The distinctive voice of Irish-born Denise Ryan is strikingly captured in the debut collection of selected poems ‘Of Silken Waters’ that offers an immediate entry into her world, but also expresses an implicit realism that consistently sustains their compelling thematic…
By: Julia Knowlton I. Your desire and failing light are the same. If I could I would make tea leaves out of you; to read. Their amber odor sweet. My private book. Your slightest look easily will unclose me, cummings mused,…
By: Julia Knowlton Do we travel for this—non-meaning, non-belonging? Now on the grey clock, I do not owe you a thing. You cannot know if I will ever come home. Here, strangers are the same as the people I love…
By: Ndifreke George If I could see pain and its thorns that make us cry If I could see war and its pinging bullets that shatters our haven If I could see hardship and its merciless whip that saps our wellness…
By: Ndifreke George Unsaid words fill my mouth Like butterflies They want to fly Like the birds They want to be free Free to be seen by those eyes Which have stayed awake They want to be heard by those ears…
By: S.CS Why do they call it a restroom anyway? I can’t remember the last time i went there to rest. Possibly never. And are you one of those people who keeps a stack of books in there so you…
By: S.CS What business do you have traveling through my dreams as though you owned them? You and all your teasing and talkin’ at me, flirting and then drifting away. I can’t hold you in this place, but then, come to…
By: S.CS “I have heard that voice many a time when asleep and, what is strange, I understood more or less an order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue: day draws near, another one, do what you can.” –Czesław Miłosz…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick Two mimes busy themselves; fabricating a view of the world Adults chuckle, children giggle Where the mimes go, people ensue One mime trapped, an invisible box concocts perplexity Hands perpetually moving Sides, top, bottom; no segment…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick sometimes I cry…sometimes I cry because the pain is so intense…sometimes I cry because my leg won’t budge, not a single inch…sometimes I cry because the unknown is so uncertain…sometimes I cry because I am forgotten…sometimes…