By: Daniel de Culla Where are you going, James Hilton? Where are you going, sad about you? -I’m looking for my Lost Horizons On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal In Baskul, Afghanistan. -If Tomás Moro is already dead In…
By: Daniel de Culla Where are you going, James Hilton? Where are you going, sad about you? -I’m looking for my Lost Horizons On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal In Baskul, Afghanistan. -If Tomás Moro is already dead In…
By: Johnny Gardner What I write is supposed to explain me But to limn is to betray me; how I portray my life, Revealing me, for who I am underneath. The sides of me most would never see, but believe. I…
By: Ian Fletcher Night is falling drawing the day into its own oblivion a day like all days unique, irretrievable by word or image or the world’s recall. So it is with me for my night falls and my oblivion calls….
By: Minako Biedenbach My boyfriend always lies right to my face My ex has a nice new car and it’s black It’s time I put my boyfriend in his place And if he’s smart then he’ll shape up his act I’m…
By: Minako Biedenbach I’ll jump on a yellow canoe to get to the zoo to the zoo who knew get a new hairdo then go back to the parents no that won’t do I’ll live in shack they won’t fight back…
By: Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya Jesus’s disciples asked: teach us to pray. Today, crying or cursing, we seek “Our Father …” Our careers are thorny, we reap backstabs, gossip and sin. Our daily bread is hormone filled protein. Our enemies who are not…
By: Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya In death’s chokehold of despair and ranging fire of desire, in smashing murmur of the world, “Look for the Savior” I’m told. Who heard Nathaniel’s secret prayer, And called him out of despair? Who saw Zacchaeus on a…
By: Anupama Kadwad Odor is such a strong sense many beautiful memories linked with it. Exhilarating smell of mud after the first rains. Invigorating smell of incense sticks linked with prayers. Exuberant smell of new books associated with first day of…
By: Anupama Kadwad Rocking back and forth with a creaking sound can still envision him sitting on the chair At the strike of seven rushed to catch our place by his feet tiny eager faces waited in anticipation huddled close by…