Fantastic Mountainous Landscape with a Starry Sky, by Robert Caney
[poetry]

Becoming a Believer and NFPA 70E

By Avery H. Thompson


The locals, believers of gods, drink tsipouro long into the night // And brag to me about how lucky they were to be born here

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The Rumen is a collaboration between writers and poets from a variety of demographics and backgrounds. Like the guts of an ungulate, we want The Rumen to be a space for ideas and experiences to digest, ferment, and transform.

Latest Publications:

[article]

In the Wake of Fr. X

By MH Petrus

One recent Sunday, I attended St. Augustine Catholic church in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, close to where I live. This was not typical behavior for me; I had grown disaffected with the Catholic Church through the years, but I liked to dip my toe into its baptismal font, so to speak, on occasion, usually around Easter, to see if I felt closer to God.

[poetry]

Her Last Garden

By Joseph Hunter

My uncle told me turn the soil over // after that we'll lay a sheet over it // everything under it will die, and // we can start again.

[poetry]

Immersion and The Anatomy of Average

By Barun Saha

Those are stygian times when blood & clay plastered on bones melt into lumps // The floor tiles slide across, the many mouths of abyss await

[fiction]

Death of the Author

By Alana Rodrigues-Birch

You’re alone. You’re alone in a house in the woods. You’ve been running for some time.

[fiction]

Pentecost

By Brian Sutton

Dear Sir: As requested, I shall begin by providing background information about myself. My name is Vernon Lantry. I am fifty-one years of age.

[poetry]

Inquisition

By Meggie Royer

Before we knew, we heard— // the horses shot in the pasture, // clamor receding along the fence line like snow.

[fiction]

Quentin Compson Time

By Joseph Kenyon

I took the truck down the rough, narrow trail, rounding the final rutted bend out of the woods and onto the rocky beach surrounding the lake.

[poetry]

Pilliwinks and The Boot and My Head is a Cat B Jug

By Joseph Long

Ain’t that done yet? Ain’t that done? Three words which, // if spoken too soon, sears itself upon // my balloon.

Submissions


Have a poem, short story, or piece of creative non-fiction that you'd like to share with the world? Visit our submissions page to learn more about contributing to The Rumen.