Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced this site last October, has had a new story (Heath) published on the Leodegraunce site.
Heath is a tender, fictionalized account of the filming of Terry Gilliam's 2005 movie The Brothers Grimm.
This story will appear on the Leodegraunce site, May 29 - June 4, 2012.
Check this story out!
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Also: the theme for Leodegraunce's August 2012 issue: shyness. Deadline: July 23, 2012.
Showing posts with label Basil Rosa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Basil Rosa. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
**Basil Rosa has had three poems published in the Spring-Fall 2012 issue of Umbrella magazine
Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced this site last October, has had three more poems published: Anomia Simplex, Crepiduia Fornicata and Mytilus Edulis, on the Umbrella site.
These poems, which make wonderfully restrained use of color, imagery, nature and emotion, achieve an effect/level most poets - including myself - can only hope for.
Check these poems out!
These poems, which make wonderfully restrained use of color, imagery, nature and emotion, achieve an effect/level most poets - including myself - can only hope for.
Check these poems out!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
**Basil Rosa's Kozart's Albino Elephants was published on the Conjectural Figments site
Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced the Microstory A Week site in October 2011, has had one of his newer stories (Kozart's Albino Elephants) published on the Conjectural Figments site (it starts on page 47).
Basil's edgy story, which details an ex-con junkie's struggles to get right with his life, is one of my favorite pieces I've read from him.
Check out this excellent story!
Basil's edgy story, which details an ex-con junkie's struggles to get right with his life, is one of my favorite pieces I've read from him.
Check out this excellent story!
Monday, March 12, 2012
**Basil Rosa's Rowing the Beach to Shore was published on the Blue Lake Review site
Basil Rosa, whose He held on and she kept saying time to go graced the Microstory A Week site in October 2011, has had one of his newer stories (Rowing the Beach to Shore) published on the Blue Lake Review site.
Basil's story, which charts the could-go-in-any-direction bickering of a car-trapped couple, is immediately immersive and rings real-life veracious, with its relatable/type-recognizable characters and multi-layered dialogue.
Check out this excellent story!
Basil's story, which charts the could-go-in-any-direction bickering of a car-trapped couple, is immediately immersive and rings real-life veracious, with its relatable/type-recognizable characters and multi-layered dialogue.
Check out this excellent story!
Friday, November 18, 2011
**John Flynn’s poem, “Olneyville,” was published on the Gutter Eloquence site, November 2011
John Flynn, aka Basil Rosa, had one of his poems, Olneyville, published in issue #18 of Gutter Eloquence. (Great job, John!)
John, by-lined as Basil Rosa, also published a story, He held on and she kept saying time to go, on this site in October 2011.
If you have a moment, and are so inclined, check out John’s work!
John, by-lined as Basil Rosa, also published a story, He held on and she kept saying time to go, on this site in October 2011.
If you have a moment, and are so inclined, check out John’s work!
Monday, October 17, 2011
**One of Basil Rosa's stories, "Boss Visa," was published in new anthology, A Small Key Opens Big Doors
One of Basil Rosa's stories, "Boss Visa," was published in a new anthology, A Small Key Opens Big Doors - Volume Three: The Heart of Eurasia.
According to Basil, the anthology, edited by Jay Chen, "focuses on Eurasia, and is one of a four-volume series, with each volume focused on a different part of the globe, all of them celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps. Sales of the book go to help fund the work of the Peace Corps in developing nations."
Check it out, if you're so inclined and/or have the time!
If you're interested in more of Basil's work, also check out his website and his haunting story, He held on and she kept saying time to go, published on the Microstory site on October 5, 2011.
According to Basil, the anthology, edited by Jay Chen, "focuses on Eurasia, and is one of a four-volume series, with each volume focused on a different part of the globe, all of them celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps. Sales of the book go to help fund the work of the Peace Corps in developing nations."
Check it out, if you're so inclined and/or have the time!
If you're interested in more of Basil's work, also check out his website and his haunting story, He held on and she kept saying time to go, published on the Microstory site on October 5, 2011.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
He held on and she kept saying time to go
By Basil Rosa
The burn that is time, how it changes, lifts, empowers and forgives.
Simmering with her, flash after flash filling the sky over his valley, she buckles and creaks and sways with him. He remembers her falling against the best he could offer, the princely stir of his young bones.
She’d said, Hold me tighter, visit these caves within me. Discover what guides my Indians. Let me be, please, because the others, they won’t. If you love me, you’ll let me be.
He remembers holding her in a plague of nightmares. It was her sky that night, her valley home.
So much of her haunts him – the way her eyes filled with lightning at twilight. The way crickets rose in her sheets when she chirped against him. Winter carving them down to skeletal stillness. Spring swells, flood after flood, into their loins.
The times she leaned on him as if he was a staff. A biblical scope to epic tales they imagined together lost in silences found while watching the horizon alter.
Alone now, making the arrangements in his head, his eyes ease down a far slope to a blanket of green unrolling to the next line of spare hills, down a cow path sodden with hoof prints and manure. Through a gate, creaking. Silent line of shadow from a passing hawk. A few crows squawking into panic, fleeing their brown pasture edges.
He seldom knows deer are close until they flee, scenting him first, and this time is no different. How the doe faces him on the path. Young, it’s never been hunted. He faces the doe the way he faced her in the early days of their courtship, both of them in all innocence ready for winter to ice away evening soul in their eyes.
Lovers they were, and lovers they’d remain. Hadn’t a clue she’d be the one taken first, who’d eventually say enough, please, let the doctors set me free.
He lifts the rifle, holds the doe in its sight, recalling the way she held him, shivering in drafts from that window. Flickering rain pelting their tin roof.
I’m here, yes, this does seem a nightmare. But it will end.
Her quiet acceptance, his recalcitrance – dewy cheeks against his beard. What were these memories trying to teach?
He lowers the rifle. The doe bounds away. He hears her again: I have to let you go.
He raises the rifle. She told him one day he’d know pain was good, and necessary . Love is not an incomplete recipe of expectations, impatience, folly and lust. It’s so much simpler than that.
She kept his picture from when he was just a boy. He’d always be a boy.
He squeezes the trigger.
Copyright ©2011 Basil Rosa. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
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AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Basil Rosa is the pen name of John Flynn, who has published books of poetry, short stories, and translations from the Romanian of Nicolae Dabija. John's first novel, Heaven Is A City Where Your Language Isn't Spoken, is forthcoming this fall, 2011, from Cervena Barva Press. To read more of John's published work, please vist his web site at www.basilrosa.com.
The burn that is time, how it changes, lifts, empowers and forgives.
Simmering with her, flash after flash filling the sky over his valley, she buckles and creaks and sways with him. He remembers her falling against the best he could offer, the princely stir of his young bones.
She’d said, Hold me tighter, visit these caves within me. Discover what guides my Indians. Let me be, please, because the others, they won’t. If you love me, you’ll let me be.
He remembers holding her in a plague of nightmares. It was her sky that night, her valley home.
So much of her haunts him – the way her eyes filled with lightning at twilight. The way crickets rose in her sheets when she chirped against him. Winter carving them down to skeletal stillness. Spring swells, flood after flood, into their loins.
The times she leaned on him as if he was a staff. A biblical scope to epic tales they imagined together lost in silences found while watching the horizon alter.
Alone now, making the arrangements in his head, his eyes ease down a far slope to a blanket of green unrolling to the next line of spare hills, down a cow path sodden with hoof prints and manure. Through a gate, creaking. Silent line of shadow from a passing hawk. A few crows squawking into panic, fleeing their brown pasture edges.
He seldom knows deer are close until they flee, scenting him first, and this time is no different. How the doe faces him on the path. Young, it’s never been hunted. He faces the doe the way he faced her in the early days of their courtship, both of them in all innocence ready for winter to ice away evening soul in their eyes.
Lovers they were, and lovers they’d remain. Hadn’t a clue she’d be the one taken first, who’d eventually say enough, please, let the doctors set me free.
He lifts the rifle, holds the doe in its sight, recalling the way she held him, shivering in drafts from that window. Flickering rain pelting their tin roof.
I’m here, yes, this does seem a nightmare. But it will end.
Her quiet acceptance, his recalcitrance – dewy cheeks against his beard. What were these memories trying to teach?
He lowers the rifle. The doe bounds away. He hears her again: I have to let you go.
He raises the rifle. She told him one day he’d know pain was good, and necessary . Love is not an incomplete recipe of expectations, impatience, folly and lust. It’s so much simpler than that.
She kept his picture from when he was just a boy. He’d always be a boy.
He squeezes the trigger.
Copyright ©2011 Basil Rosa. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
#
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Basil Rosa is the pen name of John Flynn, who has published books of poetry, short stories, and translations from the Romanian of Nicolae Dabija. John's first novel, Heaven Is A City Where Your Language Isn't Spoken, is forthcoming this fall, 2011, from Cervena Barva Press. To read more of John's published work, please vist his web site at www.basilrosa.com.
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