By: Jim Bates Orange sugar maplesBlazing against cold grey skiesLifts a mood to joy. Late fall woodland walkSoft and leafy decaySense of inner peace. Outside in the snowSoft flakes landing on my faceFeeling young at heart. Fresh snow transformingBrown ground…

By: David Sapp For a While Now For a while nowToo long the shut-inTV my best buddyDoing little more thanShuffling to fetch the mailI get out for a bit andI’m astonished to findThe oak tree’s girthIs predicably thickerThe wheat has…

By: Duane L Herrmann             “How can we find people?” Tom asked. “We don’t have the key.”             “But, we have the elements of the key, and you know them,” Sarah replied.             “What do you mean?”             “We have…

By: Eliza Mimski When I was writing my novel Sex, Love and Makeovers in the City of the Ancient Cougars, a novel about a make-believe South American town that hosted a beauty pageant for elderly women, I wanted to depict…

By: Sushant Thapa Memory and Future The day is as brightAs the overloaded happiness.In your cityI lose track of time,Due to excessive delightEasily passing.The night was as brightAs the starlit path.In imagesI recollectThe wholesome memories.Forgetfulness becomes a crimeWhen a nodding…

By: Ramlal Agarwal Few novels are as intriguing as Camus’s The Stranger (1942). It intrigues the reader from the first line to the last. It is about a man who does not seem to belong to this world. Except for…

By John D. Coville “Wow, look at that,” Nick’s father said. “Never noticed it before.” The Long Island Press distribution office was in a dilapidated one-room brick building in the center of town. Each Saturday afternoon the delivery boys would…

By: Goutam Roy Shattered glasscan never be made whole again.The bygone dayscan never be reclaimed.Lost youthcan never be revived.No matter how fiercelywe struggle,we can never returnto what has gone forever.The vast tapestryof human existencehas reigned across the centuries,only to crumbleand…

By: James Aitchison There it is in Krakow, Poland,so innocuous, just another building,2 Pomorska Street,a hostel for students from Silesiauntil — 13 September 1939,the Gestapo moved in,and a conquered cityfeared the name “Pomorska”. I found out why — down a…

By: May Crain Time is a peculiarity, a dungeon, an acquaintance, its strange captivity at once generous and ungratefully distant. It passes through long winding roads, each road more altered than the last one. Will the following road be gravelly,…