By: Josephine Rudolf I was still a little girl when we first met, but now I’m 20 and he’s still there. He found me when I was running through an endless maze, desperately trying to escape from hell. For the…
By: Jim Bates Dark rain clouds liftingBright sunshine cascadingTranscendental day. Deep woods forest pathLeafy green canopy aboveSleepy shade below. Springtime misting rainTender garden shoots reachingThirstily drinking. Fresh lilacs bloomingLily-of-the-valley tooSpringtime scent so sweet.
By John RC Potter “You did so, I saw you,” I exclaimed to my friend, “I told you not to look that wingnut in the eye but you did anyway!” “I barely looked at her,” she retorted, “but she had…
By: Abu Siddik The orange sun is peeping throughThe twisted branches,Trucks, buses, and cars are speedingOn the highway The old man by the road is mending the yard—Carrying a bag of white sand, a pail of water,A piece of wood…
By: Thomas Sanfilip Sitting on a white terrace in the hills above Lerici, meditating on the idyllic blue waters of the Ligurian coast, I remember the words that began my first book of poetry—and the poetry I began writing several…
By: Mayumi Yamamoto 1.When I was smallat an age unknown,someone told me thatin South Africa,angels were black,not white. In South Africa,they had apartheid as the racial segregation system based on colourwhere black people were not allowed to share facilities with…
By: KJ Hannah Greenberg Field Trip Before masks and hand gel were commonplace,At a time when Internet was a science fiction trope,School districts chartered buses, bid kids to pack lunches,Sought “wild” adventures at free, public gathering places. One such quest…
By: Sanchari Dasgupta Deranged diagram of domestic violence Body pains and disagreements,shattered glass, pieces lying on the floor,you listen to rock songsand sleep on the bed while I,lie on the sofa curled up in a ballwishing that I lay on…
By: Sushant Thapa What do you cherishAfter tired steps?There is a retiring soulThat speaks oftenBefore it diminishes.Life is a ticking clock,I hear the strikeFrom the clock tower.I find myself a wayTo look out of theCalm window,But I see speedAnd the…
By: J.K. Durick Bookshelves It’s something the way they line upon the shelf, a bookcase filled withthem. Their titles and colors sittingthere quietly as if they are waitingfor someone to come over, pick oneof them up and open it and…