If you're looking to get your work published, or just try your hand at writing seriously, Aerie 2016 is now accepting submissions of poetry, prose-poems, short stories, flash fiction, plays, excerpts from longer stories or novels, and creative non-fiction. We are also looking for any forms of art: visual arts, media arts, etc.
We suggest three pages of poems, 2,500 words of prose, and/or ten-minute plays.  We welcome multi-media collaborative works, for example visual art with poetry, musical works, or audio-visual pieces.
Dissect your conscience; illustrate your demons; let your dreams fly off the page!
You create it, we'll consider it!

EXTENDED DEADLINE: October 16th, 2015.
For directions on how to submit, check out for details!

From the November 2014 Coffee House

Last fall, AERIE held an open-mic coffee house, with musicians, poets, and fiction writers.  We'll be holding another in late October.  Come back for details.  

Come.  Read your stuff.  Play your music.

Below are a few pictures from last fall's event.

 photo photo 2-24_zpsczlfxwfv.jpg   photo photo 2-25_zpss2rsdost.jpg

Some Excellent Work from the 2015 Edition

Hey, read this great poem by Catienna Regis:

She can no longer dance
like she used to: bouncing
back and forth on her toes,
bare, calloused feet grinding
over hot grains of sun-
kissed sand and sediment.
Her ankles, now swollen
with a roadmap of veins,
are fighting to catch up
with her mind; how fast it
runs with clear memories
of strong, nimble legs and
Calves, gyrating hips and
swerving torsos beneath
Haitian sunlight. Hems of
sisters', daughters' dresses
blooming around limbs like
open cotton flowers.
Rose, peach, lilac against
mahogany flesh, bones
burning with black movement.
For ancestors' shackles,
and lesions on naked
backs, from merciless whips.
That pain melted from her
ankles, dissolved into
burning sand, waiting sediment.
This new pain, however,
with sore muscles, throbbing
ligaments, troubling hips
Were the signs of seven
and a half decades, and
9 children, and 20
grandchildren, who danced right
there with her, from their birth.
They throb, but she is proud.

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