By: James L Johnson Pedaling non-stop since nine this morninglunch on a rocky shorea shallow rocky section of the Lehigh Riverwhere a mile norththe Aquashicola Creekoffers its tribute to the greater flow. I dip my cloth headband in cold water,…
By: Paul Dickey Near the Creek / Childhood Sweethearts /The Poem that Made No Sense (I am just saying some words, and all of a sudden I amwriting this poem or starting up a new conversationyou know what it is…
By: Zunaira Rehman Identity is not what they call youit is what you answer to when no one is watching,it is not the version of youthat survives other people’s expectations.It is the versionthat exists when approval is no longer required….
By: Arvilla Fee This Land I know this land like the back of my handevery knobby knuckle that dips and swayslike hump-backed camels on the high ridge.I know brambly bushes thick with berriesthat stain my lips and fingers peacock-bluein the…
By: Goutam Roy Grant me another life, Oh God, a life beyond this one,where I may meet my beloved again and tell the unfinished tale—a tale of love, a tale of pain, born within a darkened room,where straw became my…
By: Pramod Rastogi A lover of nature and its shifting shades,I climb the winding heights,Pausing now and thenTo speak with the mountains,Their faces clean and austereAs I rise along their slopes. They listen without judgment,Sinking to the roots of my…
By: Jim Bates Brilliant day ending.Setting sun and dusty sky.Wondrous light transformed. Summertime gardenFlowers so bright and cheerfulRefreshing the soul. Early morning dewDelightfully dancing dropletsNature’s pure jewels. Deep blue turquoise skyBig white puffy clouds floatingSoothingly serene. Green rolling farmlandStretching to…
By: Peter J. Dellolio It Was A Matter Of Lust It was a matter oflust in spite of thosedapper fellows withoutthe electric chair sowe pleaded and were neededin spite of scarecrows wearingoxygen masks in Damascus. Nectarines Rubbed Nectarines rubbed nocturnal…
By: Snigdha Agrawal The little girl…now grown upsomewhere in her fortiesstill remembers Dadicrushing her favourite candywith a mortar and pestle,because her dentures,refused to stay fixedlike party switcherseager to please. Nothing could tempt hertowards “Fairaro”or those silver-foiled,foreign-returned dropsof “HisnHers”,Her son picked…
By: Donna Dallas Meet on the Edge Of the bayat the marigold sunsetas the old man walks his pug dogand mumbles under his breath Three cars sit parked in anticipationas the illustrious sundrops itselfinto the oil streaked water Three cars…