By: J. K. Durick Fading Into Sitting here like this, it’s the snap of timethe slap of time – minutes, hours, whole days,weeks fading into – into… Perhaps it’s time’s wing’d chariot, or just that’57 Plymouth my brother took me…
By: Carl Papa Palmer We raised rosesrelished by usand by the loads of lovely ladybugs,tended thymetrimmed by usand by our overabundance of bunnies,weaved wisteria for usand for the haven of one hundred bird nests. We transplanted tulipstreasured by usand by…
By: Michael C. Seeger Field Notes from a Far Place in the Mind Between vision’s palette and the processof its understanding and potential —an irrefutable question rattlesthe cold mind’s eye contravening everysteepled ritual from childhood forward —What replaces the irreplaceable?…
By: Jim Bates Frosty snowy moonThin clouds serenely driftingNight so softly veiled.
By: Pramod Rastogi Harvesting Happiness Clouds brim with ambitions insaneAnd top up their tank with nostalgiaReady to besiege the barren farmlands.Here tears spatter in smoky plumesAnd in dance pose is the paddy farm. The sun is large in the sparkling…
By: Ursula O’Reilly STORM Rain is pounding tearsOnto my windowpane.Oozing tears intoThe abandoned forest. Wind wails in the treetops.The forest sways and creaks,Anticipating the worst.Water soaks leaves and grass. The waterlogged earth groans.Stout storm clouds gather,Soon to burst.The storm will…
By: Ruvindra Sathsarani The darkness, singsInOccasional chimesof how you cannotcoincidewith the saving ofhis soul, and it isn’tsimpleto wave your hand inair and tellthe world howan explosionsomewhere elsewas staged, stampedand launched, in seconds,and reason outwhythere were few dropsof bloodon your palms….
By: Bobby Zielinski The Ukraine Dream, with streets, once paved with gold,now filled with bombed-out buildings and military detours.the Dream has now been put on hold. Once dreaming of greatness, and awaiting just rewards,which Putin has attempted to vanquish, will…
By: Mini Babu Once you nearly dieyou turn unafraid,you request for two days,to assort life. Trust me,you do not focus onwhat people think you would. . . Rather,you recall your first love,you retrieve the dayyou drew nearyour best friendbrushing sides,you…
By: Ken W. Simpson Gratuitous Living The well of loneliness is dry and emptya sad, inhospitable placewithout love or the affection of a canaryfertilised by human’s follyand the febrile and fractious friendshipsfermenting as happinesssocially addictive but good for businessin an…