By James Aitchison Once revered for its convenience, plastic is becoming a curse.  Certainly, it was a curse for its inventor.  He died a lonely eccentric, bitterly at war with his son.  His wealth then became a curse for his…

By George Oliver 10:04 I don’t belong in here. I’m an unwelcome guest, greeted perfunctorily but never appreciated. I neither embrace nor dispel a narrative of escape, despite the possibility that I don’t have to be here.          I do belong…

By: James Aitchison Water: colourless, slippery, life-giving, eternal.  Deserts: dry, gritty, hostile, awesome.  Both the blue and desert humanities have diverse, textured relationships with humans.  Why are we so drawn to both? From vast, turbulent oceans to the local fountain…

By: Neven Dužević Dream about a fish (from the fish trilogy) I used to throw netsMuch without reason and without gravityI was catching all sorts of thingsSmall and large-mouthed fishMonkfish from the depthsAnd eels from the shallowsSea cats graze the…

By James Aitchison Being branded a traitor is bad enough, but having your name used to describe one is another matter entirely.  Today, dictionaries define a “quisling” as a traitor who collaborates with an enemy force occupying their country.  Many…

By: Sam Hendrian “Casualties” She was cursed with the rare giftOf etching tomorrow onto someone’s faceAs soon as the today she spent with themProved happier than every yesterday combined. Window-shopped at all the wedding stores within a hundred mile radius,Not…

By: James Aitchison It is never ours to condemn,lest we become the victim.The open mind knowsthe mystery of death.As time outlasts walls,so too the measured soulfinds freedom.Fear is the flamethat consumes trust;trust, next to love,the hardest human valueto give consistently.Believe…

By: Khemendra Kamal Kumar Round One: The Present Tears welled in Ballu’s eyes as his daughter’s name was announced. Sandhya Baldeo with a gold medal in her discipline. With the degree certificate in one hand, the gold medal in another,…

By: AJ David They say that on the night Baba Fagbemi died, freedom was born in the Ifesowapo village. It was like a caterpillar breaking free from its cocoon, a petal unfurling to bloom, a dog getting loosed and running…

(written while sitting in the Western NC forest in front of a beautiful horizontal oak) By: Carla Ramsdell (a physicists and tree hugger) Thank you for your life. There’s so much magic in the growth of your trunk and branches,…