By: Tom Sheehan Two boys went to sea last night, riding an ice floe broken from the river dam, pilots at the helm. Some say a standard flew, brisk pennant’s wave, admiral’s flagship. I dream of water and ice, dread…
By: Patrick Peters James Joyce represents a microcosm of Irish life in the short story collection Dubliners. In a sequence of portraits, he recreates the native experience of Dublin as lived by a segment of its populace. Joyce gives the reader…
By: David Francis I am in the enchantment never to touch it like someone else’s garden but why worry if it touches me you do not touch the paintings in a museum I go along with that reasonableness There is doubtless…
By: David Francis I feel I know a side of you that no one but me knows I see you with the others and I feel lost I think: no, nothing in common exists between us as if an alarm went…
By: Chuck Orloski As a special favor for “America’s greatest ally,” the street smart President Donald Trump gave Benjamin Netanyahu his TracFone cell phone number – to be used for confidential conversations, only. With > 500 minutes remaining on the president’s…
By: Balu George Why is it said one must pass through darkness to re-enter the light? Why is it said re-enter and not enter? Why did Mr. Kane whisper rosebud on his deathbed? I like idly and white chutney, I also…
By: Gareth C He is a labourer of tobacco, margarine coloured finger tips rotting apple brown skin. Lungs struggling to inflate, or breath, though one day may fail to take him out; But he is happy with his rolled fag and…
By: Gareth C The moon had cooked up a stew of cloud, but blamed the sea. Serving it to the mountains that sat in their own height. We were hit first as rain sizzled on the tents skin. I watched the…
By: Ruth Deming She curves like the crescent moon tiny blossoms with Roman noses of deep character, serious flowers who know the importance of every single day, to treat well your brethren, bow before them, pass them food when they’re…
By: Angelo McCabe Though at Death’s door Or perhaps she at mine No one answers; what of that? And yet, my heart and soul hang by one last breath, the thinnest of twine. With myvery last ounce Like a fool I…