By: Ian McFarland Manifesto To domesticate the antand invite the earthworm out to dinner.To return the cartel’s contraband,“smoke dope, get high” I will say.To end embargosand bring the democrat to a red stateand bring the conservative to a blue body…
By: Adam Kluger It will end someday…but I probably won’t be around to see that thought Eldred Chambarlee. 90+ days in self-quarantine can make a man think. Think about his mortality. His mistakes. His loved ones. His courage or lack…
By: Adam Kluger It wasn’t a lifetime but 37 years was a good stretch of time. After a particularly vivid dream where the two spoke again finally, and connected intimately in the lobby of the apartment building he grew up…
By: Suzanne Cottrell Ghost Harbingers Once I walked on dry coastal plains,smelled the balmy scent of white cedars,where white-tailed deer and black bears,roamed and barred owls nested.Forests hemmed between erodingbeaches and flat farmland. Sea levels rise at alarming rates,briny water…
By: Jeremiah Minihan If he was writing this as a story, he would call it “The Homecoming”. But, George Flannery chuckled, that title had been used many times before. He knew that he would not be writing the story…
By: Mohammad Jashim Uddin The year 2020 is a remarkable year for Bangladesh as the people celebrate Bangabandhu’s centennial birth anniversary. The Father of the Nation is an inspiration to the young generation to be a patriot, a real fighter…
By: Carol Casey The Ant The ant crawls across my page,life is small,life is teaming with tiny busynessglides over my words,scanning for sustenance, not finding itthen over and under and around,across my arm, tickling, sending shivers.Swiping, sweeping, I, gigantic force,alter…
By: Sultana Raza Part 1 Most artists and writers keep their inner space sacred and inviolate. The core from where their creativity springs. Some keep their inner world more private than others. They don’t need a quarantine imposed by the…
By: Renzo Del Castillo Jarhead I am the stroke of a swordSwift, powerful, and deadlyTearing through flesh for the will of the mobUntil my own heart is hacked away I am the sand of the arenaRough, dry, and blood-stainedTrampled on…
By: Annapurani Vaidyanathan The last leafon the solitary maple treein my backyardsways gently,wondering whyit must wantto hang in there.For, the scent of shiuli flowersand the pine trunks around,hardly allure it now.It is lostin dreams ofsetting itself free,and flitting away into…