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.

Naturalist Zinester

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.

A quarter of a century of Christmases without song, No carols are sung door to door, no lit up neon driveways of ghostly reindeer. No midnight mass, although some gather to acknowledge the day. The bible still is carried by people, mostly end of day prayers. The Pope is somewhere in eastern Europe hiding from execution, because the church as it often does had a hand in the wars. But what remains are the tender moments between families, the chance to reflect on the last year, and how we survived. And once in a while a mistletoe will hang overhead, and you’ll get an unexpected kiss, its warmth lessening the December air. 

And maybe if you dream hard enough, you’ll see your childhood tree again, turn around on christmas morning as your father beams with pride for being able to provide, your mother watching the joy with tea on the kettle and cookies in the oven.

To be home on Christmas morning again. 

Jennifer thought it was Christmas, but who could be sure? Still she wrapped the doll she found in the empty drug store in some old magazine paper with shiny happy people on it. She looked at her hands as she wrapped it, dirty and worn, nothing like the clean made up skin of the people on the paper, slick and shiny. She wondered if they were even the same species anymore? 

Her daughter slept soundly next to her, little breaths rising and falling in rhythm with the world. It wasn’t much of a gift but it was the thought. Plus there weren’t many moments for joy in this place, so Jennifer tried to provide when able. She got up to boil some water at the firepit, perhaps some mint tea would set the mood. Her daughter rose then,

“Hey momma, whatcha doing?” She asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes. 

“Hey baby. Do you know what day it is?” 

I stopped learning how to love a long time ago.I stopped understanding where my place in the world could be.
It should be easy to be a good person, to have dreams for the future. To enjoy things that are meant to be shared. But the stone wall is easier, there is peace in loneliness.
There is selfishness there, but the pit in your stomach hurts less.