Nathan Mears
Nathan Mears began writing as a serious business in 2019. His work has been featured on The Write Launch and Horror MTL's anthology, 101 Proof Horror. When not writing, he can be found reading or hiking up and down one of the many hiking trails in his home. He lives in Oregon.
“The Temple,” “Alexandria” and “Mother’s Lament”
In my early, disruptive thirties,
I wondered through
An aimless, broken land,
With a slew of past sins as my guide.
Along my travels,
I found a temple made of marble stone
Standing in the middle of nowhere.
I wondered through
An aimless, broken land,
With a slew of past sins as my guide.
Along my travels,
I found a temple made of marble stone
Standing in the middle of nowhere.
Poetry
Issue 61, May 2022
Issues Archive
St. John’s Night
On the night of St. John, atop the flattest peak of the tallest mountain, three Witches danced in decomposed unison around a bonfire made of the flesh and bones of followers to a god unknown.
The first was light of skin with hair of fire. Over her sisters she danced in balance and harmony, writhing her arms as the winds overtook both arm and finger within their hook. Poor fool.
The first was light of skin with hair of fire. Over her sisters she danced in balance and harmony, writhing her arms as the winds overtook both arm and finger within their hook. Poor fool.
Short Story
Issue 40, August 2020
Issues Archive
Nathan Mears
Nathan Mears began writing as a serious business in 2019. His work has been featured on The Write Launch and Horror MTL's anthology, 101 Proof Horror. When not writing, he can be found reading or hiking up and down one of the many hiking trails in his home. He lives in Oregon.
“The Temple,” “Alexandria” and “Mother’s Lament”
In my early, disruptive thirties,
I wondered through
An aimless, broken land,
With a slew of past sins as my guide.
Along my travels,
I found a temple made of marble stone
Standing in the middle of nowhere.
I wondered through
An aimless, broken land,
With a slew of past sins as my guide.
Along my travels,
I found a temple made of marble stone
Standing in the middle of nowhere.
Poetry
Issue 61, May 2022
Issues Archive
St. John’s Night
On the night of St. John, atop the flattest peak of the tallest mountain, three Witches danced in decomposed unison around a bonfire made of the flesh and bones of followers to a god unknown.
The first was light of skin with hair of fire. Over her sisters she danced in balance and harmony, writhing her arms as the winds overtook both arm and finger within their hook. Poor fool.
The first was light of skin with hair of fire. Over her sisters she danced in balance and harmony, writhing her arms as the winds overtook both arm and finger within their hook. Poor fool.
Short Story
Issue 40, August 2020
Issues Archive