By: James Aitchison The poem came in the night,out of the stilly darkness,each word crystalline,each line exact,the whole effect polished,perfect, perfect!,I dare say edible,hovering a millimeterbeyond my consciousness;but with the dawncame the blankness,the poem’s absence palpablein the streaky light.

By: James W. White On a sparkling day when the morning fog hung back along the horizon, a conversation interrupted Bridge Appleton’s concentration while he watched a sailboat make its way upwind. The boat danced from one direction to another…

By: Jack Henry the ‘i’m still here’ days i hear people talking about them good ole days,back in high school,back at the quad or in the gym,at a pep rally before the big game.how those might have been the best…

By: James Aitchison The world is my loom,The wheel spins,The Voice speaks.You do not have to waituntil death.Only man makes complexities toconfuse the real and the eternal.Heed not the Self,come forward and I,with foreknowledge,will guide you.Know then your allotted tasks,and…

By Prathap Kamath Trance the dog came aroundthe pileat the same hoursniffed it and fell in a trance the pile had been therefrom the beginning the dog wasa later happening i was watching fromthe balconyand to my bourgeoning senseof finding…

By: Irena Kovačević INSIDE Sprinkle on me the ashes of the old daysand rub it into the collarbonesof my new insides. Press into the touch moldsthe words of this one that floweda torrent of tidesof your waves. Soak up the…

By: Robert Walicki         Acre didn’t have much going for it as towns go, but it was as good a place as any for starting over. At least it’s how Dave reasoned being there on the third floor in a…

By: Ian Fletcher There’s something within himThat cannot bear an open mindFor he will always try to fill itWith dogma and talk of GodThe almighty power he saysWe must believe in and obey.When I ask what kind of beingThis God…

By: Emily Breen  You Get Me You get meAnd all that I amAnd while that may not seem like much to some or to even youIt’s all I’ve ever asked forYou understand meYou understand me to my coreWhen I’m hysteric…

by Nancy Machlis Rechtman Between the Darkness and the Light There is a demarcationBetween the light and the darkWhich you might think would be greyBut you’d be wrong. Instead it has neither color nor substanceBut separates the perfidious normalcy of…