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Grey Sparrow Journal and Press, as of January 31, 2018 will move to

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Breathe, wind, who’s watched the stories of the world,

Sweeping through her grain and down her streams,

Pollinating earth with rumors, dreams,

And songs you heard in passing as you curled

Through palace chambers, wound through city streets,

And rushed past shepherds herding their white sheep;

You’ve seen all human action, heard all speech,

So breath that I might tell the tales of men

I’ve never known and places I’ve not been.


                                                                -John Schellhase









Stood on a shelf

In the boy's room,

Arranged, unopened,

And unenjoyed.


Down in the trenches,

Legs and arms lost,

Dirty from marching

Through the backyard,

The cheap toys spread

Across the floor,

Almost alive.


      -John Schellhase


my moon




let others seek the beauty of the stars

I prefer my moon, blooming

grain-gold in the sunset


let them hurry off to college

to learn their science, stand in line

to wait a light year for a glance

those scholars can afford the borrowed time

I’ll stay home

    where you

         have always been


though pale, pock-faced – despite your moods

I choose you over blinding suns that curl

coldly round the earth

like the ribcage of a gothic church

distant, esoteric, dim

but you are close

and for me brighter

and your half smile still lights

the nights I would have spent alone


you are both other

and my own

                         -John Schellhase