By: LeeEl Yehezkel An old house, a bad paint job, and three old men in the doorway to match; George, Joseph, and Eli. Around them, a children’s soccer game is in motion, and their joking threats escape into the air….
By: Shagnik Saha I can’t see, fragile sepals shroud me, Wisps of the sun I glimpse, I hear the tumult, distant melody, Unlike the calm inside, suffocating insanity, There is so much to do, So much to be, All, If I’ll…
By: Natana Vasuki Faces! Faces! Pervasive in the world Feed my sight every day Gentle like frolicking lambs Invite attention with their sweet innocence Ferocious like majestic tigers Ready to threaten with their powerful symmetry Jaunty, amiable and ebullient Serve…
By: James G. Piatt There are images within my weary mind, Like the tide rising from the cobalt deep, Illuminating tenacious absurdities that I find, Stirring in deep nomadic longings, as I sleep. …..How do I gain an entrée to a…
By: James G. Piatt He is a divided self, Divergent egos with flights Into memories without maps, Detached, intoxicated with his Own importance: He is at war with himself, In a metaphysical battle Against unfathomable enigmas, He exists between reality and…
By: James G. Piatt I devour the rocks that lie Beneath my wandering feet,The bushes with red flowersThat line the hungry brook,Then I digest nouns, verbs andPrepositions that paint the Landscape with edible poems. I listen to the grumbling earth, the…
By: Kousik Adhikari Simply you have to mount a taxi That knows the history and geography of roads And fall on Southern Avenue, You will not fall. May I promise? Simply you have to tap the door That gets rusted waiting…
By: Danny P. Barbare Sitting in the lounge chair by the fire place watching the World Series on a cold October night eating a pumpkin cookie and sipping on sweet apple cider.
By: Danny P. Barbare Cleaning the bathroom it’s not a flowery chore so womanly or pretty just ask the shiny tile once covered with mildew or the polished fixtures once covered with scum.
By: Kuzhoor Wilson Translated by : Anitha Varma The forgotten umbrella Fretted Did he get wet? Cry because it was missing? Would his mother have given him a beating? Benches and desks Are cozing The board still retains The day’s remnants Night…