By: Brian Michael Barbeito  I lost my sweater. It was because I was helping people, some old folks who couldn’t carry their luggage. I couldn’t ‘not,’ help, seeing them struggling like that. I think I had put the sweater down…

By: Ebisike Chinedum Tender shrubs thicken as the rain contends with the earth for space. The shimmers of the stars remain like twinkles until dawn, paving way for the stubborn sun before the wind announces the advent of a storm…

By: Domonique I – gazing into the moonwaiting for speech the floorboards creakwithin & beneath Love & Lust( & pixie dust ) fogs the lone window asthe hounds run wild. from the shadowsmasked men observe unseen hidden from the lightsmiles…

By: Domonique I awakened in the Bush after riding back with Romey after the footy.      With some English holiday giving us the day off school, Romey and his cousin, Credence, took me with them turtle hunting. I had only…

By Onkar Sharma Songs of Raengdailu by Achingliu Kamei is a collection of poems that celebrates the natural beauty of North East India. Kamei abundantly uses vivid imagery and lyrical language to capture the essence of the region’s landscapes, flora,…

By: Josephine Rudolf I was still a little girl when we first met, but now I’m 20 and he’s still there. He found me when I was running through an endless maze, desperately trying to escape from hell. For the…

By: Jim Bates Dark rain clouds liftingBright sunshine cascadingTranscendental day. Deep woods forest pathLeafy green canopy aboveSleepy shade below. Springtime misting rainTender garden shoots reachingThirstily drinking. Fresh lilacs bloomingLily-of-the-valley tooSpringtime scent so sweet.

By John RC Potter “You did so, I saw you,” I exclaimed to my friend, “I told you not to look that wingnut in the eye but you did anyway!” “I barely looked at her,” she retorted, “but she had…

By: Abu Siddik The orange sun is peeping throughThe twisted branches,Trucks, buses, and cars are speedingOn the highway The old man by the road is mending the yard—Carrying a bag of white sand, a pail of water,A piece of wood…

By: Thomas Sanfilip Sitting on a white terrace in the hills above Lerici, meditating on the idyllic blue waters of the Ligurian coast, I remember the words that began my first book of poetry—and the poetry I began writing several…