[KELP JOURNAL]  Before we get to the art, a little birdie told me that you are a classical pianist and a writer as well as a collage...

By  Lina Feuerstein Sometimes, when you wake in the morning, all you see is something gray and shapeless. Sometimes, when you look up and...

The Baby Stretches   The baby stretches— her limbs a little longer than yesterday her voice more assured— imagine, to go to sleep and...

By Cierra Buchholz Emily Janes' fantastically weird and charmingly loveable sophomore novel, Here Beside The Rising Tide , expertly blurs...

Ode to Augusta Wind       Surge forth, Augusta Wind Fathom spirit blood-sworn Resplendent soul tamer Dancing Earth’s regal breath    ...

[KELP JOURNAL]  Let’s dive right in! I chose the following photographs from the many you submitted due to their sense of place. Was that...

Antsy   Current week -- Stuck between Xmas and Auld Lang Syne --   Is tough weak Literary journal Periodwise for us Ambitious poets  ...

By Tom Jardine     IF WALLS could talk, Jasmine Wright muttered, these ones would have all the stories .   She was in a sketchy antique...

By Ajise Vincent   “she was free in her wildness. she was a wanderess, a drop of free water. she belonged to no man & to no city”...

By Wendy K. Mages I’m glad Barbara, my thesis advisor, prefers incandescent lamps to florescent lights. Her office is dimly lit; I can...

Crab Trap (for Jackie Bastian)   Sand in our sandals. Two sirens in tow.   One warm summer evening. The stars all aglow.   We paired...

[KELP JOURNAL]  Kimberly, I usually like to hear about how artists found their form. So, what is your origin story? How did you come to...

two oceans august. glimpses of life beyond the bridge. warmth dancing over burnt skin. a silver ring hangs in midair. garnets, pearls...

By Carolyn Martin   Joanne Durham’s entertaining and inspiring chapbook, On Shifting Shoals,  epitomizes Wallace Stevens’ famous...

Fanfare The carpenter bees thriving in the eaves and the obliterating sun, the futility of a breeze, the roses with hooked thorns, the...

By R. P. Singletary       The gator submerged back into the muddy banks of the Santee , and I paddled my kayak east of the sand bars,...

Sea dreaming   When the sun beats down in Cambridge I long to see the sea, to taste the salt that's in the air, to paddle leisurely.   To...

By Cypress Wilde   Their appendages stretched out in front of me, white and prickly. It is getting much,  much warmer here in the Florida...

Tidal Prophecy: Gezeitenwelle   We don’t know the sea, you say, gazing from the sky-stretching pier. Bricks towering over rippled sand,...

[KELP JOURNAL]  Let’s jump right in: your bio says that you are a “folk photographer” and I don’t think I have ever heard that term. Can...