fleeting moments.

    Before bidding you farewell, we would be remiss not to express our gratitude to those who have helped bring this issue to fruition. Each contribution, whether through submitting their work, supporting us behind the scenes, or simply being a devoted reader, is invaluable. Nightingale & Sparrow continues to thrive because of the unwavering dedication and passion of our global community of creators.

    Wishing you moments of ephemeral joy through sakura and beyond.

    Juliette Sebock

    Editor-in-Chief, Nightingale & Sparrow

  • Iris

    Iris

    Robert Rice

    Coming back from the mailbox,
    near the fence I noticed
    its small, green swords pushed up
    through the near-frozen dirt.
    It stopped me. 

                                  Sometimes
    —not often—
    a simple shift of light
    will shake and crack
    the thin screen of the world. Then each 

    defended story, end-stopped,
    will turn in the faded light of evening,
    cross the gray sky in you,

    leave no trace.

    Robert Rice

  • Neighborhood

    Neighborhood

    Ed Brickell

    The world where I live is in slow secret.
    The old bird feeder, forever hanging,
    Lies on the ground. Its branch is gone.
    The fallen leaves from the nearby oak tree
    Creep by inches to the back fence.
    The sun sneaks near the horizon all day.

    A new boy seems to have arrived by himself
    In a house sold in haste a few doors down.
    He never wears a shirt, runs instead of walks.
    The other children have agreed to his rule,
    Cheerfully doing the most dangerous things.
    New screams fill the air.

    A lot, leveled at the top of the hill,
    The house erased. No memory
    Of what it looked like, who lived there.
    Dogs I have never seen before snarl and snap.
    All these polite strangers – names of confusion,
    Lives of utter mystery. 

    I want to move somewhere,
    Be the question mark –
    The one whom no one has seen before,
    Who changes how their days happen.
    Suddenly inhabiting the scoured hill
    Where something was they can’t remember.

    Ed Brickell

  • Frederick the Night Blooming Cereus

    Frederick the Night Blooming Cereus

    Valerie Hunter

    Ray is the one who bought Frederick,
    planted him, named him,
    used to invite all their friends
    to an annual midnight party
    in Frederick’s honor.
    But Ray is gone now,
    has abandoned Amy and Frederick both,
    though probably he would’ve
    taken Frederick if he could have.

    For fifty-one weeks of the year,
    Frederick is a bit of an eyesore,
    a shaggy giant lurking uselessly
    in the corner of the back yard.
    Thankfully he doesn’t need much care;
    Amy remembers to water him occasionally
    if it hasn’t rained in awhile, and sometimes
    she gives him a kind word, or says,
    “Why so cereus?” because she knows
    Frederick appreciates a good pun.

    But when May comes
    she watches him closely.
    Each year she fears his magic will fail,
    that he’ll remain an undignified lump,
    but then those first ugly buds appear,
    bulging tumors amidst the leaves.
    They develop rapidly, sprouting
    their spiny alien tentacles,
    so familiar,
    so strange,
    and after a decade
    of being intimately acquainted
    with Frederick’s anatomy,
    she knows exactly when to stay up
    with her coffee and her thoughts,
    pulling the most glorious of all-nighters.

    She tells no one, extends no invitations—
    Ray might have seen Frederick
    as a spectacle to be shown-off,
    a freak to be gawked at,
    but she considers him
    her private magic show,
    the flowers blooming for her alone,
    enormous and luminous,
    with their weird medicinal fragrance
    that heals her soul,
    makes her believe that the world
    is an inexplicably wondrous place,
    full of small miracles.

    She always goes in before dawn,
    avoiding the back yard
    for as long as she can afterwards
    to hold onto the memory
    of that magnificent, glowing Frederick.
    Each year, as she shuts the door,
    she spares a thought for Ray,
    who left her this one perfect piece of beauty,
    this midnight marvel
    that she knows he must miss.

    Valerie Hunter

  • sakura micropoems

    In the leadup to our eighteenth issue ’sakura’, we shared a series of micropoems from our talented submitters: