By: Linda M Crate the cardinal found his way to the branches of my mother’s tree which produces too many walnuts come autumn which i would carry away by the bucket full as a girl to throw in the woods…

By: Linda M Crate i walk past a magical grove where faeries play they don’t seem to mind me although they hide in the trees or ivy on the ground when i walk past i can feel their presence as…

By Ian Fletcher Before I start my humble analysis, here is the poem to refresh the memories of those who know it and to introduce it to those who haven’t read this masterpiece of nineteenth century poetry: Because I could…

By: Emily Ellison What is the value of temerity if in slugging along, I am still a lugubrious snake in the state of cardiovascular plunder? This gut holds but the jitters of mice tucked inside themselves, a false scale of scary…

By: Emily Ellison Swallowtails gulp down my frail, yet renowned attempts at song. Notes, like black fish, burble in symphonic schools. Feed me nonverbal worms, for I have hunger for an earthbound tastiness, cuisine of the humble ground. Feasts reeking steamed…

By: Ian Fletcher How busy I imagine they must have been in homes or offices farms or factories getting and spending living and loving until finally dying. How strange it seems they are now so still lying neglected here on this…

By Balu George Interior – Karthik’s Bedroom – Night – 2 AM. A boy in his mid– 20’s is asleep on the bed. This is Karthik, a Tamilian who suffers from anxiety disorder. He is tall, dark and handsome. He…

By: Marie Chu “Elise! Where are you?” Jayce yelled. “Maybe I should check the orphanage.” He walked through the ruins of Tribeca, still in awe at the sheer damage the war had created. Remains of bullet shells littered the floor and…

By: Aruna Subramanian Spines and blooms filled my path. Middle of the journey, I turned back To the sight Of reddened flowers. Bloody foot trails Burthened my Light travel…

By: Aruna Subramanian     Low lying heights Symbolize the sky To a tiny bird That only hops. Blood filled quills, Unspread wings Withers away. Leaving behind The awaiting sky, To bear the trails Of grown feathers…