By: Steve Grogan “The Old Men” I’ll be one of them someday,the old men who wait on the lonely park bench. The October dust comesas Halloween breathes around them.Autumn glows on their shoulders. The old men sit therewaiting for something to…

By: Laura Stamps Guess what? Six months atmy new job, and I got araise. Wow. Love this state. Florida. Glad Imoved. Love my job. And my raise.Time to celebrate! A drive-in movie.We should go. Tonight. Me andHazel. What’s playing? Hazel…

By Tabussum Sumaiya I long for youLike the pinnacle of the mountain,That longs to reach the skyThe sun through the dense woodsTo meet the green,I will gently touch your skin. Like the setting sun,Longs to meet the moonThe waterfalls fall…

By John RC Potter Let me tell you a story of a galon a doorin the back of a station wagonon her wayto the hospital,and how she ended up there. Becky had a freefall from grace,barrelling out the kitchen door;in…

Chloe Min’s poignant collection reflects on transience and the pain of parting. From hesitating to leave a loved one to the quiet disappearance of spring and joyous moments under a rainbow parachute, her verses capture fleeting beauty. Sand grains in her “Memories” symbolize the fading past, mirroring life’s impermanence. Chloe, a student at Oak Hill School, cherishes reading, writing, and chess.

By Taylor Dibbert He’s settling intoHis business class seatOn a flight headingFrom DCTo DohaAnd thenHe’ll fly toSri Lanka,A long wayTo go andHe’s feelingSo gratefulFor this seat. ### Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Invictus,” his…

By: James Aitchison See how a life can wander,unaware of its true path.All beings aspire to be eternal.Eternity is within,discovered in the silent soul.Hear the Voice that speaksuntiringly, words of peaceand purity.Honesty is the key toself and soul.Master the self,unlock…

Reese Scott warns against heeding the disillusioned older generation, who’ve abandoned their dreams, turning to gin and cigarettes, physically deteriorating. At 55, they’re aware of their emptiness and inability to offer protection but vows honesty and a futile attempt to save you, ending with an apology.

By: John Ziegler Uncle Ernest was a thin man, bent crane-like. His Adam’s apple bobbed with his keening harangue. Also when he laughed. A bank clerk, he was invested, AT&T, U.S. Steel. He died alone in the shower, discovered by…

By: Walt Shulits Is it a covert confession, his guilt gushing, grabbing him by the ankles and shaking until truth tumbles onto the nightstand or is the photo his personal meme, the renunciation of a carefully cultivated carapace, an assertion of who he really…