Beanery Online Literary Magazine

December 26, 2012

The Music Box



 Jan McLaughlin


Step into a page in time of friendliness and grace

Escape the rush of the city, enjoy each friendly face.

The church bells’ hourly chimes, the sound of “Old Rugged Cross,”

Give the peaceful, calming feelings of life in a music box.


Time so long forgotten, of feeling so at ease

The smell of fall leaves in the air, wafting on the breeze.

The old time concerts in the park—listening to the past,

Wishing time would stand still, wishing this could last.


A music box always held small pieces of the past

The tinkling sound of a song, my memory holds fast

Again the church chimes sound, as the sun sets crimson red

Giving peaceful, calming feelings as the music box in my head.


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December 24, 2012

Sparkle and Shine



Kathleen Clark

2012 ©

The galaxy was abuzz! Speculations ran high! All the stars, novae to ancient waited with great anticipation. The question had been tossed about for centuries. Who would the Lord of the Stars choose for this greatest of honors?

Generations of stars had formed, lived and burned out. . . waiting, waiting, till hope almost vanished. The answer hung in space and fell silently to earth like shooting stars.

The singular foreshadowed event was destined to change the course of history.

Light years away

A cosmic dance of dust, gas and debris mixed with a potpourri of interstellar elements, becoming a galaxy.

Spinning, dipping and swaying

the swirling particles formed a new star,

swaddled in an ethereal birth cloud.

As it rotated and wobbled awkwardly in mid space, a strong breeze caused it to pause. . .

Lightning streaked across the sky, and a thunderous sound shook the heavens.

Shine, an ancient, wise and benevolent Supernova, appeared bearing a message for the novae star:

“I’m honored to (more…)

December 23, 2012

Noel 2012

Filed under: WR/BW JOAN-M — beanerywriters @ 3:00 am
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NOEL 2012







O Christmas Tree, so pristine
Berried in English clotted creame
An echo of jingly bells
Yuletide fully swells
Bear hugs all around
Merry carols; ultra sound
Cozy stuffed stockings steep
Warm memories to keep
The assembly too soon gone
Still above and beyond
Mary’s dear newborn Child
Was to the world avowed



Falalala Latkes
The Gift of Christmas
Christmas: A Time for Furnace Fires

December 12, 2012

Sancta Lucia Part I: Background

Filed under: Visitor Writings — beanerywriters @ 3:00 am


SANTA LUCIA Part I: Background

Jean Slusser

I am of German, Czecz and Norwegian ancestry, but have always identified more with the Scandinavian part, probably because I spent so much time with my Norwegian Grandmother and Maternal Aunt who lived in a small town in Wisconsin, Mt. Horeb near Madison. It seemed as though everyone in that town was Norwegian, with a few Swedes thrown in for good measure. All the festivals and celebrations were reminiscent of Norway—the food, costumes and customs.

       I was also raised Lutheran. In our church, we celebrated Santa Lucia day.  When I was in 8th grade, I was chosen to be Santa Lucia. The good news was that it was an honor to be chosen. The bad news was that it was necessary to walk down the very long isle of the sanctuary with a wreath of lit candles on my head without setting myself and the church on fire.  Luckily I made it through. 

     I also attended a very large Santa Lucia festival in Wisconsin which I will always remember because of all the candles, beautiful music and ambiance.


St. Lucy is believed to have been a Sicilian saint who suffered a sad death in Syracuse, Sicily around 310AD. It is said she was seeking help for her mother’s long-term illness at the Shrine of Saint Agnes in her native Sicily, when an angel appeared to her in a dream beside the shrine. As a result Lucy became a devout Christian, refused to compromise her virginity in marriage and was denounced to the Roman authorities by the man she would have wed.

They threatened to drag her off to a brothel if she did not renounce her Christian beliefs, but were unable to move her even with a thousand men and fifty oxen pulling. So they stacked materials for a fire around her and lit it, but she would not stop (more…)

December 5, 2012

The Intruder


Joanne McGough

November, 2007

 A piazza in Venice, Italy

      I wait alone. Le Ristorante al Gabbiano opens in thirty minutes. I sit at a wrought iron table and study its mosaic tile top. Some tiles are cracked, some are missing, all are weather worn and faded into a creamy gray mélange. Just a hint of true color remains in crevices where tiles are tightly abutted and the salty air from the canal hasn’t penetrated.

The morning is gray and so heavy with mist that my hair feels damp. Still, I am pleased to be in Venice and content to be alone. I feel meditative, breathing slowly and deeply, my mind as calm as it ever could be. I close my eyes from time to time. Often, I pause to write a note on my tablet.

My reverie is interrupted. A small brown bird lands on my table. His arrival is obscured by the near-opaque fog.

He is a bold little thing. In just two hops he is close enough to watch me writing. One hop closer and he seems to understand my work. He looks from my pen to my tablet, then back again, repeatedly. I sit as still as possible, watching him. He is beautiful, really, not solid brown but blessed with flecks of red and gold. He is obviously interested in what I am doing.

He knows I am watching him. I stop writing but he continues to stare at my tablet. I think he is waiting for something. Perhaps he thinks my tablet is (more…)