From the Whistler


Wasps - Scott Provence

Marshland Dusk - John Philip Johnson

Gerwin - Calvin White

Near Harmony - John Abbott

The Wedding Room - Shanan Ballam

Hello - Maria Cinanni

November - Chip Corwin


Angle Side Angle - Mary Lynn Reed

There Is Always More Work to be Done - Dave Barrett

The Relief Printer - Jessica Rae Hahn


The Nine Scoundrels by Deanna Reiter

Elisha's Bones by Don Hoesel

Poetry Reviews

Whistling Shade's Literary Cafe Review


My Meeting with Mengele - Maryla Neuman


Eating Your Words in a Prague Cafe - John-Ivan Palmer

John Dos Passos, a View from Left Field - Hugh Mahoney

Lost Writers of Minnesota: Clifford D. Simak - Joel Van Valin


Shading Dealings - Race-based Literary Journals

Fun Patrol - I Never Promised You a Shit Garden


Marshland Dusk

John Philip Johnson

 for Grace Crowell
Slashes of dark reeds
cut the silver water to pieces
as day yields shadow by shadow.
The great blue heron drops its heft
to rest, bats rise in the air
with sharp, cutting flight, nighthawks
call from their bug throats.  The loam
in shadow yields the string-legged
insect song, while a bull frog
belches for a while before tossing
himself in belly first.  The lily pad,
now black, undulates; its flower,
the yellow asleep in shadow, trembles.

John Philip Johnson lives a quietly subversive life in Lincoln, Nebraska, with his dear wife and five children. He is in the current edition of Rattle, among others, and can be visited on Facebook or at