Poems may be previously published or unpublished. Simultaneous submissions are accepted. The winner receives $1000 and publication in The Lascaux Review.
by Donna Miscolta
The windows are open to the blue-black sky, but there is no breeze to move the heavy air inside the apartment. Across the street, the diner blinks . . .
by Michael C. Ahn
Seeing her allure was like discovering a beautiful nun shrouded in heavy habit. She kept her glasses on even though she didn’t need them for driving . . .
by Cezarija Abartis
The landlord was an hour late. Caroline would be staying on the third floor of the small apartment building. She sat on the front steps . . .
by Janna Vought
Mosaic memory, / intoxication, swallowed swigs / of beer, Marijuana haze, / unsteady, leaden head, / sweltering / dance, tribal beat, sweat . . .
by Carol Hamilton
Scarlatti’s sheet music lies / on the floor near the piano / and a catalog for later perusal / is sprawled in full color / near the computer . . .
by Laura Madeline Wiseman
The colors here are always white, blue, tan, but over there they’re gold, the woman says as she crosses one state, another, Mount Blanca now . . .
by Cathy Herbert
He looked like a hungry baby bird, gasping for breath, eyes watery and unfocused. At that moment, shortly before his death . . .
by Tracy Harris
We used typewriters decades ago, and carbon paper and different colors of white-out. If we made a mistake we could correct not just the original letter . . .
by Alison McMahan
Recently my husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary, spending the day at the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens . . .
Announcing the winners and finalists in two recent contests: The Lascaux Prize in Short Fiction and the Lascaux 250 Flash Fiction contest.
by Matthew Sullivan
I have to find more fish tomorrow. If I don’t Jason won’t be able to marry Martha. Jason quit his job with Boeing because he was told he’d make a lot of money on a fishing boat. It wasn’t true.
by Steve Edwards
Last fall, after much consideration, my wife and I decided that we could no longer send our son to Sunshine Meadows Preschool.
by Evan Allgood
Having funneled the bulk of its funds into comically oversized Writer’s Chronicles, kickbacks for its
shadowy cabal board of directors, and the color orange, the Association of Writers & Writing Programs has thirty dollars leftover for its annual conference.
by Stephen Parrish
I’ve begun a “collection” over at Medium called Ritten Werds. There I’ll write mostly about the art of language, the little things in writing, particularly fiction, that make a big difference.
by Isabella David
“Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembr’d” has always seemed to me the most perfect pickup line, although it didn’t work so well on Ophelia.
by Rino Stefano Tagliafierro
“A tribute to art and her disarming beauty.”
by Camille Griep
After suffering through two hours of caterwauling originally billed as Oliver! (the musical), I decided I’d had enough Dickens for one year.
To celebrate National Clean Out Your Fridge Day, we asked the Lascaux staff to tell us what they’d have to hide from Marcella Hazan and Julia Child (in spectral form, of course) if the ladies were to drop by for a meal.