By: Enrico Barigazzi. The last time i’ve seen you The fall has come bearing down on my shouldersthe forgotten regrets concealed into a casket full of summer sandand your eyes have been twinkling inside my memoriesas stars in a dark…

By: Angela Moore Your True Worth When you can’t see your worth.You crave fames decadent reprieve.To melt the emptiness within.Bask in the spotlights warm glow.Though it only illuminates the damage they’ve done.To such a beautiful soul.Who was and will always…

By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey Memories sprout like cactusthat I planted in my potsoft,spiky shoots tender as nightremind me of coarse fabrics of your cloththat I dared to touch unmindful of pricksand oozing droplets of blood on my tips.Yellow bulbs of…

By: Harrison Abbott      I woke up and wondered whether I’d ever be a great man. After nearly three decades I was still a boy and it wasn’t looking likely; didn’t look like the world would last another fifty years…

By Eric Burbridge             “Larry, let me solve your financial difficulties…for five million dollars let me murder you?” Rocmon asked.             Larry Herman laughed, but the seriousness in those dark eyes made his heart sink. How did he know his…

By: Stephen Kingsnorth A Faith Community gathers, Conwy Hill, Wales A ruby line, massed silver birch,the purple-plumed ice stalagmites,the russet bracken canvas backed,warm signs, green-bottle conifers,the cold winds ever interrupt. Atop near hill, in silhouette,some branches, high-sky summit stand,an upturned…

By: WB Riggs I ski the steeps all day long and arrive at your storeroom in the afternoon for the evening delivery. You step out of your office with a roll of the eyes and a further instruction for our…

By: Stephen Mead Mummifying Orchids will preserve the nectar,lilacs, the ointments of sachets layering wrappingsas I ripen more sweetly that I ever did in life.That was my charade then, a bouquet in the voice,a stamen in each eye, & my…

 By William Higgs III A man and woman wait impatiently for the check in a busy cafe. Downtown Chicago, a sunny afternoon, the man taps his shoes on the faux hardwood floors. The woman with him is embarrassed by his…

By: James Aitchison Sleet-bleak days,Nights like black lakes,Storms stoop low,Scraping hilltops.All the world is brittle now,And all the peopleStick figures in the snow.Such is winter:The colourless chillAwaiting the warmth ofWords and love.