Poetry
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick I live in my mind, a world nobody sees Some days are filled with sunshine, flowers, and green fields of corn Other days the cloud overhead dark and thick The ocean roars so loudly I cannot…
Fiction
By: Murari Sharma He was shivering and alone, trekking on a trail in the Annapurna Range of the Himalayas. An unseasonable snowstorm caught him near Kangla Pass and dumped more than two feet snow in a couple of hours. He…
Poetry
By: Joseph S. Pete Dear father who ostensibly never loved me, you valued your vast accumulation of neckties over me, your slighted son. You swaddled yourself in silks and solid colors, Jerry Garcia ties, World Wildlife Foundation benefit ties, bold ties,…
Poetry
By: Kelly Miller Defending it Altering it Curing it Our Father uses his artwork to save the diurnal He uses his artwork to save the nocturnal Sprinkling his sparkling liquid generously over all the land A second pure gamble A…
Poetry
By: Robert Bermudez I stand and watch the sunset, Russet, then orange fading to pink, The cloud’s gilded edges reflecting, Like God saying good night. Slowly it dawns as it always does, With the inevitable ache of mythic echoes, The end…
Fiction
By: Aruna Subramanian Nandhini was gazing at the glistening dewdrops on the grasses while waiting for her friend Sheela at the entrance of their college building. Nandhini and Sheela have completed their last semester exams and will be proud engineering graduates…
Poetry
By: Dr Neeraja M A dove is a dove with no colours can only fly till roof bars can only breed with the pre-scaned economy but still the world call it a piece of peace and the dove never knw! A…
Poetry
By: Andrew Hubbard When I was little I laid my peas In a row on my plate And my mother cried. I don’t know why, I wasn’t making a mess. I laid the green beans Two side-by-side And then two…
Poetry
By: Andrew Hubbard Well, it’s convenient, no commuting And cheap, our living space Is storage as far as the taxman knows. We sell everything. You want gloves? We got ‘em. Lipstick, hairspray, tampons? Yup. University sweatshirts? Shovels? Pencils? Flower…
Poetry
By: Andrew Hubbard The drinks came And I asked the predictable question. “I kind of like it,” she said “It keeps me fit And the money’s not bad.” She blew smoke thoughtfully And fidgeted with an ashtray. “My twin sister has…












