By: Pramod Rastogi Wistful Horizons Frail in the sirens of health,Withdrawn in pensive silence,I was a shadowed figure,A whisper in the din of social lives,Until the day she walked in,And friendship bloomed between us,Seemingly eternal,Like a dream turned tangible. I…
By: Yucheng Tao Where cold windcuts throughthe swaying treesbeneath black cloudsfloribundagrandifloraminiature roses bloomall over the garden—but the rose i seek is not herehummingbirdsrest in beams of lightbut i only want to hear god’s whisper after i was cast out i…
By: Deen Sayeedin Sense of suspensionSet out of subversionSuperfluous and scrumptious. Sacred senseStated behind the sunsetProfane sensePeers over the sunriseAmid an overflow of ultraviolet raysStimulate unholy atmospheresIntensifying suffocation and shrouding the sacred one. ### Deen Sayeedin is a student of…
By: Bruce Levine Standing atop a stairwayFive flights up Figurative images Revealing nothing A dearth of language Parsimoniously sifting Like flour through a strainer Paradoxical entries Oxymorons Fugitive from reality Breathing life into cadavers Frankenstein’s monster Awakened Yet not alive…
By: Bruce Levine Do you know what I like about Being old?Senior Discounts! I love to walk Into the grocery store On Wednesdays And say: YAY! – Old People’s Day!And get 5% senior discounts
By: James Aitchison Love binds when anger does not.Fear is the flame that consumesthe lightness in the human soul.Like walking on cloud,the wise man leaves no prints.He passes by unscathed.Shadows retreat from his path.Reality he embraces,shielded from weakness.He knows eternal…
[Kiriti Sengupta’s Selected Poems published by Transcendent Zero Press, Houston (Texas)] By Mitali Chakravarty “What if you weren’t a poet?” (“Intrinsic”) Well, he wasn’t. A poet. I am referring to Kiriti Sengupta, who began as a dentist and developed a…
By: Carl Papa Palmer Blue Tooth I ask how she’s doing. As if contemplating her answershe holds up a finger and begins speaking loudly,but not quite looking at me. She keeps turning away, gesturing to no one as I attemptto…
By: Ron Riekki 1 The Poet Laureate pulls me aside and tells me that the next Poet Laureate to be elected to his position is going to be white and it’s going to be a friend of his and…
By: Christopher Johnson New York, you are a blasphemous monster, a sybaritic Gomorrah, a never-ending explosion of neon lights. Your subways carve through the sinful soil and snake their way forward, walled with darkened tiles and clanking metal and pillars…