Events

For this issue we’re looking at Indigenous Peoples and Friends, both the history and current relations.

Rats and raccoons go together like... well, something. We all like trash. Also, funerals. Probably? We don't know what it means either. We want to read your spin on the theme. Do with it what you will. Open genre.

For this issue, we seek accounts of meaningful encounters—with people, places, or animals—that have altered your perspective or understanding of the world, as well as re-imaginings of what it means to encounter and be encountered by others.

Visit a museum––can you hear the muses singing? 

For our upcoming issue, we want stories, poems, and hybrids that unearth the horror of embodiment. Think haunted anatomy, sentient scars, inherited monstrosity. Is your skin a map or a mask? Show us where it hurts, and how it changes you.

We want to hear from poets who publish in non-traditional ways, who hold unusual beliefs, who write what isn't popular, or feel that they don't fit in.

This issue  invites contributors to consider the emotional, political, and physical dimensions of home in flux. We’re especially interested in work that addresses displacement and alienation in their many forms.

This issue will explore the vagaries of nationalism, citizenship lost and found, what it means to have more than one national identity or passport, and to have none. So, who, what, where is your tribe?

For October, we invite you to explore Rite in all its forms: sacred or secular, celebratory or unsettling, personal or collective. What happens when a rite is denied, disrupted, or transformed? Explore the power that rituals hold over us when the candles burn low and we think no one is watching. 

Everyone deserves a second chance, but that chance is not always freely given. How does redemption affect the human experience– or does it not? 

We are interested in work that reflects on the  systems we unearth around us.  Living as we are, we are interwoven and defined by the systems we support, fight against, and ponder about.

Show us what it means to love something unironically and to risk sincerity in a world that rewards cynicism. How do we “kill the part that cringes” so the part that loves can finally breathe?

In the spirit of promoting global peace and contemplative artistic expression, Zen Peacemaker’s showcases three haiku a month on this page.

Surprise us with work that stretches the meaning of kinship—personal or collective, intimate or cosmic—while staying true to the urgency of our times.

In a time of fake news and counterfeits, scammers and artificial intelligence, tell us how you’re sifting through the layers of conceit. Send us your most suspicious stories, fallacious arguments, and prose that teeters between fact and fiction. 

We’re looking for pieces that embody the spirit of Nocturnia: eerie, elegant, unsettling, or uncanny. This is not just horror — it’s the haunting echo in a quiet room, the bittersweet memory that resurfaces at midnight, the beauty in the grotesque.

This issue is not themed. Send us your best tension-filled poetry, fiction, and nonfiction.

We look for work that is creative, grounded in concrete images, and playful, though "playful" needn't equal light. We want your horror, your heartbreak, and your fury. We just want it delivered in interesting, surprising ways that remind us why we fell in love with language to begin with.