By Gregory Barrett A Review of by Gaither Stewart’s Short Story Collection, SIGNS OF THE TIMES.             Gaither Stewart is an expatriate American writer who lives in Rome and knows Europe well. Mr. Stewart’s agile intellect and life-tuned, refined aesthetic…

By Raymond Greiner Three summers past we experienced a horrid drought. Crops failed, ponds dried up and grass was brown creating an apocalyptic scene. The poplar trees took the biggest hit; we lost ten, yet some survived. It was a…

By Sheila Henry How can I ever be a poetwhen destiny has not yetknocked at my door!Muses show up daily, tho, asking“What you gonna pen today slacker?”Sounds muffled by cobwebs blocking my mindonly blankness appears on the pageinvisible are my…

By Keith LaFountaine             The tenants in 217 had called Matthew about a mold problem, declaring it to be a “god damn national emergency”. The call had produced an eyeroll, the type his wife didn’t like, but looking at the…

By Eliza Mimski                                            “Love comes when you least expect it, Lah. At least that’s been my experience.” Lah and Mr. P sat out in front of his Victorian home in aluminum lawn chairs. She’d helped him set up tables to…

By: Linda M. Crate your heroes are my villains dressed in black,they think:oh, must be a villain— but most of the heroesin my life wear black you can’t trust thosewho wear whiteno one is innocent anddriven pure as thesnow, and…

By: James Aitchison Why did I write a particular poemon a particular day?What strange convergence of forcessuddenly came into play? Did I catch words as they fell free from God?Were my thoughts plucked from the sky?If so, I am grateful…

By: Bluford Birdsong Jill shuts down the treadmill after running three eight minute miles, proud of herself and thankful for a couple of hours alone. Still panting, she opens the stainless steel door of the new fridge and grabs a…

By: Rajiv Khandelwal  The Greek-Roman God Janus                            Pondered all plus and minus                              Plans…

By: donnarkevic Richard Cory’s Wake The black stain of the priestplumes across the roomlike factory smokestack fumes,his sleight of handon the dole for Requiem stipendshe spends on Jameson and Harp. Battling summer sweat,non-union cogs fidget in line,watching the clock,hungry for…