By: Ramzi Albert Rihani Unscathed When the wind blows in directions, North and SouthAnd the earth vibrates like echoes in a chorus When belief becomes the envy of the skepticAnd doubt takes center stage on the altar of piety When…
By: Jim Bates A stuffed animal?No not to the young boyMore than a Christmas giftShe was soft oh so softFluffy and whiteCuddly secureHe called her Snowflake. Sick in the hospitalBright lights glaringMonitors beepingShe kept him companyThankfullyUnrelentingly lonelinessDeepest darkest nightLong hours…
By: Ron Wetherington His skull rests on my desk with others from his family of fossils.The Old Man of La Chapelle-aux-Saints, ill-fated,misinterpreted among the Neanderthals. Cruelly symbolic, still:a dim-witted approximation of humanness, they say,too primitive for language, they say,unprepared for…
By: Tom Ball I Other than the fact that Martina, was so sexy, I, Edgar, saw a sparkling intelligence. And she said, “I am regarded as one of the top 10 intelligences in the World. I want to clone…
By Linda S. Gunther It was 4:00 p.m. on Thursday afternoon when Gavin Harbison applied the shaving cream to his face and neck. He picked up his razor, preparing himself mentally for his job as waiter on the night shift…
By: Debabrata Mohanty Spring bids us adieuwishing all under warm care—sunshowers sans clouds
By Karen Lee Stradford You’re all plugged in,amplified.Long neck,flat, pear-shapedwonder. I awaitthe piercing soundof your strings. I am happy.You move meto a thunderousapplausewhenever you playThe Blues.
By: Christopher Johnson He mounts the bandstand like straddling a stallion, his hair in a magnificent pulsating swirl, his suit narrow and twisty, his shoes sharp and pointed, a gold chain caressing his neck, his eyes covered with Eighties wire-rim…
By Mike Hickman They were called woods. And you were supposed to roll them. Not bowl them. The name of the game was somewhat of a misnomer. And the white ball at the end, that was the target. If…
By: Richard LeDue A Living Poem I’m still aliveas long as you read this,even after silence tells methe truth about godsand worms wonder whymy eyes taste nothinglike apples. ### A coffee stained collected love poems of Pablo Nerudawhispers midnight regretsas…