By: Carl Papa Palmer They meet every morning, Chuck and Mac, 8am for coffee,twenty five cents a cup though everybody else pays a dollar. Dolly knows they’ll be here two hours. Each has their usual:grits, two eggs over easy, wheat…
By: Tamoghna Mukherjee Epiphany God is God because it reciprocates ourverbose prayers with silent oblivion.How closely we search for meaning inreminiscence, how assiduous our effortsare in eliciting metaphors from memory—but, you see, here, no action becomesmusic anymore, no scribbling incantation….
By: Ananya S Guha The hill town is nowA ‘ city ‘, screeching, honkingCars, upgrade it to a cityBut the hills remain indifferentWinter or summer, they areWitnesses to primordial timesThey are witnesses to thunderousRain claps, they are witnesses toDeserted roads,…
By Thomas Sanfilip To draw inspiration from a poet like Guillame Apollinaire—one of the foremost French poets of the early 20th century and who died over a hundred years ago—and to translate his work for a modern audience today is…
By: Mary Bone Wild Sage While walking to schoolI saw wild sagein an open pasture.A sweet aroma was floating aboutSage has an earthy flavor in food.It’s aroma therapy at its best. Pirates Cove A winding creekin a bamboo forest.There was…
By: Goutam Roy Deep withina remote Cumbrian cave,where silence has enduredfor millennia,lay a child—not yet four—whom archaeologistshave named Ossick Lass.She was laid to restwith quiet intention,in the early ageof Mesolithic people—one of the first tracesof human remembrance.Time has not preserved…
By: KJ Hannah Greenberg Panoply Magnificent displays of objects, some of okenite, others obsidian, arrangedPer social media’s dictates and other niche authorities’ mores, glitter akin toFool’s gold. Sadly, “impressive” arrays of goods often lack the beauty of Australian MistCats else…
By: Rose Blake Darkness When darkness settles—what happens to the light, what happensto laughter, what happens to mymight when darkness drownsthe corners of my room. I curl within and hold on—like I’ve got a friend in my inner tombwhen the…
By: James Aitchison (Scottish Mcdada attributed to the Gude Wallace, circa 1527) And thus Lord Scroope the young the fairsaw ships cleave the brine to whereglows the larch’s vivid greenand Bogles when first seenthrough the cordage sangthe hoar frost round…
By: Daniel Cartwright-Chaouki Wingspan A flock of gulls mob a blackbirdbeyond the garden fence Two stories higha fat shirtless man washes dishes at the sink We take the babyto visit the old man in the nursing home At the petrol…