SHARE is an online literary journal that publishes fiction, non-fiction, essays, poetry and visual artwork, and features a new artist each month. SHARE is a space for everyone. Whether a writer, contributor, or someone who loves to read, SHARE is a place to come and create meaningful connections, build relationships and contribute something of substance…
The Gallery of Mario Loprete
Artist Statement In the world I inhabit, I wield the power to shape it to my liking through virtual, pictorial, and sculptural expressions. These serve as my means to translate experiences and capture reality through the filters of my mind, a process I’ve honed over years of research and experimentation. Painting is my initial and…
2 Poems, by N.T. Chambers
Rest Stop If youlet me touchyour woundsto feelthe paindraining the joythat once sangin your heart –before lifecrept inand taughtits lessonsof wastedopportunities,misplaced trustand loss –I’ll unveilscars of my ownthat havebeen waitingto sootheyour soulby showingthat healinggrows wheninvitedand lovenever losesits power. Phoebe With tranquil gray eyessquinting against the glareof the sunbaked beachshe didn’t quite smilewhile gazing backinto his…
Short Short, by Gayani Jayathilake
Marigolds How did I wake up on foreign soil? One night, there I had been. Where the air had smelt of kadala parippu curry and fried wambatu. They had slept on mats, spoken in circled gatherings, swept with coir broom and cooked together around a large cauldron in that one hall. At the far edge…
The Gallery of Jeff Corwin
Landscape Process Statement Before I began dedicating myself full-time to my personal work, I spent 40 years in the world of commercial photography. The majority of my clients were advertising agencies and graphic design firms. My photographic focus was on corporate offices, factories, oil refineries, and aerospace companies, all of which had dark, bustling manufacturing…
2 Poems, by Travis Stephens
AFTER THE FIRES The adjuster wears paper boots over his shoes.The hills above the valley floorwear ash coats. These used to be trees.Fire came like a hot wind of harvest,a hellfire bounty.Should have rained before then.Hills not burnedwearcoats of shame.Trees not dressed in blackseem frivolous. Where the horsesused to be, bones.Every burned car looks the…
2 Poems, by RC deWinter
zero sum sitting alonelistening to the old music from years agoremembering when it all meant somethingtrying not to cry but the pipes dragged the tears over the damharmonies hurting my heartall that beauty vanished when the cliff crumbledeverything turned to dustI tried to count my blessings but for every one there was acorresponding losseverything I…
3 Poems, by Virginia Watts
Rod and Gun Club I am not going to write a poemabout guns used violently innightclubs, theatres, fast foodrestaurants and please knowhow horrid it is to pressthese lettersS – C – H – O – O – L – S. I am not going to write a poemabout shock and crushing despairthe inane, insane way…
4 poems, by William Rieppe Moore
Glen Ayre, North Carolina My life is revived like a bladeof grass by a drop of rain, skin cells, no less, by a humantouch—in a word, electric. I turn at the thunder and wonder ifit will come a waterfall like Laurel Fork, where charged ionsfloat to our skin and draw forth the opposites of them—a…
Escaping Alice
Escaping Alice “Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.” -Lewis Carroll, Alice’s…
The Gallery of Edward Michael Supranowicz
I don’t subscribe to the notion of formal artist statements. Art, in my view, should communicate on its own, while artists maintain a respectful distance and silence. My creative process is intuitive and compulsive, as I believe in the existence of shared archetypes that can be uniquely expressed through an individual’s artistic style. Over…
3 Poems, by Faruk Adamu Alfe
The Overall Journey is Arduous and Long Grandma says fear and sorrow evaporates in darkness When stars get covered by dark clouds. She asks that I remember that every here and there, new thingsfall between the space we left behind in our past lives. Our loved ones know when to slow their breaths…
3 poems, by Abbie Hart
sequent occupance when I leave in the morning, the people that live in my home when I am gone have already arrived. I do not know their names. they are barely visible, shadows of people who may be me and may be those that I never wish to see again, creaking floorboards the only…
Poetry/Flash Fiction, by Margot Douaihy
The Price Is Margot Douaihy, come on down! Yes. You heard it. They said your name and you run. No, you dance-run in two/four-time down the aisle of the Bob Barker Studio in Burbank, California, past the screaming contestants, past the gigantic $ sign, the danciest of all symbols. After smoking One Bid, Plinko, and…
The Gallery of HannaWright
Hanna Marie Dean Wright is a self-taught folk artist residing in Keavy, Kentucky. She uses her experiences from growing up in rural South-Eastern Kentucky, teaching special education classes, and living with obsessive-compulsive disorder to inspire her unique works of art. Hanna Wright uses bold lines and bright colors to create abstract figures with relatable and…
The Keledon, by John Collins
“I think what I’m going to miss most is her voice. She had the most wonderful singing voice you ever heard. None of those singers out there hold a candle to it.” I set down my glass and motioned to the bartender to bring me another. He gave me a worried look instead, glancing at…
3 poems, by Kate Meyer-Currey
Holding together dear skin it’s an undeniable fact you’ve got thicker over the years taken some punches and rolledwith them especially when blows rained down just when it seemed some of the bruises we sustainedwere fading into ochre memoriesblurring with the stretchmarks of good times recalled and maybe the hope that we had endured the worst with a gallery of tattoos to indelibly…
The Gallery of Kathleen Frank
Artist Statement Having been an art teacher, woodcarver, and a printmaker in my formative years, I emerged as a painter, joyously overwhelmed by color and searching for pattern. Color and pattern are everywhere, but the seeing and interpretation of them are different for each of us. Pattern in nature is primal to me – which…
Flash Fiction & Poetry, by Joseph Hardy
Endings She rolled tight the towels she had gathered from around the apartment and wedged them underneath every window and door so no air could get in and prevent her suicide. Turned off the stove’s pilot light, turned the gas high, and laid down on the floor of their kitchen. It must have been the…
On Anicka Yi’s In Love with the World London Tate Modern 2021, by Sally Horowitz
I got into a fight with my partner last night. We were arguing about the subject of machine consciousness. Whether they could think like we think. I was pro. He was con. Our phone call on Facebook messenger lasted 20 minutes and 18 seconds. We screamed at each other for something like 13 of those…
3 poems, by Mae Ellen-Marie Wissert
the ditches of a tender sea After a night out at a tiki bar, he takes a bath in his new house. This makes perfect sense. His sun is Pisces. I shimmy out of my striped bodycon dress and black platform jelliesand join him. This also makes perfect sense because my sun is Cancer. The…
The Gallery of Nina Tichava
Artist Statement: Pulling imagery and motif from organic form, architecture, media and design I create densely layered, mixed-media paintings that are deeply invested in process. I’m interested in the overlap of nature and culture and the patterns present in both; the tension between them drives my exploration of color, surface and materiality. Employing labor-intensive techniques,…
3 poems, by Kristina Carpenter
The Cat at Night A cat on my foot, purring,sleek and black as night. alone-not-aloneIn a cavernous roomlight peeks through windowslighting to be seen. another sleepless tomorrowThe bed stirs with the cat,sitting, licking, pacingin circles over and over untilshe finds the right place—not too lumpy or too flaton the blanket,but near enough to my foot…
Bliss Chase, by L. Calder
“Follow your bliss. Find where it is, and don’t be afraid to follow it.” – Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth You’ve heard the tale, person conquers the corporate world but feels unfulfilled and realizes…
2 poems, by Dianne Mason
Voices of Guilt There’s the finger-wagging voice that tsk-tskswhen you turn down a party invitation from your best friendto stay home and binge-watch The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel when you don’t accept a friend request from the guy you metlast weekend at Trader Joe’s, who’s probably just lonely,but gave you the creeps anyway when you forget…
Watershed: A Youth in Bodies of Water, by Katarina Schultz
Summer 2017 A midge lands on my hand. I go to brush it off but by the time I reach it, it’s already dead. It tumbles. I am fresh out of my cap and gown, so sure of myself and my place in the future. I am going to Los Angeles in the fall, I…
5 Poems, by Suzanne Verrall
There Goes The Neighbourhood we call next doorthe extinct house full of birds and beesand dinosaursthese days it’s such a junglethe parcel guywon’t deliver there when a baiji dolphin orCalifornia grizzly bear knockson my door by mistakeI give them directions and pointto the box of boat orchidson my porch sayingtake that with youwhen you go…
Mudra, by Mohammed Hidhayat
The address was 15, Wallers Road, Madras, India. The people around the mofussil lived their daily life much out of discomfort. They imagined what it would feel like to be independent, to be in control of their life, to indulge in a little fantasy, and to enjoy the company of loved ones. But such moments…
The Gallery of Lilianne Milgrom
LILIANNE MILGROM considers herself a “global artist at large.” Born in Paris, she grew up in Australia, lived for extended periods in Israel, and now resides in the United States. Her life revolves around art – creating art, looking at art, and writing about art. She exhibits extensively in regional and international shows, and her work can be found…
3 Poems by, Eric Roller
Things Left Behind a rake withmissing tines a well-used forkin the alleyof tossed saladand sofacushions a hallowedmulberry tree,home to termitesand Africanizedbees a favorite phraseused during rooftopfireworks 12 miles away,repeated after everylost job or flat tire a friend or twowho followed yousleepily on two-way screensmade of chimera Your hairof golden rodcaught inthe tridentsof shower drains,and guardednow…
Poisoned Dandelions, by Ann Boaden
I remembered as I saw them. The poisoned dandelions. Long pale stems crawled in suburban grass-like arthritic snakes. When they die naturally they stand tall until the ghosts of their sunburst heads bald to white nubs; then they lean to earth. Looking at those poisoned dandelions I was back on the street of my childhood,…
3 Poems, by Erin Jamieson
I long I long for silenceand to be heard.I long for rainto clear the skies. I long mostlyto feel againlike I am worthy of love. Fairy Tales There was a woods once. It wasn’t remarkable in any way, and I wouldn’t have remembered it at all, if it were not the place my grandfather used…
Gula, the Dog Girl, by Katherine Flannery Dering
Many years ago, in a kingdom far away and across the sea, there lived a girl who had a way with dogs. For as far back as anyone could remember, any dogs the girl encountered would come to her side unbidden and, if spoken to, would obey her every command. The girl had been born…
Two Poems, by Ada Donnelly
I like you because you’re my kind of weird yesterday my tarot cards said I liked youtoday I smiled because my book said libra and Gemini were a good matchin the raw pounding wind of New York city, I seek succor in your armswe hide out in the Fulton street station talking about how both…
So Much Fun to Reconnect, by Madeleine Belden
My daughter Haley and I were eating breakfast in our tiny apartment kitchen when we saw the envelope from her school. This was her Junior year and she had to have all A’s to secure a college scholarship. I tossed the junk mail aside and opened the report card and yes, it was all A’s….
Poetry, by Alex Ewing
I Cannot Say the Word I want to forget you I want to forget Your hands on me In ways I didn’t want The feel of your leather seats Hot on my back The sweat from your skin Dripping on my face I don’t want you to drive Down…
Hiatus by, Rich Glinnen
It’s tough not to pick when you get a good starter. I’ll be talking with someone and only after I notice they keep getting distracted by the claw I’m making with my left hand do I stop picking. Rather than disfiguring myself to cope with social anxiety, I’m shamed into drinking myself dizzy: a far…
Poetry, by Julia Kannewischer
15.3.20the sky isBLUE + OPEN. if I couldgive it to you,I would,SWEETHEART. sitting with allwhat is + beingOK. coming homeTO THE SELFamidst the mess. IT’S JUSToneof these lives. THE SOULwhispered. EARTHtrying toself-regulate. CAN YOUblame her. is this theroaring twenties/ WHAT. . 19.3.20whenthe inside spacesHEAL, the outside spacescan do so,TOO. . EARTHis not kiddinganymore. . +…
If he had a daughter, by Amy Makortoff
I was a woman that still felt like a girl. I was out having fun. I danced until my legs were jelly. I left the club on feet I couldn’t feel anymore. I heard a familiar voice yell at me from a truck across the street. I knew I wasn’t in any shape to drive…
2 Poems, by Benjamin Goluboff
Googling the Dead It seems at first like a way of keeping them,of giving them a place in the here and nowyou may pretend not to know they have lost.They can be in this way more quick than dead,their results robust, their vitals vital still.And you may fool yourself in this way,until their footprint contracts,…
Escaping the Inheritance, by C. Christine Fair
Sitting across the rotting planks of a water-worn picnic table, Chris glowered at Bob and strained not to hear him. She studied his ruddy face with his pale, hooded, sky-blue eyes. His face was unmistakably and disappointingly redolent of her own. In anger, her mom would shake her head slowly and deliberately while growling in…
Until I couldn’t Feel Anymore, by Xandria Browning
“But why?“ Mother didn’t answer me. She just kept putting on pants after pants until my legs grew twice their size “But it’s summer, why do I have to put on all my clothes?” Still no answer. I saw a white flash come through the window and mother tensed. She started hurrying me out the…
The Gallery of Kateryna Bortsova
Kateryna says, “A statement that a human shall study and develop oneself for a whole life impresses me very much. I consider that a talented person is obliged to find out something new throughout their life, to reach new more tops. If it ceases to develop oneself it will have nothing more to say to…
Interview with author, Shane Cashman
“That’s what progress is to me – when multiple people from actual diverse backgrounds and actual diversity-of-thought can come together and at least understand one another, and then move forward towards some type of shared goal.”
Fired, by Thais Vitorelli
“You should take this extra glass of champagne,” said the owner of the company for which I was interning, pointing at me during a birthday celebration. “You Brazilians sure drink a lot.” It was probably the first time in my life I was unhappy about being served alcohol inside the workplace. When I learned I…
2 Poems, by Mark Kessinger
My Romance with Time Each morning. Every morning.Wake and name the day.Check the sheets for dreams.Stretch like I haveall forever. Parade thru this temple ofmini museums disguised asartifacts from other times.Greet them all.Let them know you. Breathe like it’s my first time.Every time.And the time after that. Flood the house with light.Go out and call…
Holiday in Cambodia, by Kendra Nuttall
I like planning. When I was 11 years old, I decided to get an English degree. When I was 14, I made a plan to graduate college before the age of 21. I listed potential schools to attend and which courses to take, ending up with complete plans for at least four different schools. I…
A Label, by Jocelyn Saunders
I hate being alone. Well I guess that’s not entirely true. It’s not like I constantly need attention or even like hanging out with people. It’s being alone with nothing to do to distract, being alone as in sitting in bed when everything’s dark breathing heavily as you think of…
Twenty-four, by Molly Fennig
The Forever 21 photoshoot would’ve been bad enough without Brittany there, lips permanently pouted, coated in So Hot Pink gloss. I’d known her for years. Through Gerber baby commercials, toddler pageants, Seventeen magazine shoots, Miss Junior Illinois, and now a shared contract with Chicago Models. Still, it was hard for me to be around her…
3 Poems, by Tanner Howard
I Remember the Night Peaceful(For my Aunt, that she finds peace). I remember the night peaceful before it broke,before the constellations cracked and splitin empty, white-blue shards, fogged up with stars,and the dark dripped in through the runny seams. When You slipped away, left us with nothingbut a phone call. And my uncle made thatat…
Mom, by Nina Eddinger
Mom always smelled like that sticky brown stuff that caked on the bottom of her pink purse. Sometimes, when she would lean in so close that her hair would brush across my cheeks, I could smell the stuff in the little bottle she sprayed on herself. That smelled like flowers. She didn’t usually hug me….