Scifaikuest

NOVEMBER 2020 ONLINE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Streaming Chair by Denny Marshall

 

EDITORIAL

 

Please be aware that we have some IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS, below

 

ATTENTION!!!

 

IMPORTANT INFORMATION regarding our magazine:

 

Scifaikuest finally has it's own ISBN!!! Please inform your local book stores and library that they are now able to ORDER SCIFAIKUEST!!!

 

If you don’t have a subscription to our PRINT edition, it is available at our subscription page.

 

And, if you would like to join the select group of contributors by submitting your poetry, artwork or article, you can find our guidelines here.

 

Pssst! Looking for something to read? You can order t.santitoro's latest novelette, The Legend of Trey Valentine, from THIS LINK and 2 of her short stories appear in Alban Lake's anthology, Only the Lonely, edited by Tyree Campbell. Find it at THIS LINK. Finally, her newest short story appears in the Hiraeth Book's anthology, No Greater Love: Martyrs of Earth and Elsewhere, edited by Robert Krog, which you can find at THIS LINK.

 

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SCIFAIKU

 

vampire snacks at noon
after gulping blood all night
solar eclipse

 

Gary W. Davis

 

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shapeshifter’s party

lots of bright, new

faces

 

Akua Lezli Hope

 

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old habits die hard

my reanimated dog

wags its tail at me

 

Ngo Binh Anh Khoa

 

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meteor impact
babies born near the area
grow extra limbs

Ngo Binh Anh Khoa


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mixed-race nephew
staring at me from his crib
six eyes unblinking

Ngo Binh Anh Khoa

 

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autumn night

the whorl of a galaxy

in my teacup

 

Laura Garrison

 

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colonist’s final rest

corpse tied to space waste
launched into an orange star
funeral pyre

 

Herb Kauderer
 

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undocumented aliens

foreign microbes crawl
from asteroid at center
fresh crater on Mars

 

Herb Kauderer

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carved head

glowing eyes of a killer

jack-o'-lantern

 

Dinesh Shihantha De Silva

 

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our old ones don’t die

passing through another space

their genes within us

 

ayaz daryl nielsen

 

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       ringing buoy

     the only proof

the serpent was there

 

Stephen C. Curro

 

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wrong button

a distraught T. rex

staggers through the portal

 

Stephen C. Curro

 

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a lifelong aversion

to red apples and trust

snow white the survivor

 

Christina Sng

 

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"Sweet Dreams"

 

working all week

to pay for dreams

pretending to be human

 

Matthew Wilson

 

*

 

"Food Shortages"

 

food growth impossible

shrinking customers instead

solving hunger problems.

 

Matthew Wilson

 

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new recruit giggling 

in latrine

not as funny in zero gee

 

Robin Mayhall

 

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nanobots

preserve this form
now undead

 

Andrea Gradidge

 

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nanorobotics—

human bodies write with

silver fingerprints

 

Leona Wilde

 

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wish upon a nebula

the first space war

ends with dust

 

Leona Wilde

 

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adaptation

threatened worker bees

honey turned to venom

 

Leona Wilde

 

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alien tourist

his face and hands orange

from cheese-balls 

 

John J. Dunphy

 

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SENRYU

 

all my stories as

I age beyond my star-treks 

some are even true

 

ayaz daryl nielsen

 

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mars mission on track

since getting engine design

of Santa Claus sleigh

 

Denny E. Marshall

 

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Valentine’s Day

visit from a vampire

would you like a kiss?

 

Guy Belleranti

 

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smoldering wall

I’m shocked the laser

actually worked

 

Stephen C. Curro

 

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HORRORKU

 

lasting impression

 

“don’t tread on me”

ghost of a child soldier

buried in a minefield

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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Tangled

 

under the dry creek bed

her lifeline

tangled in mine

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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tail end

 

the "shredded tire"

my little girl picked up

a black mamba

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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true crime

 

held for ransom

can't afford the co-pay

for life-saving meds

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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the kids, these days

 

they stuck my left hand in

and turned the mixer on

now I'm always right

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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league of their own

 

ash wood bat

to his kneecap

how they got to first base

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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unspoken rule

 

the unspoken rule

learned when they cut out your tongue

dummy up

 

Benjamin Whitney Norris

 

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Halloween mugger

chooses wrong partygoer

vampire costume real

 

Guy Belleranti

 

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home again

a genetic war
carnivorous grasses feast
apes return to trees

 

Herb Kauderer

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unwary landlord

meat lover rents the house ...

neighbours go missing

 

Dinesh Shihantha De Silva

 

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lizard aliens

begin conquest in China

new menu item

 

DJ Tyrer

 

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mechanical gulp

trapped in its metal belly

man-eating robot

 

William Landis

 

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event horizon

the first groan

of the ship’s hull

 

Stephen C. Curro

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FIRST CONTACT OTHER PLANET

Denny Marshall

 

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TANKA

 

bringing 

my kitty back

from the grave

I promised her

I’d never leave her 

 

Christina Sng

 

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longing 

to be extinguished

every single day

thousand-year old ghost

still stuck at home

 

Christina Sng

 

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after the wedding

his true face reemerges

the beast is a beast again

beauty realizing too late

it was too good to be true

 

Christina Sng

 

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ARTICLE

 

Minos, Taurus, and ME

By Robert E. Porter

 

 

Paul Klee used to talk of taking a line for a walk. That was a pet peeve of his, I think. It was one of his bugbears. And mine. I picture it like this: I put pen to paper and see where it takes me. To a graven image, maybe. The sacrosanct in mirror shades, lurking behind the Coke machine with a butterfly knife and a bag of frozen shrimp, mumbling to himself about cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers, Elrond Hubbard and the Engrams of Rivendell. Or the line could take me bar-crawling to find a crapulent poem, turned upside down on a red vinyl stool, with an anus where its mouth should be, trying very hard to look presidential as it gums a Reader’s Digest and grunts into its twitter feed. The line could rise up through the rats in the walls to form an essay of Lovecraftian proportions, instead. Or it could lead to a piece of fiction, torn from my upper thigh with calipers and hung on a bloody fingernail. A thing of beauty and distinction, surely, raised on Gerber’s gerunds – or a piece of real garbage, reeking with bad puns, just offal. (“Smell you later!”)

 

I don’t care. It’s all the same to me. Whatever it is, it left my memory palace trailing from the entrails of a footpad to the delight of a one-eyed cat named Miles, who isn’t around anymore, and I miss him. I miss him more than anything. The fence puts my lines out on display in his pawnshop window, and it’s a good thing if I don’t recognize The Damned Thing as my own. It’s a good thing if I don’t recognize any of Them. If I don’t know where this stuff comes from, then anything personal has been stripped away. Then we have the truth laid bare, and what I feel now cannot be embarrassment; it is the vicarious thrill of the voyeur as a Fer-de-lance is boiled, or a boil lanced.

 

In other words: That’s not me, up there, on the stage. It’s some other tortured soul, singing for his supper in the halls of Valhalla. It’s a tortilla made up to look just like Sir Elton John with rhinestone goggles and a supercharged pompadour, playing cousin Jethro in the resurrection of Jesus Christ Superstar, or Judas Priest officiating at the wedding of PB & J.

 

Whose line is it, anyway?

 

It could be yours, to start with; in the end, it could be anyone’s. For ex.,

“The geese passed by on their way north, and the red-winged black birds have arrived almost 2 months early, so maybe it will be an early spring. I hope so, for the bird's sake. I hate to think of them getting hit with snow!”

Becomes:

Red Wings and black birds

arriving two months early

field dressed on the snow

 

I don’t know if I could write a better haiku than this one if I actually went outside, got some fresh air and exercise, tuned out the harmful narrative (worrying about things I have no control over, or trying to solve all of my own problems at once) and tuned into my senses; but I might be a better haiku-writer as a result. I might be a better person. That’s what I’m working on… when I’m not going off on tangents, playing with words instead of reaching for something more tangible, more like the tang that goes down inside the handle and turns a blade into a knife -- as if anything so sharp was needed to cut the bull, and be myself.

 

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FAVORITE POEM by editor t.santitoro

 

shapeshifter’s party

lots of bright new

faces

 

Akua Lezli Hope

 

This says so much!!! Perfectly concise. Nice job!

 

BIOS

 

Stephen C. Curro: I live in Windsor, Colorado and I have a Masters degree in Educational Psychology.  I work as a middle school paraprofessional and a reading tutor.  I have previously published poetry and fiction with Acorn Haiku, Daily Science Fiction and 365tomorrows.

 

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Dinesh Shihantha De Silva: A published author (of creative books, flash fiction) and poet (haiku, senryu) from Sri Lanka. Other hobbies include chess, soccer and music. Full details about the published works at "See Your About Info" on: facebook.com/DineshShihanthaDeSilva

 

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Laura Garrison lives in southwest Virginia with her patient husband, mischievous children, and surly cat. She likes rainy days and ghost stories, and she hopes to open an intergalactic cheese shop someday.

 

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Akua Lezli Hope is a creator and wisdom seeker who uses sound, words, fiber, glass, and metal to create poems, patterns, sculpture, stories, music, adornments and peace whenever possible.  She lives with an indifferent black cat. She has published 127 crochet designs, served as a volunteer leader for Amnesty International and  founded a paratransit nonprofit. Her collection Them Gone, was published in 2018 by The Word Works.

 

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William Landis has been previously published in Scifaikuest, Star*line, Tales of the Talisman, Scierogenous 2, and has been nominated for the Dwarf Star Anthology. Beyond writing he is an agronomist for a state university and a weekend warrior.

 

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Robin Mayhall is a writer, editor and PR professional with a lifelong yen for science fiction and fantasy stories and poetry. Disabled by rheumatoid arthritis, she still works full-time, loves reading and getting lost on the internet, and is interested in history, especially World War I, journalism and media, healthcare issues and politics. She lives in Louisiana with her cat, Banichi.

 

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Ngo Binh Anh Khoa is currently teaching English at Ho Chi Minh City University of Technology (HUTECH), and in his free time, he enjoys daydreaming and writing dark verses for entertainment. His poems have recently been featured in Scifaikuest, Star*Line, The Audient Void, and other venues.

 

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DJ Tyrer is the person behind Southend-on-Sea-based small press Atlantean Publishing, was placed second in the 2015 Data Dump Award for Genre Poetry, and has been published in The Rhysling Anthology 2016, issues of Cyaegha, The Horrorzine, Sirens Call, Star*Line, and Tigershark. The echapbook One Vision is available from Tigershark Publishing’s website.

DJ Tyrer's website is at https://djtyrer.blogspot.co.uk/

The Atlantean Publishing website is at https://atlanteanpublishing.wordpress.com/

 

 

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Leona Wilde is a poet returning from a long hiatus after slaying her suburban demons. She is currently working on two chapbooks about trauma and healing that will be free to read on her personal website once she figures out how coding works. When she isn't writing, she's binge-watching the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina and searching for a D&D group to play a Stranger Things inspired campaign. 

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