By: Janis Butler Holm Karen Leick’s Gertrude Stain and the Making of an American Celebrity (Routledge, 2009) refutes the persistent notion that Stein, as a high-modernist aesthete, labored in relative obscurity, unknown to the American public, before the wildly successful publication…
By Michael Mogel Tire tracks fade in winters freeze A drunken winter – a spring time tease Brown pine needles slip from boughs Mittens drop to the wooden floor Wandering at night alone Watched from a winter window Like children…
By: James G. Piatt Idols of Stone Idols of stone, the remains of the ancient times of dinosaurs, pharaoh’s, pagan priests, kings, and tyrants, rest on tiny pebbles in a soft forest grove. They are silent during the day but speak…
By: Daniel de Cullá “Autumn Spider” (Song Caminos Rancheros/Fall Equinox 1975/Gioia). The Great Blafigria, Vol. II E III Once there was a spider Just finishing her web But autumn came With red and yellow leaves, and the wind That blew her…
By: Aditya Malhotra What can one see staring at a mirror? * * * Am I the one picked up among skein Or looking at someone more alive? Who giggles seeing me chase my tail Warms up in mouth to mouth…
By: Alex Phuong Michigan writer, Carol Smallwood is currently one of the most prolific authors writing today. Credited with numerous books, she continues to publish poetry on a wide variety of topics. She has also received acclaim for her artistic merit and…
By: Connie Woodring Birth… No choice here. An infant is placed on a roller coaster seat. The operator asks nonchalantly, “Oops! Did I fasten the seat belt?” after the car has made its initial climb. Gender… An exaggerated, distorted extravaganza of…
By: Milt Montague One particularly bright and sunny spring day back in the middle 1960’s Uncle Ralph walked into our store on Madison Avenue and announced that he and his wife May had just arrived from their home in Miami…
By: Anupama Kadwad Rocking back and forth with a creaking sound can still envision him sitting on the chair At the strike of seven rushed to catch our place by his feet tiny eager faces waited in anticipation huddled close by…
By: Constance Woodring Every day we hear your name, you always sound the same. You got war in your nose. It doesn’t matter where you buy your clothes. You’re a shot in the dark, waiting to make your mark. We can…