By: Katie Hong The Room The room hums softlywith the sound of kids playing in the snowa wooden table embedded with marks from countless dinnersthe sound of silverware echoes in the silence My brother, with his elbows propped upgrins wide,immersed…
By: Bruce Mundhenke Peace does not come at the point of a gun.Security is fragile in the shadow of hate.The UN is riding a horse called peace.Their plan is to rule the world.They have forgotten the Son of God,who will…
By: JK Kim Summer The glass leaves a wet ring,the table stains darker, holds it.Grass burns under soles,the porch boards remember theshade.Laughter spits from the shallow end,somewhere, a rope groansalone.Smoke from the grill sticks to shirts,ice from the cooler bites…
By: Andrew Ban Snack It’s dark outIt’s cold outAny moment now the sun might come outBut i can still hear the sounds of people movingThe sound of people strugglingThe sound of people trying their best to live in this harsh…
By: James Aitchison Be ruthless when casting awaydoubts and fears from the past.Haunted souls cling to the dark;yours is the sunlit path.Many fabrications surround the soul,and no one can have life on their terms.Peace and silence remove obstacles.In the twilight…
By: Bruce Levine Waiting through the daysSurroundings filled with mem’riesJoy to be regained In the wake of timeRivers flowing on their ownSailing with the tide
By: Jyotish Chalil Gopinathan Flash Burns A thick glass mask,fish gogglesstrapped to the face,you look like a cartoon villain —all you hope foris that the flare does not burninto your retina, singe nerve ends. My ways are different.I doom scroll…
By Mitali Chakravarty Blue House(Inspired by Luis’s art) Everyone has a dreamand mine is a blue houseagainst a blue sky. Thewalls might dissolve and I would be part ofa cloud wafting overthe sea. I would watchthe waves rise and ebb….
By: James Aitchison about Tristan Tzara (a DADA pantoum) sweep sweep clean he saidhe deemed works of art erasablelike words written in sand he saidthe zero degree of literature he deemed works of art erasablehe juxtaposed unrelated wordsthe zero degree…
By: Debbie Tunstall A tissue, a tissuegifted mother to her son. In the end, it was also me.Then my little sister. ” Just as long as you wipe them, “insisting that no one sees. We were taught to swallow tears…