By: Connie Woodring I don’t blame you for hating women, but let’s start at the beginning. Born of ova (female) and sperm (male) you can only divest yourself from half of your existence.Your first sensations are of safety, comfort, warmth…
By: Rehanul Hoque Provided you are my sweetheartBorrowing tints from aurora I will dye your silkWearing that silk, you will come to knowHow much of labor, exhaustion, decadence and miseryLurk beneath a thing of beauty. Provided you are my sweetheartYou…
By: K. A. Williams Here I am in a long line waitingfor my chance at some blindfold dating. This college party thing is weird – no doubt.But it should be fun to try it out. The girls and guys names…
By: Jules (my apologies, Williams) so much dependsupon a blue protectivecloak drenched with sweatand acrylic beside the pale whitebodies ### Jules, 23, is a literature student and instructor. He likes to read counter-intuitive and experimental poems. Some of his poems…
By: John McKernan I AM ALWAYS WAITING For a tiny splinterOf wood Long as this letter lThat weighs moreThan a baseball bat It will enter my skullAt a 90 degree angleAnd leave in two secondsI won’t even know it was…
By: Sushant Thapa Absence As I ask the eveningmy prayers to healI am like a moth circlingthe white bulb of never dying painSomeone will pass by andswitch the bulb off.Sometimes, the sunshinedoes not glow;I am left untouched by it.The moon…
Dr. Gulshan Ara (Dedicated to the Doctors, Nurses & the first Responders: The Heroes in the front line) It feels strange, our world looks like an alien planetBarren, seemingly lifelessHumans caged in home, doors shut tightStreets desolate, neighborhoods and playgrounds…
Analysis: Poet Wordsworth’s ‘The Solitary Reaper’ and Poet Nazrul’s ‘My Lover Without a Name’
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By: Dr. Mustofa Munir ABSTRACT:Poet Wordsworth as a narrator manipulated the image of an unknown solitary girl while she was singing and reaping crops in the valley of Scottish Highland. The other narrator Poet Kazi Nazrul Islam narrated his anguish…
By: John Van Dreal Ghost At a divey place just off the sound, between Bellingham andFerndale. A rich palette of neon lighting, booze advertisements,dozens of small TVs featuring sports and sitcom reruns fillingthe den—the bar owners have made the interior…
By: Shailja Sharma That House That house was a bubbleInevitably it burstIts walls had sketched outmy identityThe roof protected itPlenty of sunshinewindowed in and outFor good, the doors neverfirmly lockedInside was a randomness ofsights and sounds inwhich I belonged—The rattlingof…