By: Enda Boyle After chart and charter were drawn up the battle-bugle sounded over A Coruña a fleet was anchored in the harbour. One-hundred-and-thirty ships furnished with bleached sails and gilded crosses awaited the orders of Duke Medina. On the…
By: Paul Smith Free Parking Is there any chance could it be that all our problems could be solved by parking for free or maybe just a lot with a modest fee? Imagine this connect the dots our globe connected…
By: Robert Levine An interesting but often overlooked subspecies of narrative verse is biographical poetry, relating the life story of a real person; a well-read friend of mine told me he didn’t know such poetry existed. Robert Penn Warren pioneered…
By: Daniel de Culla I woke up from a deep sleep And I came to the fields Leaving the bedroom And, as sorcerer and wizard I rose up to a leafy tree For watching sunrise. With great silence, softly The…
By: Keith Moul The Cratered Road to Malancourt: Doughboys Face the Meuse-Argonne Our general plows the muddy clay, then coughs: “Gentlemen, I approve the corps, division and regimental battle plans, without amendment.” Craters before Malancourt lie equaled beyond, a formation…
By: Suchoon Mo a man and a woman walk on the deserted beach side by side hand in hand they are going somwhere or nowhere his footprints are left behind him her footprints are following her ocean waves groan ocean…
By: Samuel Guest a walk spanning several blocks morning doves shuffling along front lawns as cardinals recite poetic verse in flocks of three to five the smell of burning firewood follows my stepfather and i around every bend before we…
By: John Drudge The Quarter Their love was secure As he walked From the couch To the kitchen And when she looked up And smiled at him While she worked On a puzzle at the table He felt it He…
By: Lola Stansbury-Jones We see death when we see crows. And so the murder gathers, with the break of dawn’s light. I wake with the crows, little winged messengers with coats as black as spilt ink. With what news do…
By: Annapurani Vaidyanathan In the library this morning, when I was picking up the books I had dropped while standing in the queue. I thought I saw your hazel eyes look up for a tick from the pile of newspapers…