The Orbital Review
The Orbital Review is a literary journal under Orbital Press that delves into a wide range of topics. Featuring insightful book reviews by D.J. Hoskins, the journal also includes chess analyses, personal essays, reflective pieces, and poems, offering readers a thoughtful blend of literary critique and creative exploration.
Essays
Book Reviews
Poetry
Chess
Short Stories
Book Samples
Photography
Videos
Chained To Life
I am chained to life
Tethered by the weight of family
Tied down by expectations that never end
Master Of Art
As a master of art,
You do not belong to yourself.
So You Want to be a Genius
If you want to be a genius, they’ll use you like one. It may be better to live a simple life and portray yourself as useless so as to prevent yourself from being used. What is a genius but a vessel for creativity?
Melancholic
I am an ebb of melancholy. It is sweet like lemonade, then sour like squeezed juice. It doesn’t help that I enjoy the sound of violins. The agonizingly slow rise and fall of their tunes fill my room in gentle serenades. My heart brims with their emotion and pours into my books. I am endlessly inspired, and yet I feel immortally quiet.
Drifting
it is boredom that plagues me
and haunts me
and follows
in day to night
Literal Thinkers
It approaches again
the seed of doubt
the rain on my parade
the insinuation that I am not right
that I cannot write
and tumble as I please.
Old Joints
Breath. The air fogs in the autumn air. My eyes flick and watch it swirl and then be blown back into me. The vapor dissipates, and I blink slowly, wondering where the time has gone.
The Walking Dead
And I am battered and criticized
My limbs ripped apart —
Torn flesh bleeding from my corpse
bones shattered, splintered,
dripping with blood
Institutional Level Scams
“The higher you climb, the harder it gets.”
At this point in my life, strategy has begun to fail me. I’ve fallen for traps, ambiguous legal snares, and institutional sieges.
The Twin Left Behind
Fingers passed over the smoothness of a doorknob and, clutching cold metal, turned it. Light flooded in to blind as Luna stepped out of the restroom building and onto the grime of cracked concrete. Red brick crisscrossed in a myriad across the low building’s outer wall, sprawling vines of ivy splayed along its sides.
Finally A Rat
It happened, they finally got me. Sitting here, no beer, full of fear…
In my little cubicle, scurrying to and from the bathroom. Acting like I’m making a difference, changing things, going somewhere…
Ivy Welcome
and my mind is in the state
Of processing
like a frozen computer
Overwhelmed and flooded
by a hurricane of information
Restart With Knowledge
He wishes for self-sabotage
A do-over, a new beginning before
the sudden end.
Brightly Burning
I am Icarus in silence
it is my skin that is burning
as I stand in the light
climbed too high
Daggered Intellectuals
And therefore I must walk back to the beginning
Back to my beginning
And retrace my steps like a dancer
Reintroduced to walking
Castled Girl
Poor child in the castle
Poor child flying high
she is cloistered and sheltered
and hidden in walls
Past to Present
I wonder, ponder, think back
at the girl I was; so frail
and fragile -
Soul Searching
Who are we in this world
Where are we going
And what lives do we live
Bastion - Chapter 3
Peeking around a corner, Amma held her shredder at port arms. A short rifle, it was twice the length of a conventional handgun. Pulling back the bolt, she took a quick look inside the ejection port.
A long black needle rested there. Powered by magnetic propulsion, the anti-material spike was built to penetrate armor. Pushing through before fragmenting into an adversaries body.
AC-130 Gunship: Iraq
Shifting right, then shifting left, the chains slapped metal. Crashing the cabin as the giant crates held firm. A hum from hell filled the cabin as the pilots threw the plane into a nosedive.