By: Richard LeDue Blunt Trauma The poems have gonequiet,like breathless swearingthat only exists in your headafter dropping a couch on your toe,but you still clear space in your living roombecause what are Saturday afternoons for?Finding crumbs everyone forgot about,only to…
By: Ian C. Smith Leave’s End Her, crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,a tableau I longed to see again.I stared at him, a stranger to me.Her crushed to his brass buttons, khaki,at our opened door where I could seethrough a…
By: Annapurna Sharma MY HEART TRAPPED… I mused –my story was no differentfrom the one my grandma croonedin my baby years,about the Mantrik and his hearttrapped in a wee bird,in a cage. When I first saw her –she made me…
By William T. Hathaway Our world now writhes like a wounded worm, helplessto escape its torment, blindto the cause but blaminga bug: “Stop it, stomp it, strangle it!Too late – inside us, breeding into billions of bugs!Kill them, poison them!But…
By: Jake Cosmos Aller Good-Bye 2021 Good Riddance Reflecting on the last six yearsOne cannot but senseThat momentous thingWere happening everywhere 2021 was worst than 2020And the year before as wellNonstop terrifying events The world seemsTo be spending outOf control…
By: James Aitchison The poem came in the night,out of the stilly darkness,each word crystalline,each line exact,the whole effect polished,perfect, perfect!,I dare say edible,hovering a millimeterbeyond my consciousness;but with the dawncame the blankness,the poem’s absence palpablein the streaky light.
By: Jack Henry the ‘i’m still here’ days i hear people talking about them good ole days,back in high school,back at the quad or in the gym,at a pep rally before the big game.how those might have been the best…
By: James Aitchison The world is my loom,The wheel spins,The Voice speaks.You do not have to waituntil death.Only man makes complexities toconfuse the real and the eternal.Heed not the Self,come forward and I,with foreknowledge,will guide you.Know then your allotted tasks,and…
By Prathap Kamath Trance the dog came aroundthe pileat the same hoursniffed it and fell in a trance the pile had been therefrom the beginning the dog wasa later happening i was watching fromthe balconyand to my bourgeoning senseof finding…
By: Irena Kovačević INSIDE Sprinkle on me the ashes of the old daysand rub it into the collarbonesof my new insides. Press into the touch moldsthe words of this one that floweda torrent of tidesof your waves. Soak up the…