Flying Island

September Sunlight glows low through my windows, a changed position from high summer light, the golden hour that casts a robust yellow glare across roads, signs, rearview mirrors, blinding reflections surrender to sunsets sooner each day. Hummingbirds fatten for long flights, summer solitary they share nectar at last. Dry cornstalks stiffen in fields, waiting for harvest. Leaves fall to the ground. Pumpkin spice scents, apples ripen into cider amid bushels of fall festivals, perennial as forget-me-nots. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning Hoosier poet, playwright, and visual artist. Her work has been published in many journals including Flying Island, The Tipton Poetry Journal , and The New Verse News , among others, and many anthologies. Musselman is the author of five poetry chapbooks and a full-length poetry collection, It’s Not Love, Unfortunately (Chatter House Press, 2018).

Drawn to Night by Lylanne Musselman I’m thinking of Hopper and how I love his painting Nighthawks, how I love the contrast of light and dark, and how I’ve always been drawn to realism, of how I enjoy diners, and sometimes take pleasure in eating alone, and how no matter what time I must rise the next day—I am always a night owl. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, and artist, living in Indiana. Her work has appeared in Pank, Flying Island, Tipton Poetry Journal, The New Verse News, and The Ekphrastic Review, among others, and many anthologies. Musselman is the author of five chapbooks, including the recent Red Mare 16 (Red Mare Press, 2018), a co-author of the volume of poetry, Company of Women New and Selected Poems , (Chatter House Press, 2013) and author of the new full-length poetry collection, It’s Not Love, Unfortunately (Chatter House Press, 2018).

If I’d Been Starry-Eyed by Lylanne Musselman Once upon a time I had a poet as a suitor. I was too young to appreciate the gesture of having poems written for and about me. I was only 14 years old, so what could I know except the mantra from my mom about looks and money? He had neither at 16, but he was nice. Heartbroken and sad, he eventually moved on, leaving me to search for Mr. Right. After years of having my heart broken and being sad, I see I was misguided. My romantic, creative side could’ve had a soulmate who loves what I create, and I could’ve fallen for him as some fairy tale loves have been known to do. Our same road not taken led us down different life paths; I’ll never know what could’ve become of those two kids who enjoyed summer night walks, seeing who could count the most stars; who strummed guitars side by side, and dreamed Midwest magic, but whose lyrical hearts never quite harmonized together. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, ...

Sunday Drive by Lylanne Musselman In the backseat of our ’66 green Pontiac Bonneville, my view was of the back of my parent’s heads: dad with dark wavy hair, hands on the steering wheel, his pipe smoke swirling upward and back into my space; mom with coiffed hair, in the passenger’s seat chewing her Juicy Fruit gum. I was along for the ride each Sunday going to see my grandma who lived an hour away in Kokomo. I loaded up the backseat with my favorite stuffed animals and a few books in hopes of making time cruise a bit faster. I hated leaving other beloved belongings behind, feeling guilty for all that couldn’t go. I loved listening to the radio, Fort Wayne’s strong AM station, WOWO. The Beatles, Neil Diamond, The Supremes, Tammy Wynette and George Jones were played one after the other. I could’ve done without country, but dad preferred it to my favorites. I sang along with all songs that came on, even D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Mom marveled how I knew every word, saying she wished I memor...

Repeat Offender by Lylanne Musselman Nothing prepares you for the broken record of your mom’s mind on a circular spin; with each repeated phrase you feel yourself spinning out of control. You must remember she cannot reason any more than one can reason with a two-year-old. Sometimes when you tell her she can’t drive anymore she argues, cries, and pleads to give her just one more chance. You tell her you’re afraid for her safety and the safety of others. She says you can ride with her and if she does something bad, just tell her to pull over and she will; and all at once you remember: a younger, saner mom who was mad at you as a young adult, a passenger in her car. She floored it on the back roads, saying she didn’t care if she killed us both. And, you realize how irrational she has always been – when she is not in control. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, and artist, living in Indiana. Her work has appeared in ...

Editor's note:  Kurt Vonnegut was born on Nov. 11, 1922. Favorite Author by Lylanne Musselman Pall-Mall smoker, satirical joker, technology hater, Kilgore Trout creator, POW survivor, witty writer, selfie screenprinter, granfalloon spinner, generational uniter, political divider, famous Hoosier, mustache wearer, advice giver, life observer, Saab dealer, blues stealer, wampeters definer, reading reviver, so it goes sayer, controversy diver. In a reading rut? Get Vonnegut. Bio:  Lylanne Musselman is an award winning poet, playwright, and artist. Her work has appeared in  Pank, Flying Island, The Tipton Poetry Journal, Poetry Breakfast ,  So it Goes, Issue 3,  among others, and many anthologies.  In addition, Musselman has twice been a Pushcart nominee. Musselman is the author of three chapbooks, with a fourth forthcoming,  Weathering Under the Cat,  from Finishing Line Press. She also...

Taxed by Lylanne Musselman I sit outside Starbucks under a blue bright sky, writing poems, enjoying music, warm afternoon air. Featured singer Willie Nelson croons “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” May draws to a close my brief break from teaching classes, again composition all summer – all semesters. An adjunct who works more full time than any tenured professor just to pay my debt for being a creative soul, for teaching students eager to be me by degrees. I’m not unhappy, I’m not complaining – I’m just tired of being broke! My friend, Glenn, teases he saw my wine at the market, Broke Ass, knowing my predicament: another summer, the third, strapped because of taxes. It is taxing to live and work in America, doing what we love, Willie and I, two of many, singing, living, crying the IRS blues. Bio: Lylanne Musselman is an award winning poet, playwright, and artist. Her work has appeared in Pank, Flying Island, The Tipton Poetry Journa...

Frightful (But Delightful) Sight by Lylanne Musselman It was an ordinary day – small birds busy at the Metropark feeders, squirrels and chipmunks in busy-ness; birdsong, me snapping photographs all moving quickly – birds scattered and small rodents hid, and in one swoop down on dead log a Cooper’s Hawk perched: eyeing the frozen pond, tilting its head from side to side – eyes piercing fierce. Not wanting to see him snatch a feathery or furry friend as his tasty morsel, I still reveled in the chance to capture him digitally. Bio: Lylanne Musselman, a native Hoosier, is an award winning poet, playwright, and artist. Her work has appeared in Pank, Flying Island, The Rusty Nail, So it Goes, Issue 3, among others, and many anthologies. In addition, Musselman has twice been a Pushcart Nominee. Musselman is the author of three chapbooks, including Winged Graffiti (Finishing Line Press, 2011), and she co-authored Company of Women: New and Selected Poems (Chatter House Pres...

Musically Challenged Under 30 by Lylanne Musselman The future is here and it’s frightening. When our youth aren’t showing signs of good communication, even with 24/7access to every  technological device imaginable it’s obvious we have problems. But problems don’t describe the news I heard today. It seems some young ones who are so familiar with Kanye, don’t  have a clue who Paul McCartney is. Talk about a new generation gap: when I was young – don’t trust anyone over 30; when I was young, we didn’t…and now: I never envisioned a day when anyone under 30 could not, where anyone under 30 would not, know one of the Fab Four that defined music, a time when under-30 Baby Boomers were inquisitive enough to look past Paul, Ringo, John and George, to Ella, Como, Coltrane, Lady Day, or at least were aware of who their parents listened to. How can we just Let It Be? We apparently didn’t teach our children to teach their children well – oh well, that musical re...

On Memorial Day by Lylanne Musselman I’m on another bored walk, pacing a treadmill in Toledo, Ohio, and the TV flashes Jim Nabors singing Back Home Again in Indiana, his ritual right before The Greatest Spectacle in Racing, where men and women go 500 miles around and around in the Circle City, and sudden goosebumps rise— sentimental over my Indiana, where I was born, educated, grew to be me, left family and friends behind—with the sycamores and moonlight on the Wabash, when old Gomer sings “I long for my Indiana home,” memories come racing back, days spent staying with my beloved grandparents— long gone, the carefree antics of my youth—long gone, loves I left or never thought would leave— long gone. Before long the song is over, balloons lift, engines roar, my heart beats fast, as I walk in place, through the blur of tears and race cars— my life in Indiana, given the checkered flag. Bio: Lylanne Musselman is a native Hoosier with many family, fri...

Bye-bye Blackbird by Lylanne Musselman                To Wounded Bird and Cat, 1938 – Picasso The cat’s bloated belly fades into the blues— a blackbird, once vibrant and free, now limp, feathers plucked— unsung music from a beak agape, its last song fed black cat’s hunger for winged beauty, plump breast, wishbone. Bio: Lylanne Musselman is a native Hoosier with many family, friendship, and poetry ties that keep her returning often. An award-winning artist and poet, she has been published in many literary journals and anthologies. She’s authored three chapbooks, and co-authored Company of Women: New and Selected Poems (Chatter House Press, 2013) with Jayne Marek and Mary Sexson. Although, in 2011, she moved to Toledo, Ohio, she continues teaching online writing classes for Ivy Tech Community College, Indianapolis.  Wounded Bird and Cat

February 9, 1964 by Lylanne Musselman   Before The Beatles came to America’s shores The Fab Four were on the cover of Life Magazine in glossy black and white. I was in grandma’s kitchen the first time I became aware of them.   Mom showed grandma their photo to prove how “scruffy” those four boys were. I remember the two of them discussing their disgusting long hair. I begged them to see the magazine cover.   I immediately liked what I saw — youthful smiling faces, a welcome sight for a second-grader, who loved their long but simple hair. They became instant friends to this only child living in a much too adult world.   That Sunday night they appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show I was sitting on the floor as close to the TV as I could get — those black and white images flickering four young men in dark suits and ties singing “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah…”   and “I want to hold your hand….” I had to strain to hear them sing over all ...

Winter Noise by Lylanne Musselman Listen to the echoes in the heart of winter: snow shovels scrape concrete, tires roll over brittle ice, arthritic tree branches pop and crack as they move in the whistling breeze. Canada geese trumpet their flight across the crisp bright sky, and like parachutists smaller feathered friends drop in at full feeders, chirp delight while seeds shuffle onto frozen ground. One unexpected day, after months of muffled noise suffered under too much snowfall, you will hear the constant dripping of shiny icicles — winter’s suicidal melt, drumming in spring sounds. Bio: Lylanne Musselman is a native Hoosier with many family, friendship, and poetry ties that keep her returning often. An award-winning artist and poet, she has been published in many literary journals and anthologies. She’s authored three chapbooks, and co-authored Company of Women: New and Selected Poems (Chatter House Press, 2013) with Jayne Marek and Mary Sexson. Alt...