By: Linda M Crate i remember her mismatched eyes disconcerted many, but they were beautiful in their own right; unique in a world that wishes us all to conform wish i had been brave enough to tell her that but…

By: Linda M Crate there is such a peace in falling rain such a music that no human voice can dance through me, and such a joy i’ve never felt when in the sunlit rivulets full of idle conversation; some…

By: Linda M Crate the rain falls brings me peace i couldn’t find in the sunshine of your golden locks or in the blue skies of your eyes because everything in you was an illusion you were the prince in…

By: Rajandeep Garg Woolgathering zephyr that burrows through the hard-baked kinks of wheat, enwraps my face with ambient caresses, entangles with my flippant tendrils somewhere lateral down the lob. Squatted shadows of its estranged gushes ambles o’er the tossing mustard, like…

By: Rajandeep Garg Absolute Sun and underneath its ordinance, graven are shadows. Akin wearisome palimpsests and dateless as, babels in a rotunda. Unlike the stars with a borrowed sunshine, and with their constancy of ever changing joy, cascades myriads of…

By: Rajandeep Garg A mess of withered leftovers of gooseberry amongst stalks of lavender sheen, a bed of leaves sepia and a penumbra of shadows dawn my backyard rough, but glowing amber with polka dots from light through mothy leaves. I…

A nylon rope Looped in Eerie folds Lay close by A forlorn human Who intends To make A quick decision Between life and death After an ambiguous spat With fellow beings Who he wants to show But cannot see At the spur…

By: Dr. Ernest Williamson smile for me. upside down lift the curtains in your eyes; the sky’s acrid tears are reminding me of troubled hours; salt in my wounds, disfigured eyes ogling on the parched ground in Saigon. do it…

By: Dr. Ernest Williamson inebriated moments, with course adulteries weighing heavily on the belligerent dandelions given to me; by those romping varicose hands of yours. last winter the flowers were melting in my palm and burning with seditious lies, hovering…

By: Dr. Ernest Williamson I’m seven again; video games aren’t just games they are works of wonderment; feelings of calm before the fireworks in July at Grandma’s house. beauty is more than oblivion  of youth. it’s in my rapid fingers abusing the…