By: Jim Bates Mourning Dove cooingSweet sure sign of early springCalming to the soul. Briskly blowing windWaves lapping along the shoreSpecial serenade. Bitter blowing windIce and snow pelting windowsSpring stepping backward. First day of AprilLight fluffy snowflakes fallingSuch a fickle…
By: Don Tassone Jayden knew his father was home because he could hear his parents’ raised voices downstairs. To him, that sound was like nails on a chalkboard. He’d been looking at the news. Not that he was…
By: James Aitchison Take refuge in theinner self, the pure heartof your being.This is the storehouseof your soul, where thevoice speaks in the coreof the subconscious.Here are all your life’sactions and emotions,the hopes and the goodness,the self that has livedall…
So, you’ve got a tattoo that you’re not so thrilled about anymore. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, or perhaps your tastes have simply changed over time. Whatever the reason, you’re now considering tattoo removal. But where do you even…
By: Bruce Levine Picasso Good artists borrow Great artists steal A Picasso quote I look in the mirror I see myself And yet I paint With Picasso strokes Picasso lines Picasso designs Am I possessed By Picasso? Do I have…
By: James Aitchison From 1270 to 1974, Ethiopia was ruled by a dynasty which claimed descent from the son of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. For 700 years, despite no evidence to support its legitimacy, the Solomonic Dynasty…
By: James Aitchison A flute playsin the snowas the soulexaminesthe self,each noteresonatingin the eternalsilence,and the fibresof truth are woveninto a clothof gold.
By: Cynthia Pitman to the Harmeling sisters, Fran and Lilah My little sister has the Vision.Born breach at midnight,she was guided into the worldby the gnarled handsof the old shaman-midwife.When my sister wouldn’t stop crying,the shaman spun a spelland gave…
By: Sandy Fishnets Only God could see his hand trembling as he dragged the brush across the canvas. It wasn’t him painting—it was something else, something desperate, something screaming for release. The strokes came faster, more erratic, as though the…
By: John Ziegler The Black Strap We snitched coins from the Japanese lacquer trayon father’s dresser, cigarettes from mother’s pocketbook. Manners were taught by father. No elbows on the dinner table.No singing.Robert hummed. No humming. Don’t talk with your mouth…