By: Stephen Kingsnorth Trews Weir What true, which spun embroidered myth?I knew the weir, its timber trap. Long float log boat from Exmoor down,that salmon leap, where few flew by,and pool beneath by Ducks Marsh green,neither bog nor drake insight….

By: Josephine Rudolf She shut down her computer for the fifth time that day, the feeling of rejection drowned out whatever bit of hope she had left. The aspiring author avoided looking into the mirror, on her way to the…

By: Amber Pineda Dyeing Blue Rain Rust In the loud stillness of this barrenCover of cascading stars and mellow rainAre these red strings of restraint thatEmbrace learned destinyAs though it were beneath your skin. There is a sprinkle of porcelain…

In the acknowledgement note of his latest poetry collection ‘Water has Many Colors’, Kiriti Sengupta rues the absence of schools that can teach poetry in India. In my opinion, there is a reason behind this. And that is, you can…

By: Linda S Gunther I think about the fabric of my story. What does it feel like in terms of texture? How does it sound when I read it aloud? I know that what makes a story sing, whether memoir or fiction…

By: Ruth Deming When I awoke and removed the noisy CPAP machine from my nostrils, I remembered. Writing day! I peeked out my upstairs window. An enormously bright light grinned at me from the darkness across the street.             The…

By Karen Lee Stradford 15 minutes of Fame My dream came true.I finally got your attentionafter being unnoticedfor so long.I feel like a celebrity. I’m happy to bethe center of your attraction.But, I hope that my 15 minuteswill last. ###…

By: Bruce Levine Plan “C” Janice and James were spontaneous. They had many things they regularly enjoyed, but could easily take a detour and discover an adventure. When one plan failed, for whatever reason, a quick turn, physical or otherwise,…

With the world becoming one due to the increasing use of technology, there is fusion taking place in cultures, fashions, styles and languages. A range of new words which no one could imagine a decade ago is becoming part of…

By: Arikewusola Abdul Awal What do you think the flowercarries in the dawn? Mist? No.It’s the tears it sheds at the fare-well of the moon. The gerbilnever strays the noon; she mournsin the burrow longing for the moon.My heart is…