Bryce Johle, “Late Night Texts from Mom while My Brother and I Argue”

Her neck nods, then halts, catching herself from sleep
on the couch, like when she’d come home from work
while we were under her roof

.


I feel like I need to fix something
Blue light flickers into the wrinkles of her sixties,
into her cheeks and eyes

.


Or that I failed somehow
I feel bad you guys aren’t friends

And now she takes misguided grandchildren

.


prays for them to iron out and keep straight
their young souls, which my oldest brother wasn’t
taught how to mold. So she tucks them in sleeping bags

.


and takes them to church, and does the old job
that three-verse number of hers
and one day they still strangle a cat

.


or kill one in the dryer when nobody’s looking
or run away from home
or sneak out of the detergent aisle to be alive elsewhere

.


but she knows it is an eternal role
her Earthly purpose, to be mother and half father:
to love unconditionally and to scrutinize

.


a lack of common sense
to make us tough and sweet like the Fraser
fir-shaped sand tarts she bakes at Christmas

.


You didn’t fail us, I say, picturing Dad’s nest of tools,
all the work he’s done for his collection of transistor radios
You had to be more than you when Dad gave up…

.


We’re friends, I assure. Just different people.

.


Yeah, she says. Dad does seem like that.
But he’s so proud of you.

J. B. Hogan, “Left Behind”

She wore her beauty lightly,
moved gently, softly through the world,
left a trail of enamored men behind,
men dazed, frozen in the cool
light of her gaze.
She meant no harm, gave no offense,
with no malice of intent.
When he first saw her,
he wasn’t blinded, not right away,
he was not like the others,
not so easily charmed,
but soon it hit him, deeply,
into the essence of his own soul.
Yet in his new blindness
he could see within her, within,
to the light that shone brighter yet,
the overwhelming light of her
beauty, within, without,
it swept over him, consumed him,
drove him half mad, weakened him
and like all those before,
left him behind, behind and
alone, surrounded by the ghosts
of the many who had come before.

Dear Authors & Artists,

We opened this project with clear and concise expectations
on what love and war is. Thank you for smashing them! In each piece
you have expanded the way we think about ourselves, each other,
technology, and the world around us. You have made this edition an
honor to compose.

Thank you,

The Hedge Apple Team

Thank you!

As the writing submissions have already concluded, it is bittersweet that art submissions close tonight. I want to say thank you. Thank you for letting us into your minds, hearts, and lives with your amazing work. We are honored that you have reached out to share this part of yourself with us. Thank you, not just for your submissions, but for your time and trust. We will be sending out emails in the near future and it is our hope to work with you again in November 2023.

Hello!

My name is Naomi! I am this year’s editor. I am very excited to be trusted with this edition. I know that I will be getting to know all of you through the pieces that you submit. If you are curious to get to know me and have a little peak behind the literary curtain, you should follow me on TikTok. This month I will be posting a lot of content that includes motivation for writing, encouragement for submitting, and a bit about all the fun that makes this position magical. If you don’t have a TikTok, don’t worry, I will also be posting on here and our official Facebook account.

Darryl Womack, “Halloween Night”

October’s Final Days, WINNER, Poetry

.

‘Twas Halloween Night all the children were dressed
As ghosties and ghoulies to scare all the rest.

They set out for adventure – sweet treats for the taking
Clouds swept past the moon – a night of tricks in the making.

Dark streets were lighted – Jack O’Lantern’s glowing
Nobody knew that true danger was growing.

Kids giggled and skipped house to house, door to door
“Trick or Treat” they would shout, rudely asking for more.

The neighborhood houses were decked out as well,
Graveyards with monsters and demons from Hell.

The scene was a treat for the imagination,
Until Sam finally snapped and sought retaliation.

As kids filled their bags up with neighborhood goodies,
Terror lurked in the shadows wearing black pants and a hoodie.

Sam hated this tradition, greedy kids, noise and laughter,
He’d make people think twice from now on, ever after.

As the children ran past him, his patience was waning,
He needed to strike – his insanity gaining!

One house was designed to give kiddies a fright,
The front lawn was a graveyard just for tonight.

Fake zombies struggled to rise from the ground,
It was one of the best Halloween scenes to be found.

Danny crept near a place where he shouldn’t have been,
A quick blade ‘cross his throat and he’s part of the scene.

An old oak spread its limbs in a park down the street,
Fake monsters were hanged there – a cool breeze blew their feet.

Sandy, dressed as a ghoul, got too close to the dark,
A noose tight ‘round her neck added feet to the park.

Red strobe lights flashed brightly from the depths of a well,
A bloody, handwritten sign read:  “The Gateway To Hell”.

Away from his friends, Timmy wandered too close,
One little shove – his screams add to the show.

The horror continued all Halloween night,
Kids disappeared to the left and the right.

Sam did his handiwork the whole evening through,
Until one child was left who didn’t know what to do.

He stood under a streetlight, whimp’ring, cold as a bone,
Wond’ring, through sobs, why his friends left him alone.

Sunrise discovered a most grisly scene,
More murders in one night than there’d ever been.

What once was tradition became nightmare that year,
No more tricking, no treating, no laughter, no cheer.

Sam was convicted and locked up for good,
Only one child survived from the whole neighborhood.

That child is all grown now – he’s not been the same,
Stories say now he plays a most frightening game.

He wanders the countryside, from town to town,
He hasn’t got friends and he can’t settle down.

Wherever he visits on Halloween Night,
He pretends he is Sam and gives children a fright.

Once he finishes playing his Halloween game,
It’s said that the children are never the same.

He fills neighborhood children with terror and dread,
When all’s said and done the kids wish they were dead.

So, as you put on your costume with plans to have fun,
Keep looking behind you, be ready to run.

A madman is lurking ‘round every dark turn,
To teach you a lesson all children should learn.

Stick together, say thank you and please be polite,
And you just might survive this Halloween Night! 


Darryl Womack’s love for storytelling was spurred from family camping trips and his many colorful tales shared around the campfire in the backwoods of California. A high school English teacher by day, Womack is now brought those vivid campfire tales to life in his 2016 book, Tales of Westerford. When he is not writing, Womack enjoys the outdoors, traveling, mountain biking, reading, and spending time with family and friends. A graduate of Humboldt State University, he currently resides in Redlands, California with his wife of 34 years, Patty. Together they have three sons, Garrett, Kevin, and Christopher, two daughters-in-law, Morgana and Catherine, and two granddaughters, Maddie and Kate.