
By: Ken W. Simpson Gratuitous Living The well of loneliness is dry and emptya sad, inhospitable placewithout love or the affection of a canaryfertilised by human’s follyand the febrile and fractious friendshipsfermenting […]
By: Ken W. Simpson Gratuitous Living The well of loneliness is dry and emptya sad, inhospitable placewithout love or the affection of a canaryfertilised by human’s follyand the febrile and fractious friendshipsfermenting […]
By: James Aitchison I have been asked:Can one of you change the world?See into your pure and inner self first,The most supreme of all human experiences.The eternal wheel spins all fates and […]
By: John Grey SINCE YOU ASKED A small unicorncupped in my handor the dead .and missingslowly strolling up my sidewalklike it’s Halloween in January — the rain playing somethingby Duke Ellingtonor a […]
By: Richard LeDue Never Really Liked Hotels The front desk worker wears an undertaker’s smileand the ones who don’t smilemake me feel like someone askingwhere the bathroom is at a funeral,while the […]
By: Alison Auch (Trigger warning: sexual assault) I’m trying to think of a beautiful word,one that goes in front of train but in backof hot night, fourteen in white shirt, was ita […]
By: Karen Lee Stradford The light shines on your faceas you lie in the colbalt casketyour spirit simmers,eternal. Our pleasant morning conversationsover Chock Full O’ Nuts, bagels and scrambled eggsas Channel 2 […]
By: Gopikrishnan Kottoor In The Heart’s Suite The curtains are stillIn the heart’s suite.A little lightFrom the lamp shade,Is all orange upon the floor. What do I still search forIn the heart’s […]
By: Veronica Ashenhurst Bulwark: To Jane Eyre My walls, brick and plaster, stand pitiless.So, I covet the far horizon, as didRochester’s wife, groaning in her windowlessThird-story room. But my infirm hipsAnd legs […]
By: Dan Fitzgerald A Night of Poetry I can’t write the poetry that you readto your friends at dinner parties.I use too many coarse wordsand phrases for polite company.So I sit in […]
By: Alison Auch It’s a liquid dinner that I can’t escapethe bones cross sideways as I walkthis path of marigolds, dogs, dust. It’s dinnertime at my house, and thechildren are in bed, […]