By: Joseph Pham Strength represents the sword and shield that hold their ground, to stand and protect. Dexterity shows precision, accuracy, which make their aim true. Luck is the unseen potential, the hidden gem, triumph in shadows. Intelligence builds the mind…
By: Tom Ray The older woman, probably in her forties, had long brown hair with blond highlighting. The younger woman, probably her daughter, also had brown hair, but cut short and without the highlighting. Not local, Barbara thought, with their…
By: Mary Bone After cleaning out my ice box, I sailed rock hard tortillas Out of my back door, not Knowing where they would land. I figured a stray dog would Chew on them. Pups could easily break A tooth,…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick She stood blankly staring out the window Touching the glass pane, chills ran through her body Bleak, she thought Would the rain ever end Would she ever get home The courage she started the process with…
By: Tom Sheehan 1. The ocean is slow to warm and slow to cool, shivers edges of winter and, like the lover it is, cannot let go. December talks its way up filaments of frangible shinbones old knees hang onto…
By: Tom Sheehan Bones bang in the house, clutter of vellum lives; knobs of father’s eyes, like tender calf’s, burst once under strain of thick dosage that needled in his thigh, the coolest wedge of calamities, strong sugar epithet, fractional…
By: Tom Sheehan Two boys went to sea last night, riding an ice floe broken from the river dam, pilots at the helm. Some say a standard flew, brisk pennant’s wave, admiral’s flagship. I dream of water and ice, dread…
By: Patrick Peters James Joyce represents a microcosm of Irish life in the short story collection Dubliners. In a sequence of portraits, he recreates the native experience of Dublin as lived by a segment of its populace. Joyce gives the reader…
By: David Francis I am in the enchantment never to touch it like someone else’s garden but why worry if it touches me you do not touch the paintings in a museum I go along with that reasonableness There is doubtless…
By: David Francis I feel I know a side of you that no one but me knows I see you with the others and I feel lost I think: no, nothing in common exists between us as if an alarm went…