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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 vaaho

Cover Art by Veronica

Blog: http://veronnikka.deviantart.com

“Always be a poet, even in prose.” ― Charles Baudelaire

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” ― Robert Frost

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

Miracle e-zine Short Fiction. Poetry. Non-Fcition. Art. Interviews and Much More

February- March 2013

Editorial

Issue 4

For any queries contact: miracle.ezine@yahoo.com

Cover art: Veronica Disclaimer: Matter published in Miracle e-zine is the work of individual writers who guarantee it to be entirely their own work. Contributors to Miracle e-zine are largely creative. The publishers accept no liability for them. Opinions expressed by our contributors do not necessarily represent the policies or positions of the publisher. The publisher intends no factual miscommunication, disrespect to, or incitement of any individual, community or enterprise through this publication.

Can you all believe that it has already been 6 months to the time we came up with our first issue? It has been a magical journey for me until now and here we bring you Issue 4-The Fantasy Edition. These last two months have been really busy for all of us here – attending tons of submissions, ruling out some interesting interviews for all of you and most importantly The Miracle Poetry Competition 2013. I cordially invite and suggest all of you to participate in this competition and celebrate this worldwide event of poetry, plus, the winners will be awarded with some great opportunities! Besides the competition, I would also suggest all of you to be a regular part of this magazine in some or the other way. Maybe you would like to interview for us or maybe share your writing tips with us or maybe want to tell us about your upcoming book? If you have any other ideas you could always email me (I love reading your letters!) and help us give our readers a better experience into the literary world. I hope you all enjoy this phase of our prodigious journey. Until next issue, Guntaj

Editor

Website: http://miracleezine.wix.com/miracle-e-zine Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Miracle.ezine Twitter: https://twitter.com/Miracleezine

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

Contents Winter’s White Castle-Antora Rahman...................6 Elemental King-Adebayo Caleb...............................7

How To Write Dramatic Poetry-Tips & Ideas........51

The Writer-Ollie Lambert.......................................52

Strings and Hammers-Gerardo Delgadillo..............8 Waltz of the Red Square-Lewis Norman...............11

Dream of a Paradise-Monica Gorantla...................53

A Liar’s Fate-Janice Sarah Te.................................12

Hogwash Trippy Aye-Leah Gray..............................58

Author Interview –Harry Giles.........................13

Writing Workshop with Marie Lightman.............60

Walls-Madison Van Ausdall..................................15

Bullet Train-Cherry.................................................61

Cuts and Razor Blade-Roshan Rao........................16 Paradise-Andrew Pei............................................17

The Swing-Ari McLeren..........................................63

Illusion-Olivia Smith.............................................18 Diary Entry 15th November-Denis Joe..................21

Fairy Tales are Real-David Bard..............................66

A Writer’s Refugee-Troy Cabadia.....................22

Fractal Travelling-Daniel Donatelli..........................54

Eyes of Emerald-G.D McFetridge...........................64 Author Interview-Michael J. Sullivan.................67

Goodfellow’s Version-Steven Fortune...................70

Hunger-Petra Sostaric.........................................24 Stars-Annabel Green...........................................25

The Piano-Zoe C.....................................................71

A Subtle Goodbye-Caitlin McGowan...................26 A Closed-Off Happiness-Alice Locke....................27

Hospital Blues-Bola Opaleke..................................75

Becoming-Siddharth Yadav.................................30 Theme Column-R.G Summers...........................31

Self Loathing-Xleana Kye.....................................35

When She’s Home-Yasmin Abusaif........................72 Book Reviews by Julie Stanley & Adam Skidmore..76 Celestial Voyager-Elancharan................................78 The Sun And The Moon-Emily Jones.....................79

The Last Thunder-Suhad Moussa........................35 Landscaping-Jennifer Martin..............................36

The Shadow of Death-Eivind Leong.......................81

Ina Dolor’s Last Stand-Raymund P. Reyes..........37 Return To Nature-Varghese Thomas..................42

The Machine-Edward Hyde...................................84

A Flower Tale-Gaurav Mishra.............................43

Gauges and wire-Joel Harris..................................87

Featuring A Writing Website-Wattpad.............44

Film Review by Patrick Satters.........................88

Gabrial-Jordan Baker..........................................45

The Truncation-Gokul R.D.....................................90

I Wonder-Freida P..............................................46

Peaceful Movement-Juan Inda.............................96

As Strong As Glass-Dominique Potter................47

Writing Contests..............................................97

Cathouse Blues-Kristine Ivanova.......................50

A Curious Interview by Catherine Schythe............83 A Song Unheard-Pritha Chattopadhyay................86

Winner of last issue’s contest...............................99

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

Winter’s White Castle -Antora Rahman A sweet fairy tale like no other Winter has come to habitate To breathe, to eat, to sleep It wants nothing more, nothing less But to whiten the once-green grass To bring gales of icy wind into the air To mix happiness with sparkly snow Winter builds itself on it's very own solace And overnight, a white castle materializes A kingdom for all winter lovers alike While winter haters invited nonetheless Pointy icicles decorate it's dainty crown And luscious polar bear fur adorn it's body Oh, the white castle with it's diamond branches It only comes one season a year for pure glory And there's the vast, beautiful public to impress With snow days and hot chocolate all the way There's nothing like winter, nothing at all For it is winter the public loves unconditionally Winter and it's magnificent white castle

Antora Rahman is an amateur poet who has been writing free verse poetry since grade school. Some of her previous works have been published in Eber & Wein Publishing, Poetic Power, and The National Poetry Quarterly. She was also the youth category winner of the Annual Islamic Writers Alliance Poetry Contest in 2012. Her poem has been published in the official website. Some of Antora's future plans consist of of writing more free verse poetry and taking part in more publishing opportunities for avid readers to enjoy.

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4

Elemental King -Adebayo Caleb Suddenly, the yellow being disappears Not with a gradual edging away But a sharp retreat Into the white sheets above

Yet nature’s fury is not kept Nor are the elements appeased Soon the wind that acted as though she had slept Is up to see all work has ceased

Thankful mutters at Mother’s lips The day will now have less heat No more sweat adorns her palms and finger tips As the sun has chosen to take its seat

As if in joy she moves with pride Tossing here and there, pushing aside Watching mothers and children run inside As this wind now doth easily glide

But Mother’s mutters may Not last so long today As white sheets change to grey ‘Its rain’ gleeful children say

Fear is now on Mother’s lips When shall I get home tonight? Will I sell all these many goods? Or will the day be yet waste

Quick words run on Mother’s lips Saying a plea to the universal elements To allow her sell her goods But the skies seem poised to pour

Finally the elemental King arrives Not with the usual August patter But with the heaviest of its kind it thrives As if to prove it is liquid matter

A strong wind heralds the pour Itself heralded by a cool breeze It looks like the skies have waged an elemental war And this is felt even by the swaying trees

Fast flowing, pouring relentlessly Knocking at trees, houses, people- aimlessly Wetting office men carelessly Raining ceaselessly

Thunder bolts now clap Striking quickly, no moments’ gap The wind now takes a nap On thunders’ lap Mother gathers her clothing Her goods And her children Under the rust zinc sheets

Under the zinc sheets the rain finds Mother And child And goods Hurling itself at them Mother is now mad, yet pleading You’ve done enough And the stubborn rain seems to be ceasing Yet suddenly decides to act tough

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 Mother moves with children again From rust sheets to roof of cane People are packed there; no space to gain But Mother must get her children out of the rain Now Mother pleads to the yellow being Please return with your scorching pain At least I could sell my goods And get home tonight Under the cane shelter Two women push for space One at the edge of her tether Gives the other a slap in the face Yet again, Mother pleads for Sunlight As she moves children from the fight

And she sees the day is already night This has become her plight As if aware of Mother’s plea To its elemental rival The stubborn rain hits fast and hard Then reduces to a patter so slowly Mother’s only chance She grabs it as soon Pulling the children with both hands To brave the flood with only the light of moon And now mother and children are gone From the rain and from the sun And they now run Amidst pattering, they move as one

Strings and Hammers -Gerardo Delgadillo

T

ime passed so slowly. The upright piano had been trapped in the storage room for more than ten years. Dust covered its once shiny surface, and its strings weakened. For sure it was out of tune. For ten long years of silence, the pianostared at a door that would never open. But not this day. A creaking sound announced the door opening, sunrays bathing the room in yellow. A young girl, sixteen perhaps,stepped in. She slid a hand across the upright’s surface. “You’re dusty, Mr. Piano.” She opened her purse and took out

a piece of fabric. “This will do,” she said as she cleaned the musical instrument and its bench. The piano felt good, to be clean again. When she finished, she smiled. Her brown hair, emerald eyes, and freckles seemed to smile, too. “I’m Cally.” She sat on the bench. “Ready?” She placed her hands on the keyboard and played a scale. “You’re a little rough.” She pressed the last key on her right. “This one is broken.” She scratched her head. “You’re also a bit out tune, but you’re okay.”

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 Cally closed her eyes, took a big breath, and pushed the keys, making the piano sing mellow notes. She moved her head to the rhythm of the piece. The upright inhaled the music, making it go all the way to its cast iron plate. Nothing beat that feeling. Nothing. The piano had spent all its life teaching children who refused to learn how to play. They banged their clumsy hands on its keys, like little hammers.The upright suffered generationsof key slamming and humiliation. No real music, just dissonance thrown into the air, an assault to the ears. But Cally was different. She played with heart. When she finished, the piano wished she would continue playing, forever. She caressed the keyboard. “Grandmahad a piano like you,” she said. “I can see her reflected on your surface.” She giggled. “I must be crazy,” she whispered, “me talking to a piano.” She sighed and left. In the darkness, heavy loneliness invaded the upright. Cally.The upright wished it were a person. It wished it could run. It wished it could talk, and tell her to come back and play. But it was just an old piano. It relaxed its strings, preparing for another dark night. Sunlight inundated the room the next morning whenCally arrived. She sat on the bench. “Good morning, Mr. Piano. Did you have breakfast?” The piano tensed its strings in an effort to reply, but couldn’t produce a sound. Cally chuckled. “You don’t eat, do you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Mhh. What about some oil? Would you like that?” Yes, yes, I’d love that,the upright wanted to say.

“I see.” She smiled. “One minute.” She fished a bottle from her purse. “I came prepared.” She unscrewed the cap. The fragrance of new lubricant made the pianoshiver. It had been so long. Cally peeked inside the upright and poured the liquid, one drop at a time, splashing the strings in a concert of oil, making the piano vibrate. “You like that?” she asked. Of course it did. New energy flowedthrough the upright. Once again, she played, but this time the piano felt different. Her hands glided over the keyboard, lifting and depressing the hammers, creating beautiful notes as they hit the strings. When Cally ended the piece, she raised an eyebrow. “How come you’re here all alone?Who abandoned you?” The school, the upright wanted to say but couldn’t. She glanced at her wrist. “I’m late for class. See you tomorrow?” For the next three months, Cally came to visit every weekday morning. But one afternoon,two muscular men entered the room, carrying dollies. “I hate moving pianos.” “It’s good money.” Moving? What about Cally? Where was she? The piano tensed its strings, calling for her, but no sound came. A man dragged the bench out of the way,and put the lower part of the dolly underneath the piano. “C’mon, dude. Help me here.” The other man pushed his dolly. “I’m here. I’m here.” Feeling the cold metal sliding underneath it, the piano made an effort to move its hammers, and they slammed the strings, making a dissonant noise. One man frowned. “What the hell are you doing?”

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 “I didn’t do anything.” Once again, the piano slammed the strings. The men stared at each other, eyebrows raised, and let go of the dollies, as if the handles burned. They froze.Silence. The piano bangedits lower register strings hard, making the men jump. They stormed out of the room, leaving the dollies behind. “Hi, Mr. Piano,” Cally said, as she entered the storage room the next morning. “What happened here?” She glanced at the dollies. “What are these for?” She gasped. “Did somebody try to move you?” The piano wanted to yell yes, but it couldn’t. Slamming the strings wouldn’t help. It would just scare her. She put her hands on her hips. “You’re coming with me.” The piano wanted to jump and hug her. Cally scratched her head. “Who owns you?” She took a big breath. “I’ll find out.” With that she left, closing the door behind her. Was that true? Did she mean it? Would the piano find a home? The upright waited for the next day, but time passed so slowly, as if every second lasted a minute. The night came. And then morning.Afternoon. Where was Cally? A week passed without any sign of her. During that time, the piano grew a thin layer of dust. Finally, the door opened. Cally entered, two men following her. “Hi, Mr. Piano,” she said. “Sorry for the delay, but my parents dragged me to the beach. You know, Spring Break.” I missed you, the piano wanted to say. As the men approached the upright, it realized they were the same guys who

tried to moveit a week before. The piano raised its hammers, getting ready to slam the strings. “Have great news,” Cally said, making the piano relax. She hugged it. “The school donated you to me. Isn’t that wonderful?” She let go. “They were about to throw you away. Can you believe that?” The piano believed it. It was … a monstrous thing to do. Cally beckoned to the men. “Go ahead.” With trembling hands, the workers moved the dollies to a vertical position and placed them underneath the piano. This time, the upright didn’t complain. Outside, they put it inside a big vehicle and put thick blankets behind it. One of the men closed the door, darkening the inside.After a few minutes, the trailer’s door opened, showing a long, one story home. The men set the piano inside, placing it in the living room. The low ceiling and the predominant wood color reminded the upright of its better years, when it sat in a similar house, before its owners offered it to the school. The piano now sat in a real home. Its keyboard smiled. After the men left, Cally sat on the bench. “Okay.” She stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles. “Let’s see how you sound here.” She played Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major, K. 331. The notes filled the upright with music. Music for angels. Cally stopped, turning her head to the door. Five kids stormed inside the room. Angels? “Can I play? Can I play?” asked the chubby one. “No. It’s my turn,” said the little girl with the black hair and pale skin. A short, blond boypushed them. “Mine.” He smashed the keys, producing dissonant sounds.

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 They were no angels, more like little demons. “Kids, kids.” Cally extended her arms out. “Calm down. Sit on the couch.” The kids dropped on the couch, some frowning, others crossing their arms. “These are my little brothers and sisters,” Cally said to the piano. “Who are you talking to?” a kid with a million freckles asked. Cally pointed at the upright. “Him.” “Him? It’s just an old piano, not a person.”

“You’re wrong,” Cally said. “The piano is like a person. He can hear you.” The kid raised an eyebrow. “Really?” She nodded. The chubby boy jumped up and rushed to the piano. “I wanna be first.” She held out a hand, making him stop. “You have to wait for your turn.” She faced the piano. “They’ll learn how to play on you.” No. No, no, no. The piano keys flattened. Cally’s heavenly playing would turn into hammering sessions. Cally winked. “Isn’t that cool?”

Originally from San Francisco, Gerardo Delgadillo lives in Frisco, Texas with his family and a howling beagle that doesn’t let him sleep. Because of this, Gerardo writes dreamyweird stories when he’s half-awake. Gerardo took Creative Writing classes at SMU with published writers Suzanne Frank, Misa Ramirez, and Cindy Dees. He's also a former member of the DFW Writer's Workshop and currently a member of the Frisco Writers' Group and Lesser North Texas Writers' Group.

Waltz of the Red Square -Lewis Norman In the Red Square’s allure we collide in the night And we dance on the ice in the moon’s mellow light Where our cold breath will wisp through the embers of day And the pains of our earth softly crumble away. Fireflies illume in the midwinter glow Whilst a spectrum of jewels ripples across the snow A meek glow-worm of calm in a city of trouble A kingdom of tyrants has been reduced to rubble. The metropolitan hum jerks as its arteries clog Whilst the city is choked by industrial smog But the music of peace shimmers where the church stands

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Miracle e-zine Issue 4 As I glide on the ice gracing your tender hand. We are watched by this fortress so splendidly old That has gazed upon histories of bloodshed and cold A plethora of tales, of ballads and lies A blood-stained idyll where demons reside. When the details of past have withered from our minds The aura of the Red Square will humbly survive When the Tsars fall to shadow in the past's shallow scope A love blooms at its core as a glimmer of hope.

Lewis Norman is an 18 year old from London, UK. He has written poetry and short stories all of his life and plans to publish a novel after university in three years time. His most common themes in his writing are love, war and nature.

A Liar’s Fate -Janice Sarah Te A brief pause An eternity of silence Brief thoughts of doubt The echoing sounds of shattering Trust Respect They fall to the ground Broken and wasted Muddled words Closed off ears A plea escapes Forgiveness and regret Bitter tears flow As memories of past friendship fades

Janice Sarah Te is currently the Managing Editor of The Lifeline (the official publication of West Visayas State University - College of Nursing). She primarily enjoys writing poetry and short stories during her free time. In addition, she is a feature writer who likes to use the Wall-Street Journal formula in composing her works. She is a member of sites like WritersCafe.org and fanfiction.net where she had posted some of her works.

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MIRACLE INTERVIEW Miracle e-zine Issue 4

Author Interview Harry Giles

Harry Giles was born in Orkney, Scotland, and now lives in Edinburgh, where he works as the performing arts equivalent of an odd-job-man: running events, managing venues, putting on shows, writing and performing, holding workshops, and generally getting up to no good. He currently reviews regularly for Sabotage and Sidekick Books. He won the 2012 IdeasTap Poet Competition, and his first pamphlet, Visa Wedding, was published by 1. Can you tell us a little about yourself? Stewed Rhubarb Press in November 2012.

1. Can you tell us a little about yourself?

I grew up on a very small island, and have since lived on three other islands of increasing size. I'm unable to stick to doing any one thing, like quite a lot of people who work in the performing arts, so I have an motley collection of qualifications and past jobs. I like making things happen. I think my poetry probable comes from a similar place: I'm always looking to try out new forms, find energetic words, and make the stanzas jump up and down on stage. 2. What does being creative mean to you?

I'm not sure "creative" is a hugely helpful word. Everybody is creative, whether they're making poems or drill-bits or emails. It's become a popular bureaucratic term since the rise of the "creative industries", which is the sector that turns people's ability to tell interesting lies (fictions, adverts, paintings) into an efficient way of making money. I don't think I am a "creative person" and try not to think of myself as an "artist": I just spend more time telling interesting lies than most people, and get a lot of pleasure out of the way that interesting lies can make people grin and lurch and get mad.

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Miracle e-zine - Issue 4