By: Dr. Roger G. Singer BACK ALLEY a single lineof open space,a passagebetween agingbrick wallsshadowed withmoments of sun,where liesand promisespause randomly,standing unsteadyin conversation,whispering likethieves,discussing secretsuntil choosingseparate pathsto unknowns ### CLEARLY he sits,sipping his teaon a porchbefore meadowsand mountainsfamiliar to hisvoice…
By: Sultana Raza Forced to shelter indoors in 1818, the year without a summer, Mary Shelley brought one of the most famous monster to life at the Villa Diodati in Geneva. Little would she know that the spring and autumn…
By Abraham Ajani Fear and hate are the only feelings Akam has for his dead father while he watches his bride’s father walk her down the aisle. Fear because his father always appears in his dreams like he always threatened….
By: Shahbaz Khayambashi It was no different from any other day. She woke up once again, having no idea that, today, her life would end. *** Valerie awoke to a new day with the sound of her ringing cell phone….
By: Paweł Markiewicz A dreamed ship has gone agroundat the most marvelous and dreamiest afterglow.The mast adverts to orientation ofa tender Morning star.Seafarers died at midnightfeeling the sea-like fantasy.The wind wrenched a canvas,such a Golden Fleece,to the piratical islands.The sea…
By: Moulay Cherif CHEBIHI HASSANI The suffering sun eclipses and takes its distanceTired of our funeral chants and slandersRegrets are hard to be found in its cooled shelves.Since then, our madness has been emboldened by its false defects. The fog…
By: James Bates I remember hearing the song by Three Dog Night, “One Is the Loneliest Number,” and thinking, Yeah, that’s me. All by myself. No one cares. Now I see that thought for what it really was, a cry…
By: Amrita Valan The mind is a repository, a church,A museum, a junk yardAn attic, a trunk,Stashed away with treasures, puzzlesGems, obsolete ciphers. I have been seeingThe tiny corner tableFrom early childhood todayWith the cumbrousBlack telephone atop. Recalling calls received…
By: S.M. Moore “my thoughts on an obituary” An elegance tends to possess the mindIn dismayI hear about the wind floating along the sea foamAnd how it brushes over the wave caps A woman says: my lover, my lifeYou have…
By: Dennis Vannatta Mid-winter this past year, I lost the ability to write. Of course, what you are presently reading is writing of a sort, but I’m here speaking of Writing with a capital W. The real stuff. The…