By: Jonathan Butcher Those faces once again crawl from between the pavements and orange brick houses and straight through the neat lawns and new builds. They slowly echo off each wall, but fail to melt into one single voice. That false…
By: Jonathan Butcher In that narrow underpass the badly fitted lights struggle and flicker. The tags and stickers which adorn them cast miniature shadows that appear against our skin like bruises, that refuse to heal until covered. We’re neither approached or…
By: James Aitchison I rambled on down the Spanish Steps one day And found the house. The voluptuous guide Made me wonder: Was she in love with the dead? Her eyes seemed to kiss the portrait of Keats, His frail face…
By: Gale Acuff Miss Hooker is my girlfriend in my dream and I’m on one knee proposing, my right because my left is bad but if it took a little more pain to pop it I would, that’s how much I…
By: Gale Acuff In the middle of her story about Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life I fell in love with Miss Hooker, she’s my Sunday School teacher and death’s hard enough to live with but to think that it will…
By: Gary Van Haas How Noble Are We… Who move our brothers & sisters to battle, Bone, blood and flesh lay ridden o’er the fields. How Noble Are We… To live in conjecture and false premise, allowing blackened politicians rule…
By: Lorna Wood Now when I wake up and see the sun, relentlessly bright on the leaves, it glares a threat as I remember. When I write, I must ask myself, Will this help? When I play music, the same. When…
By: Rob Chirico My books on magic? The Waite, the Yeats, the Blavatsky? All gone. After all, what is magic but the art of making things disappear. My feat was not art of artifice, it was truth. And, truth be told,…
This month marks the 70th anniversary of the death of Wolfgang Borchert, a young German writer who was seriously wounded in World War II then imprisoned for resistance activities. Physically destroyed, he lived only two years after the war. During…
By: Adrian Slonaker Wolves should be snarlingly brutal, not pining meekly for your meaty feet shod with Earth shoes. Wolf-tails shouldn’t wag when wolf-ears are stroked by your bloodstone- and onyx-ringed fingers. Wolves should display dominance, not yielding to tameness when…