By: James Aitchison No man has the rightto limit the beingsaround him.In the same way,the man who seeks toframe the passage of historyfor his own advantagewill fail.Only the wheel is the arbiter,not man.All lives are lived withmeasures of good and…

By: Ken Poyner COMMODITY Fog is so thick at one end of the bridge, it looks like cars are escaping both into and from it. Fog is apolitical, amoral. Fog itself does not matter, only the purposes it is put…

By: Michael C. Seeger GLOW Today I felt gladthe sun rose onour quiet neighborhood.Hummingbirds camevisiting the feedersall filled with nectar,like the wordsyour lips heldand continue to holdfor me. Whatever painI was feelingwas not felt. Bending downin the yardto pull a…

By: Sheila Henry I am well, thank youYou asked meHow am I doingIn times when I could not find my wayYou rose beyond the cloudsAnd made yourself into the moonTo give light to my darkened pathYou opened your eyesAnd revealed…

By: Cailey Tarriane I had two choices.Hide from the light, transform into the light of my life.Or glow in the darkEmbrace the flaws, pay off my debts to the world. The bone-rattling burden of choosing what is rightwas when one…

By: Keith Hoerner $10,000 downGets you inYour choice ofRanch or two-storyIn prestigious Nooning Tree “Is there one, a Nooning Tree?”“Of course,” the saleslady answersLoose strands of hair catchingThe corner of her mouthLike a lie Tempered by talk of traditionShe motions;…

By: Harvey Huddleston A combine harvests the field.  It’s a field where something grows, something green and leafy that is consumed by the masses, alfalfa maybe.  But the leaves aren’t separate.  They cling to one another in a green clump…

By: Isabelle Hoida Airportions the distinctness of life: the motorboat noises of a distant memoryi was chugging underneath the propeller,chopped up like the dishes of seaweed,tumbling around and around in a spin cycleof wetness. and it feels lonesometo interact with…

By: Vanaja Malathy tired of drudgery and monotonyof work- life balancei headed towards my mother’s housefor a change relaxation and diversiona humble looking small housewith patches clear on its roofpaint peeling of its wallsa rickety gate creaked as i set…

By: Ramlal Agarwal Ever since The Satanic Verses by Rushdie was published in 1988, it has had horrendous ramifications. There have been a number of instances of arsenic and vandalism. A Japanese writer named Horoshi  Igarari, who translated it, was…