By: Pramod Rastogi A fiddle and a bow If I were a fiddle held with a buckleYou could hang me on your shoulderAnd bestride with pride your realmWhere none would dare contest you. If I were a fiddle and you…
By: Robert Levine In its Ideas section, the May 31, 2009 issue of the Boston Globe published an essay by novelist Alain de Botton entitled “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Data-Entry Supervisor.” Botton laments that many contemporary…
By: KJ Hannah Greenberg A Dearth of Compos Mentis Sanity’s too rare among apical players.Such persons prefer smoking lives toAiding their fellows through brambles. What’s more, too many ingles freezeWhen love’s parure get trafficked forTemporary passions, else importance. Today, short…
By: Carl Papa Palmer Abee seedyif gee age eye jakehay elm minnow peacue arrest tea hue feedub all you hexwise sea
By: Emalisa Rose Unpurpling the sycamore There’s two on the higher branch.Perhaps they’re conversing, in waitof the blonde one, to toss out someseeds again. One tips his wing; ready to sail thrucumulus. He lands, he takes off,in repetitive pattern, next…
By: John Muro Deliverance Wind gusts, strong enough to lift small boats fromThe surface of water, are pelting piers and hasteningThe undoing of long-leaning trees; shredding thickHedgerows in such a way the lower leaves tangleAnd spin like minnows in shallow…
By: Akshita Chaudhuri Firdaus,tell maa her daughter ran awayfrom home in search of a home.tell my mother I am alright;tell her I have my meals on timeand my heart breaks into morepieces as her sobs reverberatethrough the dungeons of my…
By: George Freek LATE AUTUMN AFTERNOON (After Tu Fu) Those distant cloudswill soon be overhead,bringing rain or snow.The flowers will be dead.Squirrels play mindless games.It’s what suits their brains.Flowers and squirrelsare soon past their prime.But as I drink my wine,I…
By: Galen Cunningham Wasp Stings Wasp sting litanies across hairs strongenough to twine earth and hell;wings with wind strong enough to takeroofs off the stone baked houses.Their needling alarm will wakeone’s senses to the burning sun,leaving a thick and red…
By: Carl “Papa” Palmer Icicles always fat at their topstapering down toward the ground,time frozen in melted dropsfrom eaves around the town.They drip in the day,refreeze at night,melt away,out ofsight