By: Pijush Kanti Deb “The Lines are in turning mode” Spondylotic Linesstand face to facekeeping their eyes and hearts openas ifthey intent to intersect one anothertouchingthe epi-center of their pain and gainassumingthe Sun and the other ancillaries are stillhappy to…
By: Stephen Kingsnorth Fizzled The flame fizzled from first light,the history book at my finger tips:the roar red brand – a claimant mark –reminder where we had first met,now on my hand as hers had been,as if reluctant palms to…
By: Tapeshwar Prasad Pestilence How hurriedlyI open the faucetTo my burning throatAfter the toil of the day and the nightAnd how, more languidlyI try to tap off the waterof its flowFlowing drop by dropMingling the thirst andmy gloomy thoughts, in…
By: Okpeta, Gideon Iching Bleak: The place of plagues And i saw a forlorn of plague, at thedepth of the dessertAnd men under eaves kvetchingin awe with voices of lamentation.A hard time I have seen it.Indeed hell has decided a…
By: Bernard Pearson At the January Sales I see you through the window of a shopBut for once my heart no longer stops,For you are nothing to me now.You could buy me the world for all I careAnd wrap it…
By Michael Lee Johnson Flower Girl .(Tears in Your Eyes) Poems are hard to createthey live, then die, walk alone in tears,resurrect in family mausoleums.They walk with you alone in ghostly patterns,memories they deliver feeling unexpectedlythrough the open windows of…
By: Aruna Subramanian On a tumultuous nightof lashing rain,two souls sing alongrenouncing falsehoodrelieving this worldentering their own.She, his healing powerHe, her ray of hope.For him, SheFor her, He.It is raining everywhere,incomprehensible mysteryForbidden kisses…..
By John Grey THE GREAT UNKNOWN Benny bends over his guitar,picks licks between chords. from Clapton and Broonzy.Jeff Beck and Albert King and the kid he once wasplucking riffs out of the airin front of a full-length bathroom mirror as…
By: Alan Berger There is a soft breeze coming from a place I use to be A sweet gust between the two of us A truce of sorts if you want to call it that A sort of cease…
By: Woodie Williams Jim hopped out of his ancient, green pickup truck, slammed the rusty door shut and ambled towards us. The rest of us were hanging out in the shade beside Donnie’s house, not doing much of anything, waiting…