Excited for my first publication of 2026 and it is exclusive to twitter/x at Mythic Picnic in their Micro Mayhem series. This short by me is loosely based on my time growing up in ice hockey locker rooms. Thank you so much to editor Nathan Pettigrew for including me.
The old vampires put on long black dresses
to conceal their thinness
and arrange bright pink shawls over their shoulders
(not red, red is too old-fashioned)
and pretend they have invitations to the wedding.
No one challenges them.
They move through the reception hall stealthily
keeping to the walls
picking up nearly empty glasses to hold as camouflage
until they reach the gifts table
and sip cautiously from the jealousies and the hatreds,
the sharp bit of them like ripe pineapple on the tongue,
then, egging each other on,
they taste the hopes,
so frothy and intoxicating.
The one person who recognizes them from the old days
says nothing, but lifts his own glass in silent salute,
recalling a time when he envied them their certainties,
recalling the tastes of his own blood
on their lips.
Patricia Russo’s work has appeared in One Art, Zin Daily, Wild Greens, Vagabond City, Hex Literary, and Eulogy Press.
Leaves fall, and left to the Earth’s whimsy.
Begin anew like language to a child.
In the tunnels below society sustains together,
The sun long since blurring life with death.
In the refresh we grow closer, turning to each other,
For comfort, we intertwine like weeds running up a post,
Savoring touch, rejecting old politics,
To become something better, less wasteful.
Adaptation along a river running fresh blue again,
Long cornflower stalks like midnight moonlight shine bright,
To see such wonders with human eyes!
The birds know, and watch for us. Steady, ever present.
Till we figure out how to be better,
A tenant to our world, proper and prim,
She shakes with changes, her crust healing,
And we shall one day venture out again, ex
plorers once more.
Another one out in 2025. Even though I am getting lucky enough to get stuff published in a few journals it’s important for me to continue to contribute to zines. They are where I started getting things out years ago. And there is something pure about someone stapling and folding things and mailing them to a friend, or trading them for something else. Anyway lucky to have probably my sweetest poem Dressed for the Party (about penguins of course) in What’s Your Favorite Animal by Naturalist Zinester out of Switzerland. I am allowed to print my own copies here in the states or email the PDF if you’d like to read it just get in touch.
Merry Christmas to me. Two New poems up today at the wonderful Be About it Press.
Alexandra Naughton has always been super good to me publishing me way back in Be About it Zine #4 a long long time ago. Happy to have Sorcerer and The Time I saw the ice melt published on the Be About it substack today. Free to read at Be About It Press Substack but hit that subscribe button while you are there for more great stuff.
Mirabel Annette Julian Jones celebrated her first Christmas deep in Underground Houston. Her parents wet a small blanket lightly letting her sip water through the thick cloth as a filter. She was growing stronger but her eyes had trouble developing here in the darkness. Her mother sang her old christmas songs this morning,
“Silent Night, Holy Night,”Her father held her tight, the wounds on his shoulder still healing from the uprising. They now hid from retribution deep in the underbelly of the Houston underground. Four families had carved out a place they could protect should anyone vengeful come looking. But they were running low on food and would have to venture back up sometime.
Joseph, a small six year old, came up to Mirabel’s mother with a small stuffed animal, ragged and loved. Mirabel’s mother nodded and he brought it and placed it in tiny Mirabel’s hands. She gripped it with infant instinct and held on tight, the fur a tactile touch she did not know. She would have this bear years later, in her office as president, high on a cabinet shelf, a reminder of where she came from.
“Merry Christmas,” Joseph said as he skipped away.
Mondays suck right? Well let’s make them not suck so much in 2026.
i want your weird, your strange, your happy no one is looking poems, flash, prose, and fiction to publish here on the blog on Mondays in 2026. No rules except keep it under 1k words.
And I’m going to pay each accepted author five dollars per work (paid the month your work is published) and you retain all rights to your work (just credit luckycreature as first place if you republish). And once accepted don’t submit again this year.
i will keep subs open until I have something for all 52 Mondays in 2026 and I will respond to all of them sent my way. Please email them either in body of email or as a docx file to luckycreaturelabel @ gmail . Com without the spaces with the subject line Mucky Mondays sub. Please also include your bio and any links to you that you wish to provide.
Good luck. Let’s get Mucky! First piece goes live January 5th
So I started the year going it was time for a change and to get back to creating stuff. Writing called me the most. Here’s where I was lucky enough to get acceptance this year. Got some big hitters on the horizon for 2026 and maybe one or two left for this year. Thanks to anyone who has read any of these.
Candle squealed when she came into the room. Bertie was asleep, shook awake to see her sister showing her a shiny diamond on her finger.
“What is this Candle?”
Candle was shaking her hand around, the diamond catching the lantern they had for a light source reflecting it with prism love.
“Galvin gave me this for christmas, isn’t it beautiful?” Bertie wasn’t sure what it was, why anyone would want a rock on their hand.
“Is it comfortable?” she asked.
“It’s fine. Galvin says in the olden times people would wear this as a sign of commitment to one another. Like he wants to just be with me!”
Bertie did not want to dissuade her sister’s passionate excitement, and she had to admit Galvin had lasted longer than most boys in Candles life. “So like Momma and Papa?” she asked innocently enough. Candle’s excitement quickly went away as she thought about her parents. They never talked about them, it had been so long since they were on their own, they were like a dream.
“I guess so.” Candle said solemnly. She sat on the bed and stared at the ring, thinking of her mother for the first time in years. Bertie came over and laid her head on Candle’s shoulder. She grabbed her hand and inspected the ring.
“It is very pretty Candle. For a rock, that is.”
That got a chuckle out of Candle and they sat there together for a while admiring her new shiny diamond.