Interweavings: Creative Nonfiction is a mosaic. There is a gentle ebb and flow of threads of with children, cancer, marriage, friends, losses. And yet, you catch yourself, while reading and after you finish, thinking about your own life. Not comparing,…
By: Mendes Biondo love is made for explorers for those braves that want to know the hidden treasures of a lonely island virgin and full of exotic animals love is made for explorers without a completed map in the pocket and…
By: Mendes Biondo we will live together in a wide tree house and every day we will have sex and every day we will dance bare as now we are I’ll smoke my cigars and you will drink a cocktail talking…
Nobel laureate Kailash Satyarthi appreciated CRISP’s skill development training being imparted to the youths to make them employable at SATI Vidisha. “I am sure that CRISP’s employment linked training programmes will enable the unskilled youth to attain the necessary skill…
By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey When waiting gets tireless your feet get numb and stiff the patches of dark clouds hover over your head and all roads get blocked you will always see me around to make you feel, relieved, to…
By: Joel Schueler When will you climb The Mountains of time? Instead you seldom see The pallid fathomed glee. Shape me in your greed Wise words you say I’ll heed And carefully pluck away Any formed debris. I bent my love…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick She doesn’t like me How do I know? The look in her eye The heard but unanswered words Unkind actions calling out my pain She doesn’t like me I’m just a few minutes of her twelve…
By: John Grey The town overlooked the natural harbor from a half-circle of land. It rose in tiers like the seats of a theater. Transients, tourists, occupied the motels and shabby rental homes along the beachfront. Spread out behind was a…
By: John Grey He plays a musical saw because it’s the easiest instrument to learn and he can sit it on his lap, rub a bow across the blade and, before you know it, out comes a plaintive ballad that, despite…
By: John Grey She raises her eyebrows at my entrance but doesn’t take her thumb out of her mouth. She’s adorned in a yellowed crumbling wedding dress. There’s something moving in her ratty gray hair. The air inside her house is…