By: John Grey I’LL HEAD HOME SOON BUT NOT YET Near dusk,shadows roll across the lake,but I refuse to give my bodyback to bone and muscle,not now when I float amid sun-sparkles,ripple the waters with my fingers,almost trap tiny slithering…
By: Selina Whiteley Tears of the Ariege, July 2012 The irradiated and toxic sun shinesagainst the agillate gulley, the discontinuous strata,like those misquoted, askew lines when you tryto quote Baudelaire. Gadolinium and radioisotopesglint on shale, like angry words in a…
By Robert Feinstein It wasthe last night of the seventh grade basketball tournament and Harry Levine still hadn’t been given a chance to play in it. Oh, he was on the class team all right. It was a rule that…
By Rowan Wolf This collection of short stories by Gaither Stewart, Signs of the Times, takes readers on a journey of the human drama; those questions that take us into and out of ourselves; those reflections that question time, history,…
By Gregory Barrett A Review of by Gaither Stewart’s Short Story Collection, SIGNS OF THE TIMES. Gaither Stewart is an expatriate American writer who lives in Rome and knows Europe well. Mr. Stewart’s agile intellect and life-tuned, refined aesthetic…
By Raymond Greiner Three summers past we experienced a horrid drought. Crops failed, ponds dried up and grass was brown creating an apocalyptic scene. The poplar trees took the biggest hit; we lost ten, yet some survived. It was a…
By Sheila Henry How can I ever be a poetwhen destiny has not yetknocked at my door!Muses show up daily, tho, asking“What you gonna pen today slacker?”Sounds muffled by cobwebs blocking my mindonly blankness appears on the pageinvisible are my…
By Keith LaFountaine The tenants in 217 had called Matthew about a mold problem, declaring it to be a “god damn national emergency”. The call had produced an eyeroll, the type his wife didn’t like, but looking at the…
By Eliza Mimski “Love comes when you least expect it, Lah. At least that’s been my experience.” Lah and Mr. P sat out in front of his Victorian home in aluminum lawn chairs. She’d helped him set up tables to…
By: Linda M. Crate your heroes are my villains dressed in black,they think:oh, must be a villain— but most of the heroesin my life wear black you can’t trust thosewho wear whiteno one is innocent anddriven pure as thesnow, and…