The Blue Hour Volume Three is now available

The Blue Hour

The Blue Hour Anthology Volume Three is 190 pages of poetry, prose and art. This book features a vast array of expression. The editors selected some of their favorite and highest quality pieces that were published on our website during 2014.

This book was professionally printed with a perfect binding. It is printed in full color, on high quality paper, measures 5×7 inches and has a soft cover featuring two original photographs.




johnsibleyKate H



Contributor Names

Abigail McCarthy
Adena Bailey
Alex Nodopaka
Ally Malinenko
Amanda Tollett
Anne Britting Oleson
Anthony Ward
Anthony J. Langford
April Michelle Bratten
April Salzano
Aprilia Zank
Art Heifetz
Bianca Jacq
Bud Smith
Byron Beynon
Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas
Changming Yuan
Christopher Rupley
Conrad Schafman
Constantine Mountrakis
Courtney Bradshaw
Craig Kurtz
Donal Mahoney
Edward O’Dwyer
Erik Moshe
Frederick Pollack
Gary Priest
Gina Marie Lazar
Heather Minette
Howie Good
Isablino Anastasio Guzman
J. K. Durick
James Owens
Jay Sizemore

View original post 84 more words

Grey Bed Sheets

I close my eyes and see
my mother at my age, two
girls following close behind,
her with dark long lovely hair
and tired eyes.

There are a million small questions
that may not have a true or clear or
simple answer.

My sleep deprived brain
has to be reminded to
not wait for clarity –
just do
the rest will come


It is near but not yet daybreak.
I open the front door and walk
out into the dark. Tree frogs
hop wildly out of my way
as they too apparently
ventured out into
the damp night.

The simple is sacred
I see so clearly in the
quiet of the early morning
alone with my baby daughter.

We are as we should be
sleepy and smiling
together atop
grey bed sheets.

Soon to be published in Switch (The Difference) Anthology by Kind of a Hurricane Press

night breeze

I feel the breeze through
the bedroom window
on a summer night
as I sit with my baby
at my breast,

it’s the end of summer
and finally the coyotes
have returned.

their song comes through
the open window and in the
odd hours of the early morning
they keep me company
in the quiet and the dark.

The cool comes on quickly and
autumn makes herself known
as the warmth of the day
arrives later and later.

Daylight makes lessons learned
in the dark harder to remember.

There is a feeling of relief
and then dismay
when I realize that
I am still myself,
despite the drastic
changes to my

Stretch marks,
like any other scar,
are a reminder
of where I’ve been
a record on my body
of each destination
and crash.
A mind may forget
but the body remembers.

It is written on my bones
and this body will find a way.

In a time of crisis
I strain to remember
what coyote taught me
about the lighthearted
nature of the universe
I say it over and over again
in my head, hoping repetition
will make it stick.

Her mouth curves into a wide grin
around my nipple and
again I am in love.

Recently published in The Zoomoozophone Review Issue 3

The Build

I stretch myself like a bridge
between fantasy and reality
with not enough of me on either side.

We are too close to both edges.

I only ever wanted to fight with wooden swords
I plead,
reassuring myself,

I am harmless.

But then I think back
on all the harm I’ve caused
and I am less sure.

If everything we build
is made of glass
how can we hope
to keep the world from
breaking down all around us?

Perhaps if we put away
even our wooden swords
and angry words
and eyes,

we can begin to build with wood and stone
and make a thing more lasting
than dread and fire.