Joshua Schneyer
Josh Schneyer quit high school and worked as cabinet maker, chef, opera singer, soldier, boxer, teacher, and currently makes his living as a boxing coach. He has a BA in literature and earned his MA in creative writing from Boston University. When he isn’t coaching, he’s reading or writing.
The following work is Copyright © 2026, and owned by Joshua Schneyer and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Off the Top of My Head
My intention was to write a poem
off the top of my head,
but when I reached for it, my hand
found only a sparrow.
I cupped it lightly, its heart
beating against my palm,
its closed wings
trembling, its wild tiny dinosaur eye
looking everywhere but at me
who held it prisoner.
Murmuring, I spoke to it
the words I thought I’d meant to write,
and soon its heart slowed and eye
stilled and I opened my hand
and it sat, a feathered jewel
in my outstretched palm.
It stayed there, small claws
now gripping my index finger.
We stood like that,
the shadows lengthening.
The sun had started its long descent
into the ocean before
at last my sparrow
shook itself and became
a bright dart piercing
the darkening sky, a tiny poem
disappearing.
Errick Cameron
Errick L. Cameron is a retired dentist whose poetry explores themes of memory, rural life, and quiet resilience. His writing often draws from personal experience—childhood on a Midwestern farm, transitions through hardship, and reflections on nature and faith. He is also an accomplished photographer, with work published by LensWork. He is currently submitting individual poems while assembling a full collection.
The following work is Copyright © 2026, and owned by Errick Cameron and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Ghost Crab
A sand fence half buried in the dune.
That is a measure of time on its own.
But to the ghost crab that buries itself there
only to be born again each night,
that is an eternity.
Neighbors
Five white ibis walk
in procession
over my lawn
and out into the street.
A black
oystercatcher
with a striking
orange beak
stares at me with
round orange eyes.
When I walk the
tidewater,
the sandpiper
ignores my steps.
The red cardinal
flies by
to look for seed.
If I have not left any,
he tilts his wing.
Pelicans, they hurry—
other places to be.
But the mockingbird—
he will sit on my rail,
and we converse
all day long.
