By Lefcothea Maria Golgaki Suppose you saw the truth,would you still blame the lepersfor the gaping wounds in your body? And if your sky was sullen,would you yet reproach the flickering candlefor the shadow it casts? So boundless is your…

By Charles Wiegand It was 6:00am and Gabriel was already out on his bike cruising along the road, staring at the white lines passing by. Not particularly fast, at 25 miles per hour, but passing by nonetheless. He cruised along…

By Linda S. Gunther The doorman tapped his cap with a pert “good morning” and opened the high arched door to the gray stone building. Lanie was dressed in white from head to toe. Her knee length white pencil skirt,…

By William T. Hathaway Humanity has entered a new era, the culmination of a gradual shift of power from negative to positive that has been going on since the 1960s. This intensified into crisis three years ago and is now…

By: Hua Ai Seagulls from the Other Woods In the woods,my leaves have tapped on many people’s headsduring their yellowed seasons.The fallen woods and the wind towards the west,two glasses of a historic yesterday, cut through Sava River,and they asking…

By: Steven Deutsch K We knew back thenyou would nevergrow old.Did you? Today nature threwa January thawas if in rehearsal for spring.It is a time to take stock—kick off your shoesput up your feetand let in the daydreams.It is the…

By: Alan Berger My fatherNever wanted childrenThat was plain to seeI couldn’t blame himBut I never blamed me I’ll even take it furtherMy friends had fathersI noticed them after schoolI think I wanted one too They would laugh togetherAnd actually…

I was curious to know why and how ChatGPT or Generative AI could write poetry when it’s void of feelings. ChatGPT answered my question: “If you have no feelings, why do you write poetry?” It said: As an AI language…

By: Scott Thomas Outlar Alkalizing Spirit Pineal gazingto quiet the mindand usher consciousnesstoward a single pointof higher awareness beyond the frantic processof thinking in circlespetting the egoand arguing with selfuntil silence eventuallywins center stage Solitary excursioninto the depthsoffers expansionoutside the…

By: Yahuza Usman My Feverish Pen was wallowing in its misery,small enough to subdue its melancholy,bright enough to throw into reliefthe dark plastic that cluttered it. i learned that much rage was crawlingtogether with its flooded inktrying to fetch a…