By: Enda Boyle Mermaids Before the sightings came the radar pingsand the lovely songs on the whale sonarThen came the first fleeting glimpses.Rumours were passed among fishermenof flickering figures on the wave’s crest Eventually a mermaid was discoveredon a busy…
By: Aneri Upadhyay “a lover’s loneliness” Your soul lives in all that is life.Every raindrop, every snowflakeis a personification of you.I look outside,only to see the cul-de-sac wherewe learned how to ride our bikes.I turn on the radio,only to hear…
By: JLF Maikaho Upon a dying star You stare into the night skyHoping to find your place among the starsYou can’t see themBut you know they’re there Your eyes, fixed into the darknessbeg for light A spark of joy flickers…
By: Sukrita Paul Kumar Preoccupation The passageto my mindisdark and long. Lost,I often remainat the world’s endstitching the holes in my memoryliving in the past tenseand cooking thenext meal ### A Borrowed Existence The still-born worldtrembles out of its stillnesswhen…
By: Carl Papa Palmer At the restaurant a cell phone rings. Those around the table jumpas if receiving an electric shock,reach for their pocketslike some saloon gun slingerhollered, Draw! I continue to eat, untethered.I’m retired.
By: Carl Papa Palmer Not a party line like the wild winding party line of congas dancing one-two-three-kick across-the-floor and out- the-doornor a party line like the Democrat or Republican political party line voting along their party line,but a type…
By- Medha Godbole Singh I walk and walkTill my muscles screamMy tendons tear apartI walk and walkTill my thoughtsCompletely consume meMy mind running amuckI walk and walk tillMy breath gives wayAnd everything around me goes numbI walk and walkTill the…
By: Ed Nichols My neighbor, Smitty, came over to my house the otherafternoon. We were sitting in the living room talking. Aboutthe world situation and so on. The talk finally got around tothe problems everyone in town were having with…
By: Thomas Meagher The Ballad of Sharon and Mark Sharon Murphy hoards pencils and writes invented wordsThen hides them under desks attached to gum and oozing secretionsLike sap from the beech tree outside the school grounds And Mark Flanagan with…
By: Roger G. Singer FIRST BREATH it was a placelong past the roadof shredded ribbonsand baskets of tears it was an openingwith a first breathunder a night skywith a suddensliver of moonexposing recklesswingswhere no onejudged saintsor sinners since todaystarts againtomorrow…