Waldorf Literary Review

Archived Issue Featured

From the 2007 edition of The Muse: Auschwitz

Ashes to ashes Dust to dust Here we are again With a passionate lust To fill the night sky With powder of gray Falling from heaven In the simplest of ways Seeming so beautiful  One could almost pretend That the snow of such luster Was not long before, a man

Poetry Featured

From the 2011 edition of The Crusader: Forgiveness

I told you: it feels like bugs,  Millions of bugs (tiny ones) Sprinting under my skin. Blood- drowned ants infest  me, & die: a sad  diagnosis: over indulgence. You jog every day at four  I stare at the bugs  crawling the cracked sidewalk, listen for the sound of your shoes

Fall 2024 Featured

Interview with Keith Pilapil Lesmeister by Jadyn Collins

Why did you start writing?   I think ultimately I started writing because I wanted to record family stories. As a kid, I was told so many outlandish stories about my family—stories I won’t bore you with now—but they’d made an impression, and I wanted to be

Archived Issue Featured

From the 2007 edition of The Muse: Abandoned, by Michelle Day

Archived Issue Featured

From the 1995 edition of The Muse: Coming of Age

I heard a child ask his father, “Daddy, what is true?”  “My son,” the father answered, “I can certainly tell you. I know all the rules of life. In fact, a few I’ve made my own. All the limits are defined. All the variables are known. Yes, there are

Archived Issue Featured

From the 1992 edition of The Muse: For Cathy

Flash of red-streaked, sunlit hair,  Smile of radiance warming quiet, peaceful thought; Loudest heart of all I’ve known, Teacher of the lessons I have taught. Would this spirit mixed with mine Not storm the walls of freedom’s maze, Clearing darkness stuck to wisdom wrought of pain, Proving courage

Archived Issue Featured

From the 1993 edition of The Muse: Darkest Night

I’ve never still the dark earth seen so bright,  And days cannot compare and be so dark, As then when I saw night by her live light With friends among limbs of wet leaves and bark. Love’s beauty filled the rain soaked wet, wil grass: I soaked it

Archived Issue Featured

From the 1993 edition of The Muse: Blue Eyes

Your blue eyes deceive you Your actions betray you Your voice quivers when you speak- You thought I didn’t know-  But you deceived, lied, and betrayed yourself! Yes, you hurt me— But more over, I am disappointed— in you.   Now I can sit back- sit back and laugh- Laugh

Archived Issue Featured

From the 1996 edition of The Muse: Excerpts from a journal

Wednesday, January 17, 1996  I suddenly feel uninspired. We had chapel tonight and I really enjoyed myself. I just got that feeling. It’s hard to describe, and unfortunately, it never seems to last long in me. A feeling of wholeness and purpose fills me. I know I can do

Archived Issue

From the 2003 edition of The Muse: Tears of the Sea

There you stood Back to the world Facing the sea.  It seems not even the waves Or the deep salt liquid Can turn you around.  I didn’t know what to do To make you endure it again.  Tear stained face; If someone asked you What was wrong you’d

Archived Issue

From the 2005 edition of The Muse: My Meeting with the Aquatic Child

A child came up from the sea  His skin shiny and scaled  His fingers and toes webbed  Tangled in his hair were strands of seaweed  And bits of kelp  He smelled of vast fathoms unexplored  “How are you today? Asked the lad  “I’m coasting” I replied  “Lovely day for

Archived Issue

From the 2016 edition of The Waldorf Literary Review: Car-ni-vor-ous, by Alyse DeVries

Archived Issue

From the 2016 edition of the Waldorf Literary Review: Guardian Angel, by Dean Swenson

Archived Issue

From the 2016 edition of The Waldorf Literary Review: Pockets

Pockets0:00/98.3651251× (Above: Audrey Sparks reading "Pockets")               I carry a stone in my pocket, tucked snuggly in the darkness with dimes, pennies, and quarters. Smooth and nearly flat on the bottom with a ridge on the top like a Colorado mountain range. A valley runs down

Archived Issue

From the 1996 edition of The Muse: The First Thing I Say

(After Marvin Bell) to an eighteen-year-old awaking, image of innocence, whisper of summer, I say through a door closed to curiosity, as I tap lightly and speak softly, chasing Morpheus from the yellow room, inviting the dreamer to come out into the world of things and doings, to leave the

Archived Issue

From the 2005 edition of The Muse: Music: A Reflection of the Soul, by Eric Guth

Fall 2024

From the 1996 edition of The Muse: True Love

When I look up at the stars I remember the time we held each other’s hand. The night was dark with a bit of a chill. As we walked throughout the night, I grew closer to you.  Not a change was there to be, for I am in love

Archived Issue

From the 2003 edition of The Muse: Striptease

Standing in your attire  like a bird,  you’ve preened your plumage,  a perfect beauty for all to see.  but nothing comes of false feathers. free your hair from bonds  of gel and spray, from sculptures  made for mass approval.  let each strand waywardly wander whenever it feels fit. scrape

Fall 2024

From The 2016 Edition of The Waldorf Literary Review: Cavity

The puppy was dead. She just knew he couldn’t be resting. Cati had been sitting in the dentist chair staring out the window. The window was an attempt to provide a source of distraction from the buzz of the drills, but Cati wasn’t subdued by the view of

Art

From the 1993 Edition of The Muse: Untitled by Matt Burke

Archived Issue

From The 1996 Edition of The Muse: Outside the Window

The wind whistled outside her window Reminding her of their song. He would whistle it to her As they strolled along. The roses outside her window Were in bloom bright red.  Reminding her of how it once was And the words he had said. The lightning struck outside her window

Poetry

“What is it like to be mixed?” by Vienna Rossmanith

This poem is the winner of the Top of Iowa High School Creative Writing Contest: 9th/10th Grade Poetry Sometimes, it is lucky. I am a blend of cultures and foods and languages and music and love. I am long eyelashes and warm-colored skin Hanboks and hoodies in the closet

Photography

See The Lights By Kalynn Marxen

Art

A Walk In The Park By Eli Lozano

Poetry

Third-Wheeling in Paris by Arnaldur Stefansson

Shivering in a thin jacket amidst an ascending wave of people. “Beware of pickpockets” the overhead sign warned in half-a-dozen different languages. I was already closed up, both hands in pockets– not open for business. The ancient elevator labored upwards, finally rusty mesh gates opened– we streamed into that sea