Congratulations to the winners of our contest!

Visual Art—Mia Ruggerio 


Fiction—Cato Weisberg

The winning work is featured on the works page as well as the contests and news tab.




Nora Diday

We sit on thin wooden chairs

facing a crucifix.

The song echoing through the hall

smells like loss to the four of us,

reminding us of the last time we were here.

She grips my hand tightly in her lap

while singing “Be not afraid.”

Her voice breaks,

but she continues singing,

holding high her quivering chin.

On the Mountainside Garden



The sound of thunder rolls down the 

mountain side; the old gardener looks up

Her eyes see the trees shiver

Their needles aloof in the wind

The birds go quiet as branches snap

Old, decaying, roots are no match 

for the howling winds of a gale

The scent of pies no longer stem 

from the kitchen windowsill; a stone 

now lies in the garden, surrounded by the 

fallen brown needles of trees that once stood


Nature Grows

Cycles end with time

Nature Kills

Hurt (Pantoum)

Macy Shaffer

Opening the door,

She yearns for sleep,

Her heart to the floor,

She starts to weep.


She yearns for sleep,

And as she waits,

She starts to weep,

She shuts her gate. 


And as she waits,

Her emotions take over,

She closes her gate,

Her heart takes no lover.


Her emotions take over,

As she loosens her grip,

Her heart takes no lover,

Her tears start to drip.


Her heart to the floor, 

She knows this is the end,

Opening the door,

To heaven’s gates she ascends. 

A Poem for C

Kezia Lietzau


Allow me to ask you,

Because I care:

Could you pay me a visit?

Dinner or brunch, whatever you want.

Eternity passes with each breath

Free from you, yet I never thought

Going on absent could be so

Harrowing, blue and green.

I relive the past two decades

Just to remember you,

Kids for so long.

Little ones, where did you go?

My, I’m old as a birch tree;

Neptune rises for the thousandth time,

Only no one cares.

Please, dear ones, said I,

Quiet; don’t disturb.

Return, now I say:

Sleep under this roof again.

Tucana we can see from the window:

Under and over we see it go,

Veering through the sky like a river.

We must return, my children;

X-ray the past so we can see the

Youths that you used to be.

Zest we once had cannot be forgotten.

BARE has new interviews with poets:

Bill Abbott

Marcus Whalbring


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