Call for Submissions Fall 2015

the Antioch Voice is now accepting submissions for the Fall 2015 print edition. We’re open to Antioch University Students, staff, faculty, and alumni, as well as participants, presenters, and alumni of the Antioch Writers’ Workshop.
We’re looking for campus news, views, photography, artwork, research, and creative writing. Please see the fall guidelines below. Deadline for the print edition is October 1, 2015.

Fall Guidelines:

  • Flash fiction, essay, creative nonfiction, dramatic writing, and research: 2,000 words or less (12-point Times New Roman font, double-spaced)
  • Poetry: up to three poems, 100 lines or less, each
  • Art and Photography: files should be under 5 MG. Pictures can be artistic or related to some element of student, campus, or community life
  • Please send submissions to with the subject line: Fall 2015 Submission; include a two to three sentence bio
the Antioch Voice is composed of a team of volunteers from Antioch University Midwest’s Robert Dizney Writing Center and the McGregor Library. If you’d like to be a part of the editorial team, please get in touch with us. By submitting to the Voice, writers and artists guarantee you are the creator/sole owner of copyright of the submitted work, and you allow us First Time North American Serial and Internet Publishing rights, after which all rights revert back to you, the authors and artists. Thank you for sharing your voices with us!

Sitting Here

By Jenna Hall

Sitting here, breaking, letting the day lay itself out

Ears perked, and sensitive to the drifting anger on the wind

Mind perked, and sensitive to the drifting anger on the wind

But the trees bend, and catch the breeze as if nature’s dream-catcher

Their ability to bend and absorb the carbon emitted from hearts

Their ability to bend and absorb the anger laced within the carbon emitted from hearts

Their ability to bend, but not break under the weight

Sitting here, bending, letting the day lay itself out


By Karen Howard

What a most wonderful place to be, the greatest of all outdoors
To walk along and feel the waves that caress the pink sandy shores

The beautiful seagulls soaring, boasting their noisy claim
As they land along the shore, they seem to sing my name

We walk from shore to shore
Across the urban paradise street

We encounter a native islander
Riding his bike with sandaled feet

He stops and dismounts to strike up a conversation
Then he promises to give us a treat

There’s a place called Devil’s Cove, come and follow me
I know the people there and I can get you in free

In the evening the Gombey dancers come out and take to the streets
They capture your heart and dig into your soul with their rhythmic island beats

Brandishing hatchets and arrows with their colorful attire
They dance with graceful agility that you are sure to admire

Spacious fields of flowers with all their colorful bloom
Wait to fulfill their destiny of making sweet perfume

With all of its wonderful delicacies from crawfish to Barracuda
I hate that I have to say goodbye to my beautiful Bermuda

Pahd Bai Kaprow Gai by Bri

By Brian Harris

Glowing like a wok most days, farlang pink he’s,
Perhaps wandered into the wrong kitchen, to the eye of most
Sharing ancient and holy herbal gifts to many of Siamese
Guava hued joy shown upon the countenance of this host

So he begins with a Sawadee Kop and pronounced Thai bow called wei,
Pooting Thai, muttering nonsense, or praying for each of us.
He’s a flurry of motion, starting out hot, and then really wok-n-rolling today.
So far, no three second ruling decision, and likewise no cuss.

Garlic, gai, (or chicken), onion added then the holy Thai basil
Searing hard meat and veggies, this fast pahd requires very little stir.
Next, says he, I always cook with wine, hiccup, some times the pot too gets a fill.
He seasons, tastes, and then rings the bell, this work of poetry ready for the next mam or sir.

A Toast to the Lovely Couple

by Andrea Auten

You danced a wedding pas de deux,
winning a cash prize and a bottle of wine.
Strong arm curving around her,
you posed for pictures
in an orange blossom-scented sundown.

Our feast followed the humble walk down a cobbled aisle,
her beach curls framing an organza and satin bateau neck
your dying brother, a sentinel Best Man in his military dress
stood up for honor and accountability,
a scarlet stripe running down the length of his trousers.

Wet-cheeked cousin, husband, parents, friends,
alighting candles in the trees—
small watchful wind-moving faeries.
Tapas passed down on plates of joy.

Cuban-Spanish, German, Scotch-Irish, and Dutch; carafes pouring
favorite songs and stories told
gathered together, a union.
White on white towering cake dotted with American Beauty roses,
picking up the same scarlet in your uniform, the same uniform as your brother’s.

Roundtable good wish filled with presents,
wrapped and ribboned boxes and bags to place in
your ground floor one room apartment
twenty steps from parents
promising a private start, Sunday family breakfasts.

Arms around her small shoulders, crying,
“Someone stole our $75 dollar prize and the bottle of wine.”
Kiss this new cheek to make the sting better,
To glue the broken figurine, to clean up this night.

I awake instead to the Communist morning
your t-shirt courthouse elopement
no guests, no songs, no pictures, no gifts, and no honor.
A printed certificate folded in your sock drawer.