By: KJ Hannah Greenberg Apposite Ever apt per circumstances, select acts prove themselves asNever ending reminders of moments when troubles, elsewiseStormed against personal citadels, nearly smash to smithereens. In relationship to squatted trucks as well as budding ramie plants,Binned dreams…
(seen at rue Raynouard, Passy) By: James Aitchison It is small.It is plain.The literature shaped on its surfaceshaped its surface — see, it isworn concave in the centre by aweighty arm moving across it,back and forth, back and forth,writing, writing,…
By: Pradeep Trikha This essay critically examines the poetry of Kiriti Sengupta, situating his work within the broader evolutionary trajectory of his literary oeuvre. It argues that Sengupta occupies a highly specialised, singular niche in contemporary Indian English poetry by…
By: Jim Murdoch He Said, She Said (for Carrie) I gave my wife a cute pendant(of a bird because she likes birds)and she said, “Mm. What’s this?”and I said, “It’s new. They extract a bit of your loveand science it…
By: Bruce Levine My internal clock is set at ManhattanI face the world with a jaded point of viewManhattanites are chauvinistic, snobbish, opinionatedAnd relentlessly focused Manhattan energy drives our universeLike the taxies forge the streetsIn a frontal assault Art, history…
By: J.K. Durick It’s Like That Our personal past hangs aroundAlways ready to reappear in Dreams, in recollections, in Whole scenes that are there Waiting to become again. I’m In a meeting with colleagues We’re talking, laughing about Some college…
By: Paul Bavister Love Poem I think back through the spiny mammalsscoffing yolk from dinosaur eggsto leggy fish skittering at the swamp’s edgethen even further back to spinning jellyfishand single cells in electric soupwhen the earth was still too hot…
By: James Aitchison In life, the only reality —the true reality —is Eternity.It is infinite andimmutable.No human hand hasshaped it.No human handcan control it.Craft your lifenot for the ephemeral,but for the eternal.In doing so,the ferocity withinevery man’s heartcan be woven…
By: Bruce Mundhenke The Seven Stars The seven stars are old.Many eyes have gazed at them in the night,their pattern constant,beacons of light.Almost eternal,but in time,only the Old One will remain.All else will pass,except for what He chooses to retain….
By: Camela B. Gabia “A Message to Max” In my hectic busy day,I always hear your laughter far away.Each work I do, each step I take,I can feel the ache of the time we forsake.The hours seem so long, yet…