By James Aitchison In 1944, Australian surrealist poet and publisher Max Harris opened a packet of poems on his desk in Adelaide.  The poems had been submitted for publication in Harris’s avant-garde arts journal Angry Penguins.  Harris, in his own…

By: James Aitchison (Scottish Mcdada attributed to the Gude Wallace, circa 1527) And thus Lord Scroope the young the fairsaw ships cleave the brine to whereglows the larch’s vivid greenand Bogles when first seenthrough the cordage sangthe hoar frost round…

By James Aitchison How much power should any nation have?  And what responsibilities, if any, come with that power? During the Cold War, the United States was a benevolent hegemon, helping its allies rebuild after World War II, and founding…

By: Daniel Cartwright-Chaouki Wingspan A flock of gulls mob a blackbirdbeyond the garden fence Two stories higha fat shirtless man washes dishes at the sink We take the babyto visit the old man in the nursing home At the petrol…

By: Claudia Lopez Where once embroiled in a cool embrace,You stand away, the picture of disgrace:Behind, a fallen fruit, a rotten pair,Where once was love, dark hatred fills the air.How could she leave you playing on your own?The monkey bars…

By Tristen Eason             A handsome man, adept at growing tall in his youth, Sean always arrived through the campus buildings to greet me with a smile and offer to buy me and any other friends with me a coffee….

By Douglas Young      Clyde Thompson and Sedona Watts held hands driving up the rural, two-lane highway. They had almost reached the mountainous Thadeus Holtzclaw State Park where Sedona had tried to get Clyde to go camping for years. Though…

By: Cynthia Pitman The Art of Immortality La Roche-Cotard Cave in Franceand Ardales Cave in Spain,inhabited by Neanderthalsat least 60 millennia ago,have revealed on their wallsexpressions of art.Straight and curving flutingsmade by fingertips dragged through clayand crowds of handprints stenciledwith…

By: Byron Beynon. AFRICAN DAISIES The family who’d movednext to my father’s houseasked the name of the flowersthat grew outside his porch.“African Daisies”, he said.Unfolding with the sunthey open like a greeting,an innocent warmtha remedy of colourswhich smileeach one a…

By: James Aitchison When daylight sets,grief shrinks the strongest.We who survive walk innights darker now,and shadows corruptthe sunlight.We grieve another’ssparse moment of existence,their speck of sand in time,and when the blows and pain are over,a soul that seeks no morewill…