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issue 10.03   ::   spring 2021
Scary Bush

Our bravest contributors have shared with us some of their more earnest efforts from the misty past. Scary Bush should not be reviewed while in the process of drinking liquids, and the reader assumes all risk.


Lauren Busser

The violin is my Twin

Riham Adly

When I listen to the brooding melodies of the violin,
I feel it yearning to reveal and unveil the chagrin within.

Sadness flows in its soulful tunes pulling me in like magnet,
like a spell, like a woman blinded by a glowing gem.

I get pulled in to its enchanted world,
like the sleeper's invisible melody in the dreamers abode.

And like a match's sudden spark, and demons in the dark,
Its voice enthralls before it dims.

It dims.
It dims.

My heart flutters like a bird's flapping wings,
When I hear the wailing sound of the wind in its strings.

The wind that wanders into the hollow barks of trees abandoned.
The winds of fate, the wind so feared, the wind within.

And again when the shy violin sings, when its melody strengthen after it begins,
I listen with my heart and see with my ears the chagrin within the violin

For it is my mirror
It is my twin.

Caffeine (or an overactive mind…)

Rhienna Renèe Guedry

A Stranger at the Grave

Catherine Bloomer, age 17

I am the broken bottle
worn smooth by the waves
I am the bunch of flowers
thrown down on our grave

I am the lone stranger
surrounded by our friends
I am the relentless shower
of rain that heralds the end

I am the one who follows
the ones who went before
I am the one who saw all
the harbinger of war


Kristen Baum DeBeasi

Mary Brown
Lady Jane




Potato pie





Bye and bye


Dale Stromberg, age 18 or so

As I betook me daily travel otherside the reservoir,
I did happen to unstart me near an old abandoned car,
For I heard me bladder calling, "¡No me gusta trabajar!"
So I did unzip and tinkle on the old abandoned car.
Then I heard me from behinded a great laughy-hardy-har:
"What do you there, oddfeller, to that old abandoned car?"
Then did I sing, "Bedong beding and a merry toora-loory,
Tis nun yer bizness what I do unto this auld Mer-cur-y."


Claire Leng, confidently attempting to master the stream-of-consciousness style in her second language

Haruki Murakami is a liar
He made marathons and falling in love sounds easier
Mom forgot to teach me not to trust a writer
Too late, I already paid my registration fees earlier

Is it one mile yet?
The gym smells salty and wet
I think I know that skinny brunette
Her name is Chelsea, Chellie, or Chelette

My shoes are uncomfortable
Two hundred bucks don’t seem so wonderful
Next time I will buy gears more affordable
My situation is miserable!

Sweat covered me from head to toe
TV is playing The Dr.Who Show
I am slow
Can I please travel back to thirty minutes ago?

I am hungry
Food waste is outrageous
Do people convert to Christian from rice missionaries?
I should stop running and write a new mystery

It has only been twenty minutes
Scientists need to invent a robot to move my legs
I don’t think I deserve a fitness
Six-packs are none of my business

Finally, they are playing my song
I can run with that beat all day long
This treadmill must read my calories wrong
Besides the drug part, I wish I could be Lance Armstrong

Every guy around me fit and grungy
The man next to me needs a sweat spongy
I should have done bungee
Rather than running here draining out of my energy

I praise God of the gym this hell route is almost complete
Only dubstep can match my heartbeat
Can’t forget to take a picture for the tweet
Let’s start with my swollen feet