By: Michael C. Keith Nearly all the best people are dead! –– Punch “Hey, I ate a freaking jar of Pickled Snake Head Fish washed down by African Pee Cola, so you can do this,” declared Howie Clarkson. “Yeah,…
By: Kousik Adhikari In the colored morning of light Twenty insects hover Under the thick edge of green leaves In a wishful play, Like your coming after several storms Like you have to say something just now, It makes me conscious of…
Cara Andréa, I am staying on Rue Marcadet it could be said to be la belle quartier, it starts from Rue Caulaincourt like St Germaine and ends on Rue Clignancourt the veritable ghetto. I am typing from a Parisian brasserie…
By Fayroze Lutta To you, Your surname means youthful, tender, smooth and in French pronounced souplé and all for me crémeuse. As you talk to a crowd you have an awkward stammer and stutter, slightly punctuating your speech .The way…
By: Vanessa K. Eccles The most basic writing advice writers ever receive is “write what you know,” but why is that so important? Behind all believable fiction, there is some true experience that the writer drew from his/her own emotions…
By: Natana Vasuki Linda Goodman was an ace American astrologer, writer and poet. All her works speak volumes about astrology. She had her own poetic voice and poetic technique of using astrological symbolisms in her poems. She was always deeply…
Beyond Pipes and Dreams by Leena Gandhi Tewari is a biography of her late husband. “Many years ago (seven to be precise) I embarked on a journey to discover my roots and to pen down what I thought is the…
By: Claire Scott Every Sunday my mother serves burnt lima beans doused in bitterness and butter. Her special recipe. We tumble in from church where my father sings Bach in the filtered light of stained glass saints. Us kids in…
By: Claire Scott They say a place of healing They say for your own good Doctors with white coats flapping, Starched storks armed with prescription pads like flight attendants. Coffee, tea, wine? Zyprexa, Geodon, Seroquel? Mix and match from day to…
By: Bob Kalkreuter Sometimes I think about my life before Cedar Springs. Before Leila. Before all hell broke loose. Although I’ve only been gone a month, it seems like forever. Like something that happened when I was three or…