By: Edward J. DeSilva, Jr is different than new. It grows more complex – richer – with the passing of time, like the taste of old scotch. It lingers on the tongue and in the memory. Or the smell of a…
By: Edward J. DeSilva, Jr The leaves fall faster now; it won’t be long. Tragic ballerinas pirouette and plié, magnificent in their death song. Lively spring-greens once supple and strong fade into shadows of glory now past. The leaves fall faster…
By: Balu George The muse has deserted me. It’s a struggle, to say the least, To make the words soar, dip, straighten out. Evoke pathos, anger, passion, contempt. I will take anything. The muse has danced her way out of my…
By: Angelo McCabe A bonfire burns in the silent holy night My body consumed by the fire that only you can ignite. I hunt for … what? Words — and the spirit that will be made flesh, that crave the caress…
By: Cornelia Păun Heinzel Every moment has its own meaning, significance, For me, for you, for him. In every moment there is an action important For me, for you, for him. Time is always crucial, For me, for you, for…
By: Lynn White All those lost people wandering the streets, perambulating among the purposeful passers by. Loose souls, dreaming products waiting to be fixed in frames, or pencilled in, placed on a page, or stage, stabilised, finished by my hand….
By: Lynn White Once I was whole. Complete. Unbroken. Once I breathed air. Once I walked. I spoke, I smiled, I looked sad. Yes, once I had feelings. And then, my sadness was selected. Chosen and frozen in it’s beauty….
By: Steve Slavin 1 Helene knew for sure that there was not someone for everyone. She could even prove it. Helene does not remember much about her parents. An automobile accident left her orphaned when she was just four year old….
At West Wing desk, Reince Priebus takes a collect call and summons President Trump to answer. By: Chuck Orloski “It’s Joaquin,” said El Chapo. “Remember me?” (an untypical pensive silent delay) “Oh, you mean the guy who played Johnny Cash in…
By: Allison Grayhurst In the hourglass I see a cloud that greys the city. I see people at their art shows, theatre shows and antique shops blowing on their blankets in hopes of holding off winter, in hopes of never looking…