By Nolo Segundo You always have to choose,on or the other–one will deceive you everydamn day, because ego isa trickster,a liar,a cheater,telling you how great you are,how smart, how kind…while the other will alwaysbe honest with you, if–and it’s a…
By William T. Hathaway Loving the other through mutualities of hurt,loving the other without understanding the other,groping in darkness to find the other,blundering towards and beyond the other,fleeing at the sight of the other,escaping from exile to greet the other,yearning…
By John RC Potter The man under the mask… You rode along the dusty western street,as you strode hard across my laptop screen,strutting and preening like a proud peacock;dark, mysterious, maybe even mean,perhaps dangerous, a badass cowboy,but the handsomest dude…
By: Daniel de Culla IN MIAMI AS IN BERLIN In Miami, as in Berlin, people dress upTo attend charity eventsWhere everyone admires themselvesFor the elegance of their suitsAnd how well these clothes look on themTaken out of the closet to…
By: Darren Lynch A Way Sit to the voice ,Silent gaze The hauling land of houndsProwling entranceRepetition , Repetition , Repetition Held in confident frownsThe grips of attracted veteransPolished in rewardOn entranceOf fading prime ways , Celebate oh the union…
By: Bruce Levine Floating hours and picturesque moments Peppering the days with sights and soundsPhotographic mem’ries etched on a canvassOf love laced forever through eyelets of gold Time resting gently on snowflakes floatingThrough forests abounding with lush color greensSquadrons of…
By Ujjal Mandal Glorification of You When I close my weary eyes,you come putting an anklet on legsbefore me like the tune of cuckoo,a strand of red roses tied to your lockof hair behind swings aroundas if the sailing clouds…
By: Dan Fraleigh Stand Seven Sisters Quiet
By: Anna Knowles I thought I could wash you away,when I twisted the sink’s knob,and the faucet began sobbing into a porcelain bowl;so I plunged my hands under the water andscrubbed until my skin was rash-red and sore. My palms…
By: Carl Papa Palmer You’d think he’d have learned by now to take a momentbefore blindly grabbing us from his night stand drawer. If he would keep us in another roomwhere he’d have to actually get upit would remedy our…