By Stephen Kingsnorth Passing Phase They built, to fill, sarcophagi,but groundsmen dug soiled body holesfor reasons cutting maintenance,when time to face the passing phase;obsolete in necropolisso shelter found in holy place,then ossuary for later bonesto save some space, babushka dolls….
By: T R Bates All summer long I’ve been waitingFor the asters to bloom again.I don’t know exactly why,Maybe because they areThe last field flowers of the year,The last flowers Barbara and I saw togetherAlong with all the visiting bees…
By: Wole Oyeboade Boasting Bees You sting us at worshipAnd scatter us in lordshipYou fly away into hideoutReactions , regrets, reigned for daysYou insurgent beesHums hums hums Boasting bees, the more the painThe much the gainYou sting banks and parksYou…
By: Kenya Jimenez Mother Nature My eyes love watching the lavish pink sunsets withpatches of purple, but I truly fall in love at nightgazing at the bright stars and crescent white moon.I listen to the sound of the ocean waves…
By: Pijush Kanti Deb A Straight Street Action and reactionblowwhispering and counter whispering,blastshouting and retaliated shoutingandgive birth to a universal realisationof the value of life and timetillthe construction of a Straight Street,polishedby the sweetness of eloquenceandhardenedby the goodness ofgifts, rewards…
By: Connor Orrico Language languishes like the ballet dancerin penché as lights turn off on stage;I have exhausted its nourishment and am leftwith the bitterness of bromide in my mouth.
By: Olabisi Bello “And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”— Elie Wiesel Beyond the windows of my school busempty eyes call out to meluring me in with their overbearing gaze.The raging sun boils the skinpeeling onto the…
By: Bruce Levine Heather fastened the collar tighter around her neck. It was almost spring, but there was still a chill in the air. She wondered when spring would actually arrive; she was tired of winter, even if the air…
By: Ted Mc Carthy REVISITATIONS Tremor cordis. Remember how it wasat about twentytrying to decipher Latin tagsin the winter garden but nothing connecting,language resolute in keeping out;the soil too, locked and blank, leaves swept or ribboned,verges black and razored; everything…
By: James Bates The memories were flooding my mind,Waves crashing on the beach,Windswept sand blowing,The last light of day receding,Gulls calling along the shore,And Dad with his speed graphic camera,Taking photographs.I was barely aware of him.Instead, I looked out to…