Cincinnati

Legend

 

A literary outlet for local writers

 

 
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barn makeover cont'd
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Lynard
 

Ebokne Carr contacted me by email on March 30, 2005. I'm going to use my reply to her to explain what has become of Legend:

Ms. Carr,
Nice to hear from you.
I haven't attempted to contact you because I've suspended publication of Legend since the second issue. A couple of things have taken place to cause this to happen -- or rather, not happen.
When I went to the larger bookstore chains like Borders and Barnes and Noble to attempt to distribute Legend via their free publication racks, I discovered that a turf war was underway between the independently owned CityBeat and the Enquirer's Cin Weekly. The "free" publication racks and areas had been leased by one or the other weekly publications, and they expressly forbade any other free publication from being distributed on the free racks in those stores. By doing this, CityBeat and Cin Weekly made sure that only one or the other, but not both, is distributed in a given store. That also keeps other small publications from using the free racks as well. That knocked out about 70% of the most desirable places for me to leave Legend, and increased the mileage of the route that I had to drive to make dropoffs.
The second obstacle that I had to overcome has been caused by an abundance of religious and political tracks that have been left on the free racks of bookstores over the years. These stores aren't interested in participating in the expression of particular religious or political viewpoints and the tracks left by these groups have turned off the store owners in a lot of cases. Many of these stores have stopped permitting new small publications from distributing via the free racks, and some have completely removed the free racks from their stores.
Despite that, I found a few independent stores, some restaurants, and some nightclubs that permitted me to leave Legend. Considering the limited number of outlets I could find, I had little to no chance of attracting enough advertisers to pay for publication and to enable me to begin to pay the writers.
Then I got a new job where I'm working a lot more hours. I could still publish, but I really don't have enough time to do the distribution to the bookstores, sell ads, etc.
I have been contemplating bringing the publication back possibly as an online outlet only--to begin. I will probably change the name.
I think the concept had merit, and I still want to pursue it. I'm working on a plan, but for the time being, Legend is in limbo.
Thanks for your interest. The wonderful creations that you permitted me to grace the pages of my humble publication with are testament to your power of expression. Good luck to you in your writing endeavors.
It's always nice to hear from you,
Ron Liggett
 

 

Submission Guidelines

   Welcome to Legend which is (as stated) a literary outlet for local writers. This is one of the most exciting ventures that I’ve ever undertaken. The objective of this publication is to showcase the talent of as many local writers as we can. In the beginning our resources and network are relatively limited, but as we grow and flourish, I’m expecting some wonderfully enlightening content to fill the pages of Legend.

   I’m inviting any and all local (Cincinnati) writers to submit poetry, fiction and non-fiction to Legend. All submissions will remain the property of the author, and as such, the author will retain responsibility for the content of his or her piece.

   Legend will include as many submissions as space will allow. If your story or poem is too lengthy to include in a single issue of Legend, and I find it acceptable in the form that you have submitted it, I may serialize it in several issues.

   You can submit to Legend in typed or neatly written form or by email. Include with your submission a brief biographical note telling me who you are and contact information such as your address, phone number and email address. Email submissions should be in plain text and sent as part of the email. Please don’t send the piece as an email attachment. In the age of the malicious email virus, I’m reluctant to open attachments. Including your piece as part of a plain text email is relatively simple. In Word or most other word processing programs, this can be achieved easily by clicking on “edit” on the top tool bar, then click on “select all,” then click on “copy.” Open your email program and click on the box where you type your message, then right click, and click on paste. Your piece will appear in the box as you had written it in Word.

   Don’t forget to include a brief bio and contact information. If the format or the spacing of your piece is significant, I suggest that you send a copy by regular mail, instead of emailing. Explain how you want it set up in Legend at that time and I’ll do what I can to honor your request.

 Mail submissions to:

Legend

1720 Cedar St.

Cincinnati, Ohio 45231

 

Email submissions to:

legendlit@att.net

 

    As publisher and editor of Legend, I will review each submission. If accepted, I will contact you by phone or email to let you know when you’ll be included in Legend and discuss any editorial corrections that I feel may be warranted. If you feel the poem or story you’ve submitted should stand as it’s written, please state that before it’s included in the publication.  

     What I’m about to say is common sense, but I feel compelled to relate this to you. I’m no prude and I feel that four-letter words and language of that sort can be effective in the proper context. However, overuse of this type of language can be boorish and repetitious. The English language is large enough to express any feeling or emotion without excessive use of the handful of words that are commonly referred to as vulgarity. Having stated that, I will engage in no form of censorship. Changes to a submission will be at the author’s discretion alone.

    Finally, and most importantly, I need to discuss payment for your hard work and creativity. Our resources are sparse. This should change as the publication grows, but present reality is what it is. At this point, the best I can do will be to supply authors with ten copies of each issue in which their work is included. If all goes well, I will be paying contributors in the future, but until then this is the best I can do.

     Okay, now that the ground rules are established, let’s get serious and have some fun!  Check out what’s included in this issue and let’s get those cards, letters and emails coming! ---RL

 
   
 

 

 

 

The print edition is available at the following locations:

College Hill Coffee Co.

Copa Lounge Clifton

European Cafe Montgomery

Everybody's Records  Pleasant Ridge

The Greenwich

Walnut Hills

Half Price Books     Kenwood   TriCounty

New World Bookstore Clifton

Sitwell's Coffee House       Clifton

WAIF studios

East Walnut Hills

     
 

 

 

ISSUE #2   OCTOBER 2004

   Just a few months ago I was considering the state of the writing community in Greater Cincinnati. Over the years, I had read some tremendous works by several unknown and unrecognized artists who lived in my community. I wondered why these folks had never been published, but thinking further, I had firsthand knowledge of difficulties encountered while trying to get published in Cincinnati.

   Existing publications in Cincinnati cut it close to the bone financially. Many fine writers compose the staffs of these publications, and, of course, the editors and publishers are going to use the stories and reports that the paid (or in some cases, unpaid) staff produce for them.

   I was fortunate to be recognized as a viable freelance writer by several local publications. My contributions were mostly humor and farce though I did do some actual reporting on occasion. Editors used my stuff to fill a page or two when someone on staff was on vacation or absent for some other reason. A paper is a business, and since staff writers are paid on a weekly basis, editors and publishers expect those writers to fill their papers with quality writing and reporting. Freelancers cost money beyond the payroll and are used as sparingly as possible.    In spite of those obstacles, my work has appeared in virtually every local publication, but I have been very fortunate in that respect.

   My minor success as a writer was encouraging. I’d even get paid most of the time, which, let’s face it, is the best encouragement. It was gratifying to see my writing in print and available to the public on a mass basis, but that success turned out to be sporadic. After awhile it became more and more difficult to get any of my work published locally. My years in the music business had taught me that rejection is a facet of artistic endeavor which helped to fend off my tendency to lapse into discouragement.

   Most small local publications are seat-of-the-pants operations existing on a day-to-day basis. I had seen several small publications come and go and knew that the road would be rough for a beginner. Failed publications had attempted to fill a void that didn’t exist by offering the same arts and entertainment fare “only better” and had competed for the same advertising dollars as if the public or advertisers could discern if newer publications were “better” than established ones. In reality, I saw that a new publication would have to be more focused and serve a specific segment of the community to thrive here.

   When I became involved in the process of getting published locally, I realized that the writing community in Cincinnati was much larger than I’d imagined. Despite very little nurturing and encouragement, thousands of local writers express thoughts and feelings through words in hope that one day someone would offer them an opportunity to display their talents.

   After much consideration about the local writing community, my conclusion was that someone should found a publication that showcases the writing of the authors and poets of our area who are seeking publication and recognition. Legend would serve a sole purpose as a literary outlet for local writers.

   Legend’s entrance has been well accepted principally for its ability to address a need in our community. So with this purpose in mind and the encouragement I’ve received, Legend’s Issue #2 has become a reality.

   This issue features some outstanding work by three new contributors as well as two who appeared in Issue #1. Submitting your work to Legend is easy. Guidelines and directions for submissions are posted on the Legend webpage at www.awaywithwords.us/legend.htm or you can send an SASE to Legend   1720 Cedar St.   Cincinnati, Ohio 45231.

 

untitled

By Leah Brinkdopke

 

There is a certain beauty in everything

In the delicate cycle between death and life

It must be in perfect rhythm

With the time between life and death

The balance of nature

In time with the rising sun

And the sinking moon

Death inevitably ends in birth

The dead trees bloom again

A childless mother conceives a baby

The winter changes to spring

Slowly, steadily, the white snow melts

Water replenishes the dead ground

And flowers sprout from the earth

Birds sing again

Warm breezes push through open windows

Bringing whispers of the dead

Into the new season of life

And rebirth

The beauty in this life can not equal

The beauty between death and life

 

 

There is nothing in the world that can equal the joy I get from writing poetry.  When everything is going wrong, the words always seem right.  I am an inexperienced poet, only 19 years old, but with time, comes growth.  In time, I hope my words can change someone, even just one person.  That is what I live for every day.

 

 

 

Losing the Will to Speak

 

By Catherine von Selm

 

My mouth closed slowly

And with a resounding click of my canine teeth

Has stayed mostly shut.

 

This started out as an experiment

And has grown into a way of being

I no longer speak in public

I no longer speak to friends or family

 

I speak only to my two dogs

Looking up so sadly at me

When I forget to talk to them that

I cannot resist them and ramble and dish

And chatter 'til their tails wag

 

Living alone with these two

I have found I am losing

the will to "speak" to anyone but them.

 

 

   I have written all my life, and always tried to write well.  Writing comes easily to me, like breathing and eating.  I have done lots of things, including nursing and horticulture but wish to pursue writing 24/7 'til I die.

   I like to be around other writers and musicians and "artsy fartsy" types; I feel understood by this crowd.

   I like all forms of communication, and am not advers to technical writing; "It's all good!"

 

 

 
Silver and Gold
 
By Randall Middendorf
 
I cannot describe with words, the act of salvation on that night
A kind of transformation it was for me
From the sorrowful soul of the dedboi I was
Into the enriched and enamored spirit I have become
(As time has told)
 
Weathered by the worst of choices tumbling one after another
After another, after another, growing in speed and pain and consequence
Topped by the abandonment of the best of silver lined future
For a fool's gold from the past...
 
And for gold the fool sacrificed my sliver and self
To a fancy, a fleeting idiot's whim revealed to be  
A barren, stony soul masked behind teenage glitter; that in the end
Could only stab with a sharp tongue and crush with heavy emotions
(Pushing me into a dark place) (I should have known better)
 
But three silver lights held the fool with a softness and a hope
Guiding me, each in your fashion; each from your corner; each with your light
Keeping me from falling
Into the dark...
 
From West Waters, his light shined with perspectives and ideals
I should have always, but never, until it was too late; realized
(with regrets already mounting)
 
From North Earth, her light surrounded me with a caring glow
Revealing a path strayed from, yet still to be cherished and pondered
(You should have stayed with her....you'd still be happy)
 
From South Fires, your light wound tightly around my heart
And quickens it's beat with every word spoken
(and on that night, your light touched deeper than ever)
 
You silver stars in my sky
Have given me
More then you can know...
Transformation, realization, salvation, family
(I cannot describe with words)
 
And you, my Star Fire Belle
Have left me
Changed
For all the better
 
And I will always love you
 
 
 
 
 

 

Randall Middendorf was born 10/11/79 (Libras Rock!) in Cincinnati, Ohio. He is now living in Clifton with three other artists and attending the University of Cincinnati pre-majoring in Mortuary Sciences.

 

 
Reflection of Me

 

By Ebokne Carr

 

Staring at me what do I see?

Do I indeed feel free

or do invisible chains bind me?

Is everything that appears

really what it seems to be?

Unlocking my mind is the key.

What is meant to be will be.

 

Battle lost before it's fought.

Lesson learned before it's taught.

Life moving so fast I wish it could halt.

Wisdom continues to be sought.

 

Staring at me what do I see?

Innocent or guilty, which is my plea?

Away from negative vibes I try to flee,

But what do I do when the enemy surrounds me?

Will change come eventually?

 

Try to meditate, then I hesitate.

When I contemplate the present state

of others’ level of hate

Wishing I could have a clean slate

(A good mate to relate, conversate, even debate).

But I'll continue to wait.

 

So in staring at me, all I see is a reflection looking back at me clearly.

 

 

My name is Ebokne, but my friends call me Empress. Greetings and Peace to all readers. Poetry to me is a collection of thoughts, some fantasy, a lot of reality, and a way to escape and express some of my deepest feelings.  What inspires me is life and different situations that I find to be rather good, bad, happy, or sad.

 

 

Rice after Death

 

By Ron Liggett

 

“Looks like rice after death to me,” I said.

 

“What are you talkin’ about?” he said,

“those are stinkin’ maggots!”

 

“Yes,” I said, staring at the roadkill rabbit,

“it’s just a stupid pun I thought of.”

 

“Stupid’s about right. Those are stinkin’ maggots!

He shook his head. “Rice after death!”

 

I shrugged and took a pull from my bottle.

He took three steps down the sidewalk,

turned around and walked right back,

stopped short and leaned into my face

nearly touching my nose with his.

“You think it’s pretty stinkin’ funny do you?”

 

I leaned back and had another drink.

“Hey, I was just making a bad joke

Let’s not get too emotionally involved!”

 

“I’m already emotionally involved!”

he said, stomping his foot. “Screw you!

You see death and all you got to say is

some stupid joke like ‘Rice after death?’”

His face was red, and I couldn’t tell

if he was about to go off on me.

 

“That’s about it,” I said and took a drink.

 

“That’s all you’ve got?” he said a little loud.

 

I shrugged and offered him a drink.

He took a slug from the bourbon and shuddered.

“I have to admit,” he said handing it back.

“It’s not all that bad. You know—the pun.”

 

“I don’t care about it anymore,” I said.

We gazed into the one visible eye

of the maggotized roadkill rabbit carcass.

“So are you gonna put it in the trash or me?”

We flipped a coin.

 

__________________________________________

 

   In case you haven’t guessed, Ron is the editor of Legend. He lives in Cincinnati and writes for fun and profit. The reason his work is in this issue is because he hasn’t received sufficient submissions to fill the publication; and you can remedy this by sending your literary submissions to Legend 1720 Cedar St. Cincinnati, Ohio 45231 or email Legendlit@att.net

 

THE CAT

 

By Joani Lacy

 

It moved through the tall grass

with all the stealth and grace of a gazelle.

Its body blended with the lush greenery and

became a whisper of wind rustling the grass.

 

To unsuspecting eyes it was an apparition,

vague and non-existent, a wraith of earthy tones.

Its camouflage was complete

when it slowed its pace,

becoming invisible and more lethal in its intent.

Its breath was the breeze and its steps

a shadow of movement

in the night.

 

It gazed into the dark with x-ray vision

seeing its prey lighted up

like a candescent ball of fur and flesh.

It approached in slow motion,

sensing its victim’s fear,

smelling its terror.

The kill was quick and merciful.

The cat moved on.

 

 

Joani writes: I have written many poems and a few short stories, and just recently, finished a novel, hoping to find a publisher. I have also written several articles over the years for the WAIF Alert. I have always had a passion for writing and music, and it is my dream to make my living doing just that.

Ed. Note—Joani and her husband Robin Lacy are the founding members of a very popular local band and host the WAIF-FM show Crawfish Fiesta on Tuesday evenings.

 

 

Copr. 2004 Cincinnati Legend.

Ron Liggett, Editor/Publisher

Email: ronliggett@att.net

All content is printed with permission of the authors. All rights reserved. All works are the property and responsibility of the authors and may not be used, performed, reprinted, or reproduced in part or in full without expressed written permission from the authors.

For submission guidelines  visit Legend’s webpage at www.awaywithwords.us/legend.htm or mail SASE to: Legend   1720 Cedar St.   Cincinnati, Ohio 45231


 

 

 

Issue #1    Sept 2004

 

My Broken Foot

 

-or-

 

Why I joined the IRA

 

by Selma A. V. Cather

   It was not a dark and stormy night, nor was there anything particularly spooky about May 11th , 2004.  I had had a nasty day on the 9-5 (a lot of attitude adjustment from the “boss”), had missed a friend’s appointment, and stopped into the Clifton pub for a little relaxation.

   As I often do when visiting a pub, I first walked the premises to look for a friendly face. I walked all through the pub to the back bar, and not spying a friendly face I retreated to the darts where a game was beginning.

   A strange feeling came over me, a desire to interact yet remain aloof.  I affected a heavy Irish accent, kept my dark glasses on, put on another layer of glossy lipstick,  and maintained this radio silence for 2 hours. Odd, and odder still was that I found I could not jump out of my character when I was getting ready to leave as the light was just fading.  I am indeed a widow, and now I was a widow of an Irishman who had been broadsided on his way home from work, and neatly killed.  My son had been kneecapped just last week on his way home from Mass, and my two young girls were so terrified they wouldn’t leave the house.

   In this affected state, you can imagine that I was upset and confused and also was quite desperate to let this character go. It was a bitter character to model. This widow was full of sorrow and anger and worry for her children. Her husband drank too much, and slapped her when they fought, so she was less sorry to see him go.

   I worked up the nerve to go to the ladies room to try to disengage myself from this horrified and somewhat terrifying persona.  I used the restroom, and splashed water on my face again and again looking at myself in amazement and fear.  The persona was persistent and brutal; my character looked around the restroom as the perfect place to slit the throat of the kneecappers and the ideal place to place a 38 against the temple of the driver of the car that had broadsided her husband.  I stared deeply into my green eyes and my red-brown hair in that mirror and watched breathless as I easily bought into the violence of widow terrorist. My eyes grew wide at the mayhem she could inflict, the fear she could instill. I had already convinced everyone I met that I was Irish; would it be such a stretch for them to think I was now IRA? But how, as I left the bar, could I convince them that I was now a willing killer with no emotions and a steely resolve to take no prisoners?

   I never found out that answer.  I fell as I left the restroom, my broken foot now rules my world and the politics of violence is on hold.

 

 

   Selma Cather says of herself: “I have written all my life, and always tried to write well.  Writing comes easily to me,

like breathing and eating.  I have done lots of things, including nursing and horticulture but wish to pursue writing 24/7 'til I die.

   I like to be around other writers and musicians and "artsy fartsy" types; I feel understood by this crowd.

   I like all forms of communication, and am not advers to technical writing; "It's all good!"

 

 

Celling Out                     

 

By Ron Liggett

 

In grade school some kids sucked thumbs.

In the morning or the middle of the day,

at the bus stop, in gym class, or at recess,

there they stood: a hand curled in a loose fist

in front of their face, index finger upside the nose,

and that thumb jamming up the pie hole.

My son’s tee ball team had a thumb-sucking right fielder.

Kids will stick nearly anything in their mouths.

Some like the taste of paste or even boogers.

Older kids chew on writing instruments.

No.2 pencils gnawed down to the graphite.

Ballpoint pens chewed like licorice sticks.

Some leave tooth impressions on straws.

I knew a kid who ate wax.

I suppose it had something to do with

the fact that one can’t chew gum in class

which compels many kids to chomp down

on one placebo or another.

Some carry these oral habits into adulthood

which manifest themselves in ways

I’ve mentioned or some new mannerism.

For instance, about five years ago,

teenagers were wearing pacifiers

on strings around their necks. They were

past the aforementioned thumb-sucking phase.

Many parents believed that this quirky habit

was a result of teenage angst or

even unrequited childhood longings.

This fad continued for about a year

until someone connected the need for a pacifier

to a dry mouthed side-effect of a particular drug.

Of course there’s the cigarette smoker

whose unacceptability has banished them

to the outdoors or deserted corners of buildings

because of cited health risks to all

and their pollution of air, land and water.

Then there’s the alcoholic stumbling

through existence or careening across pavement

in chariots of death and self destruction.

Equally obnoxious as alcohol and cigarettes

and becoming nearly as dangerous,

is another substitute for the thumb

that has become popular of late:

the social curse called the cell phone.

Communication is a vital interpersonal skill

upon which the relationships that form a culture

are built, sustained,  and, if need be, transformed.

The cell phone has diminished social contact.

The most popular model bears resemblance

to the flop-open communicators seen

on several episodes of the Star Trek series.

Those communicators were used only briefly

as the actors were nearly always engaged

in dramatic dialogue with one another.

The cell phone is used by many to the exclusion

of face-to-face communication with others.

At family gatherings, at church, at work,

or at home, the user points a finger in the air

which is supposed to suspend any conversation

or attempt at such by anyone in their presence.

If a person attempts to disrupt a cell conversation

they are met by the users’ glare and ultimately

the verbal scorn of said user for daring to interrupt.

To my way of thinking, a wireless phone

is an excuse to engage in anything other than

what is happening in the here and now.

As a frequent pedestrian, I’ve been forced to dodge

dozens of careless drivers lost in a cell phone call.

As a driver, cell users have cut me off in traffic

and seem to remain oblivious to the dangers

that their lack of attention has caused to others.

I’ve seen them at order desks and counters

expecting clerks of the world to wait patiently

until the all-important cell phone conversation

has tapered to an end or has reached a pause.

The cell phone has evolved into an accident

waiting to occur. It is far more inconsiderate

than thumb-sucking or even booger eating.

It is, in many ways, telling the person

who is directly in front of you

that you believe that they are not a person.

It is telling pedestrians and fellow drivers

that you are not concerned for their safety.

It is an escape that can cost innocent life.

What began as a space age convenience

has become the basest and nastiest of habits.

Not that that will stop anyone.

 

 

   In case you haven’t guessed, Ron is the editor of Legend. He lives in Cincinnati and writes for fun and profit.

The reason his work is in this issue of Legend is because he hasn’t received sufficient submissions to fill the publication;

and you are the only voices who can remedy this by sending your literary submissions to Legend either by emailing at legendlit@att.net

or smailing to Legend 1720 Cedar St. Cincinnati, Ohio 45231.

If you’ve got some literary output that you want to see in print, send it to Legend today.

 

 

 
Crazy Day
 
By Melanie Stromsky
 
It's been a crazy day
The kids are on summer break so they annoy me all day
Can't make my husband stop griping or make him go away
For a moments peace I sit and pray
It's been a crazy day
 
This crazy day is close to its end
Please no calls from my depressing friend
No calls for money that someone wants me to send
No neighbors who want me to lend
This crazy day is close to its end
 
So what can I say
Tomorrow brings another day though it seems far away
I'm sure there'll be bills that I cannot pay
And thoughts that I somehow can't seem to relay
So yet another crazy day…
 
 
   Melanie is a songwriter/composer/producer known as Ms. Melanie - A.K.A. BabyGirl.  
She is currently in the studio recording her first full length CD.  She believes that poetry is a song being born. 
 Maybe you'll hear this poem sung on the radio some day.

 

Firefly

 

By anonymous

 

She is chasing fireflies

In summer night, alone.

She reaches - cupping, smiling hands -

Again, like to and fro,

 

And opens them in wonder.

What magic will display!

With eyes like candles -

Flickering - a firefly to play!

 

On open hands – a gentle flight –

On moment – time has stopped.

Her beating heart has matched the gait

Of firefly atop –

 

A flower leaf – how wild at night,

The only light she knows.

This firefly has made for her

What God has made to glow.

 

 

Ed. Note:  In keeping with this author’s request to remain anonymous,

 I will state that this individual is one of the area’s brightest and most talented

new sources of creative energy in children’s literature.

 

 

Mothers of The Earth

 

By Ebokne Carr

 

 We are the mothers of the earth, to sons and daughters we give birth.

 Do you know your real worth? Exist at one with the universe.

 So with our full lips and curvy hips, our beautiful black face, our place can not be erased.

Royal lineage has been traced, shining example of Gods grace, be strong in your African race.

Love yourself sistern. Don’t be depressed. Although things may seem a mess,

you’re too blessed to be stressed. Sometimes God tests the best,

but he also brings rest to those who cleave to his chest.

Our place is predestined in history so to me it is no mystery. Let the story be told: from us life unfolds.

What glory that holds.

Black women we are more precious than diamonds and gold.

 

 

My name is Ebokne but most of my friends call me Empress.

I'm 27 years young and a mother of 1. Poetry is my favorite past time

and I would love to get my name and art out there for all to enjoy.

 

 

   Well, there you have it, the very first issue of Legend. This is, of course, a sampler of sorts. 
Most of these folks are authors with whom I’m personally familiar, and who have graciously submitted 
their works to be included in this issue.
      The success of this publication relies on you, the writing public of the Greater Cincinnati area. 
Your participation will determine how long Legend will be sustained as a viable publication, 
and how valuable it will become as a resource for Cincinnati’s writers.
   If the writing scene in Cincinnati has seemed to be closed to your unique talents, 
and you are anxious to see how the public views your writing, now it’s easier than it’s ever been.
 Legend is all about seeing your poetry, stories, and essays in print and available to the public—as they should be.
 
 

 

Copr. 2004 Cincinnati Legend.

Ron Liggett, Editor/Publisher

Email: ronliggett@att.net

All content is printed with permission of the authors. All rights reserved.
All works are the property and responsibility of the authors and may not be used, performed, 
reprinted, or reproduced in part or in full without expressed written permission from the authors.

For submission guidelines visit Legend’s webpage at www.awaywithwords.us/legend.htm

or mail SASE to: Legend  

1720 Cedar St.

Cincinnati, Ohio 45231

 

 
   

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Up | Away With Words | About the Author | Making AWW | Radio shows & Pics | extreme barn makeover | Toneshiners | barn makeover cont'd | companion pets | Legend | Ron the bassist | Guerrilla Engineering | Puddy: en memoriam | Lynard