By: Deryn Cressey-Rodgers When we were young, we danced like GodsAnd burned like angels.Original sinners, sinning strongBut frailToo poor to pay the costOf crossing.Feinting, falling, freedom-fightersLiving off scraps from the grail-fires,As the brightest candleMust gutter before the rise of dayWe…
By: Sarvenaz Ghasemi The Madhouse of Ogden A cold and dark December nightLight of moon that is mourning whiteYou won’t feel the sun warmth when it riseWhat’s good of a heart when it just dies?Far deep beneath the waves of…
By: April Mae M. Berza Love is political. And so is lovemaking.Voting for democracy of desiresseemed illogical but we foughtfor this freedom as you expressedthe purest intentions to me.When we visited the parliamentof passion, you deflowered my soul.You governed my…
By: Ikera Olandesca hello doc. how are u? i dont want to sound paranoidor attention seeking hehe but my body is feeling superuseless lately. is that normal? is it normal to miss people so hard all your muscles cramp and…
By: Bruce Levine The snow had fallen steadily for an hour, already completely coating the lawn behind their house. The three little girls, Jane (age nine), Ellen (age seven) and Barbara (age five-and-a-half) stood at the long adjacent living…
By William T. Hathaway The financial wizards of Wall Street have devised a new way to profit from Mother Nature. They’ve created a class of stocks called Natural Asset Companies that will control the earth’s resources such as water, wildlife,…
By: Mini Babu He remained with themfor thirty uninterrupted yearswith habitual grandeurof bouts of revelations,at what times,He carpentered an extraordinarilyflawless table,for His mother to unwrap,her wishes for the familyas food,and at other times,He proceeded with thoroughlyhurried stepsto the limitsof peaks,…
By: Enrico Barigazzi Stubs The ashtray is filled of smolderingtracesthey’re representing the unrepentantscraps of a vanishing short timelapse images over images are bundled upby the slow hands of the futureminds are emptythe last midnight dreams have flowed outof the illusion…
By: S. A. Gerber Edgar Allan Poe carves the roast—Dorothy Parker stands to toast—Hemmingway begins to boast—Shakespeare sits with ‘Hamlet’s’ ghost. Blake, alas, not using rhyme—Emily Dickinson looks sublime—Virginia and Gertrude in their prime—Dylan Thomas pours more wine. Nathaniel West…
By: Amrita Valan I was a rather shy reserved kid, a little contrary, little droll, piping up to voice rather eccentric observations. Quiet, but opinionated. And demonstrations of this facet of me were available on various occasions. Like the time…