Wednesday, February 13, 2019

The Last Seaman by Don Robishaw

Roger leans on Scorpion, toweling off his tattooed gray-haired chest and beard. His big Harley Davidson sinking fast on a white sand beach. He lives for the beauty of the sea, changing tides and hues from blues to green, and the feel of both upon his face and arms. Sometimes the seas are combatively angry, like on that wintry evening. He often thinks of those mates — his lost mates — submerged in a WWII sub on the bottom of the sea. Other times the seas are tranquil, smooth as aged whisky, like today. Eight bells ringing out for Roger — the last seaman. Sipping a cold beer he says, “Hey mates. Belay that last order . . . ya hear?”

Don Robishaw 

Before Don Robishaw stopped working to write, he ran educational programs for homeless shelters for thirteen years.

Don's also well-traveled, using various ways and means: Sailor, Peace Corps Volunteer, bartender, hitchhiker, world traveler, college professor, and circus roustabout.

His work has recently appeared in Literary Orphans, Crack-the-Spine, Drunk  Monkeys, The Remembered Arts, Open: Journal of Arts and Letters, Flash Fiction Magazine, O’ Dark Thirty, and others. His chapbook, ‘Willie’s Bad Paper Odyssey’ was a semi-finalist in Digging Press 2018 Summer Chapbook Contest.

He likes to write poetry, satire, tragedies, and gritty fictional tales — of men and women from various backgrounds — that may have sprouted from a seed, from his past. Many of the characters he developed have been homeless, served for periods of time in the military, or are based upon archetypes or stereotypes he's met while on the road. 


Drunk Haze by George Gad Economou

swilling down bourbon till the very end of memories,  stumbling my way out of the barroom engirdled by fancy dinner-goers in a bar not for d...