By: Ram Govardhan Every revolt,modest or armed, matters.Every fight can’t placatethe plights, or restore the rights.Every resistance can’tturn into a revolution, orforce a coup d’état, orupset the status quo.At times, can’teven scream a defiance.At times, can’teven prove its existencedreading its…

By Ruth Z. Deming Finally I was ready to visit my relatives in my home town of Cleveland, Ohio. We were in a heat wave but I refused to let that stop me. As Rabbi Hillel said, “If not now,…

By: Karoline Wimmer Ocean Pangaea Her gaze softensas the last tideripplesthrough the one desire ofheat ocean.She recalls a momentlighting the fire ofthose burdened dunes,faces of those loved.Flash, the photographthat cannot end.As the last tide sends ripples throughthe ocean of all…

By: Vivian Yu Where I’m From I’m from sunshine,from summer, shorts, and snacks.I’m from the hot air that hugs me closely,from the gentle breeze that takes my sweat away.From the reflection of the May sun on morning dews,also from the…

By: Mark O. Decker The Paradoxes in Life Every ugliness,has its corresponding beauty;Every lie,its reciprocal truth;This matters to thosewho can see two waysat once;To those, who can seethe many paradoxes in life, andin nature;I know that, somewhere,there are those who…

By Ramprasath Rengasamy      ‘That the sperm of a man be putrefied by itself in a sealed cucurbit for forty days with the highest degree of putrefaction in a horse’s womb, or at least so long that it comes to…

By: Celine Low Saturday Night Fever We sit, boozy livers and light headstalking late,making fat sounds falling flatinto the carpet,glasses sweating on the table. One momentlooms large, theredlava lampbleedingonto our faces: which one of usshot himself with a finger gunand…

By Mark Kodama, Jim Bates and Kim Hood The Wizard of Mar-a-Lago Donald, a rich kid from Kansas and his friends Breitbart,and  Michael the Fixer meet at Donald’s tree house for their monthly meeting for the local chapter for the…

By: Thomas M. McDade Yes, Lemon Maybe it’s calculatedStopping at the Town LoungeOn the wagon wanting someOf the old whacko atmosphereJust give me a Coke, yes lemonDon the owner cocky on his throneSays this ain’t no soda fountainYou know that…

By Andrew Wolczyk The preacher walked alone down the dusty street, looking neither right nor left, his focus on the distant horizon line.  He had walked for days, and he knew that he would walk for days more, maybe weeks,…