Schuylkill Valley Journal Online

By Hayden Saunier, Joyce Meyers, Adele Kenny, and Joseph A. Chelius

Have you been curious about the poetry we publish? If so, look no further. Here you will find selections from our Fall 2016 issue of the Schuylkill Valley Journal's print edition. Continue reading to find out more.

By Ray Greenblatt

These stories will be dealing with significant and challenging themes. Not your typical teenager growing pains or lovers’ angst, nor old people knowing their time is limited.  If it is that kind of topic, it is compounded by also living with a disability.

The settings in this collection are myriad - running from a winter cabin in Minnesota to a Southwestern desert; from South Africa to Europe in 1912; from Outer Space to homes just like yours and mine...

By Gerry LaFemina

Sometime late in eighth grade I discovered punk rock, thanks to a friend, his sister and their cable television, back when MTV stood for Music Television and bands could send “basement tapes” to the network for air time.  This was 1982.  Sure, I knew who the Ramones were. I knew who the Sex Pistols were. But when I saw “All Twisted” on MTV it was music made by and for people like the three of us. 

By David P. Kozinski

During our visit with Wayne G. Brown at his home and studio, photographer Ron Howard and I caught only a glimpse of the large body of visual artwork he has produced during his 83-plus years. Brown is a painter, sculptor and printmaker, who has created landscapes, cityscapes, floral studies, abstract and representational works, and interpretations of music. His three-dimensional work, “Bach”, mentioned in Part One of this article, is only one of many of his creations that have been influenced by a spectrum of music that includes Sibelius, Shostakovich and jazz. He has painted scores of portraits and experimented with mixing media – applying oil paint over acrylic and adding cloth and twigs to canvas along with paint. His works reside at the Hedgerow Theater and Delaware County Community College, among other venues, and in many private collections.

Drowning

fiction

By Zack Hardy

Ethan caught the door as someone left. He stepped into the apartment building and warm, contained air hit him. He climbed the handful of flights to her apartment, not really having to catch his breath. Though it was late May, summer still hadn't broken yet. He knocked on her door, Louise opened, and turned away, not looking at his face. Glancing inside, he saw the dozens of boxes, the cardboard flaps flipped open like outstretched arms, on wooden floorboards so covered with dust that he could see footprints.