Wanted: Delusions of Grandeur


[frame align=”right”]  [/frame]Taken at face value, writing is a bit of an odd enterprise: Writers work alone, spending inordinate amounts of time and energy on something with absolutely no guarantee of success. In fact, the whole endeavor seems insane. And yet. Anyone who writes, and is brave enough to say it publicly, has probably been confronted by the question, Why do you write? There are sophisticated answers involving “the human condition” or “art” or the like. But, after the terrified pause, the moment to gather one’s thoughts at the brink of the abyss, the answer, I think, is … Continue reading Wanted: Delusions of Grandeur

I Revise; Critic; Happiness by Jean Sampson


I Revise   I revise because images, like moth wings, grow, hidden in secret shrouds, because the sun never stops seeking an oak in every acorn, because milkweed, beautiful in bloom offers wind-borne gifts to the earth in autumn. I revise because the sky molds and re-forms clouds the way a sculptor works wet clay. I revise because the Muse is a shape-shifter who lifts me up on eagle wings at dawn. By dusk, we crawl the ground as ants. I revise because I like surprises, poems that turn themselves inside-out like tee-shirts ready for … Continue reading I Revise; Critic; Happiness by Jean Sampson

Letterpress, Bangor; Herd, Sheepscot; Vibrations, Crystal by Kevin McFadden


Letterpress, Bangor   I, too, discern it: an impression of the impression left on leaves, the broadside’s bite, an invitation through the mail in a bygone, backhanded braille. The leaden shadows that hide there, in our words. Type lives on, thank Gutenberg, in our unsubtle century, with a pass through Whitman’s fingers— This latent mine—these unlaunch’d voices— but rarer and rarer, slipped shophand to shophand, rarer and rarer is the specimen in recto that spares the verso. We don’t look verso, indent-bent. The LED is our screen, it projects only forward, the LEAD is some … Continue reading Letterpress, Bangor; Herd, Sheepscot; Vibrations, Crystal by Kevin McFadden

A Tomato, Like Love; Balm; Answered by Michael McFee


A Tomato, Like Love,   starts small, a fuzzy flimsy seedling sneaky worms would secretly undercut. You could almost miss its yellowish blossom that becomes a fruit, hard and green at first, slowly ripening in increasing light, growing fuller and rounder and smoother. A tangy air, not altogether pleasant, and a certain prickliness surround it. One day it simply falls into your hand, that thin taut skin barely able to contain the sticky red juice that wants to burst out at the slightest pressure of the very tip of knife or fingernail or tooth or … Continue reading A Tomato, Like Love; Balm; Answered by Michael McFee

Popillia Japonica; Naivete by Angie Hogan


Popillia Japonica   For rows of sun-buttered, glistening corn, red and green trimmed vines of tomatoes wrapping themselves around silvery rusted poles, thick fields of gummy blooming tobacco, tangled thrusts of okra and lean stalks of string beans, plump pumpkins and cantaloupe, they came. Some think they rode over, camouflaged in the beautiful, murderous kudzu. Others that we brought them here purposely, despite or unaware of their hunger, like gems. Papa called them pests, bastards, Japanese—beetles no different from morning glories or Johnson grass, or me puffing the fluffy seeds of dandelions. Instead of apple … Continue reading Popillia Japonica; Naivete by Angie Hogan

Art by Rosamond Casey


  “Back in the 90’s I fabricated a painting tool, somewhat like a squeegee, that could produce an image that appeared three-dimensional. Uprising and Powers of Ten are two paintings from that series. As more narrative themes emerged in my work, this tool did its part off in the corners, no longer front and center.     The photo/paintings, Initiation and Chinese Whispers, [below] are from my recent series Men in Suits, A Day on the Hill, a visual query that tracks such men through the streets and marble halls of Capitol Hill… After collecting … Continue reading Art by Rosamond Casey

Photography by Bill Emory

alleway between rows of uniform houses

    “I stumbled off the track to success in 1968, started chasing shadows that summer. Since then, in addition to farm-laborer and newspaper photographer, my occupational incarnations include dishwasher, janitor, retail photo clerk, plumber, HVAC repairman, auto mechanic, CT scan technologist, computer worker and politico (whatever it takes to buy a camera.) I am on the road to understanding black and white photography. Photos are my heart and memory. I live in Charlottesville and Slabtown Virginia (James and Rappahannock watersheds).” -Bill Emory       Visit Bill Emory’s website www.billemory.com to see more of … Continue reading Photography by Bill Emory

Welcome to the new Streetlight Magazine!


Welcome to the new Streetlight Magazine! This issue marks the first online appearance of what has been a Charlottesville tradition – new and exciting work from writers and artists both in Charlottesville and the outlying parts of central Virginia. The print version of Streetlight made its first appearance on the Charlottesville scene as an outgrowth of the energy at Charlottesville Writing Center. Browning Porter was its innovative editor and Browning has been a friend of Streetlight ever since. It’s thanks in part to his efforts that the magazine still exists now as an independent entity, … Continue reading Welcome to the new Streetlight Magazine!

When the Turkeys Came by Kristin Griffin


It was November when the turkeys came to Ridge Hill Road. Before that, there was nothing remarkable about it—just a few shingled houses that squiggled through the scrub oaks like a dropped thread. All of the properties were landlocked and none particularly appealing in that quaint New England way so the summer rental business happened elsewhere. And that was the way the residents liked it. Most lived on the island year round with the exception of Jonathan and Linda Haar who summered there. Their house sat neglected in the off-season and this agitated their neighbors, … Continue reading When the Turkeys Came by Kristin Griffin

Creme Brulée by Sara Anne Donnelly


About midnight out of nowhere Pete’s best friend Eddie hauled up out of his chair like a zombie back from the grave, sprinted naked across the lawn, and hurtled himself in cannonball into the middle of the swimming pool, which was filled with about 24,000 gallons of crème brulée in honor of Pete’s engagement to Shelly who Eddie had never warmed to. The screams from the guests drowned out Pete’s completely unhostly “Fuck!” as a scene crossed his mind of his best friend drowning in egg, milk, and imitation vanilla. But the crème saved Eddie. … Continue reading Creme Brulée by Sara Anne Donnelly

Streetlight Magazine is the non-profit home for unpublished fiction, poetry, essays, and art that inspires. Submit your work today!