Winter 2007


Please stop by to visit our best issue ever…

Featured Artist:
Theresa Pfarr


Sara-Anne Beaulieu
C.L. Bledsoe
Holly Day
Eddie Dowe
John Grey
Matthew Guenette
Suzanne Harvey
Ed Higgins
Thea Iberall
Richard Lighthouse
James Lineberger
Micki Meyers
Tim Mayo
Sally Mollini
Roger Pfingston
Robert Plath
Ryan Smith
Margot Solod
Ray Sweatman
Jon Wesick

More artwork by:
Cecilia Ferreira



  1. Janice Tatter said,

    December 6, 2007 at 1:53 pm

    I read Jennifer VanBuren’s poems in Southern Hum…wow. I really like “Hickory Nuts.”


  2. Jennifer said,

    April 19, 2008 at 2:43 am

    Thanks Janice! I apologize for not replying earlier to this kind post.


  3. Jerry Vilhotti said,

    October 22, 2009 at 9:03 am

    Storella: “Symbols”

    There on that gooey surface of the Empire State Building as planes were hurtling by him watching his every move intently and one piloted by his father the Old Warrior, Percival “McKinley” Bush, was shooting limp bullets at him from the good ship “GOP Pharisee”;screaming that it was his birth that had stopped the Golden Era of no regulations; Stopping raw capitalism from doing their Ponzi scheme on all the ignorant people who came to the Statue of Liberty to find gold – only to find its roads full of mud and horseshit – bringing on a polio infested president who forgot his elite roots to help riffraff whose only purpose was to die for There World Orders and there Byrom Hoover Bush began making love to Olivia who had the faces of his two daughters – grabbing their teats to show affection – who resembled their grandfather The Old Warrior – though she was ten years older than he. She bit his ear and neck with wild abandonment; pushing his head down to where instruments were all lit up showing him the way to fame and fortune to define his worth. Her screaming overcame the drone of all the airplanes swooping around them; now his father was in the same plane as the Lone Eagle saluting Hitler as a savor that would save them all from The Red Menace and they were yelling for him to stop; wanting so badly to control his every movement as they kept whizzing by shooting red hot bullets – the shape of even limper penises. Byrom borrowed one of them while he covered his “mystery lady” with both of his strong arms while the king of gorillas began to fall miles to his death; attempting to save humanity from the dark ages that were going to reappear in the shape of Geronimo’s skull while two leaders one called “shrub” and the other named Johnny Iranian President with their death wishes of Apocalypse Now – whose followers would jump with them over the abyss to oblivion to get away from their self-hate too.

    Byrom recalled only this of the dream: a huge wave smashing into a tall lighthouse, a long winding road with banks the shape off ass cheeks, Olivia with her dress up over her large firm breasts while giving him her Berlin look from almond-shaped eyes, a ditch with curly black moss and bushes growing on its edges and something about a looming tall mountain covered with white glistening frost from which he was falling and just before he landed – he awoke. END 10-22-09

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