By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick 83 degrees, sunny Beloved spot Golden rays shine Beaming upon bronzed skin Pool enticing Gnawing in her stomach Ambiguous uneasiness Disconcerted Distinct days No laughter No smiles No traditions Sparkling lights fill the space Emptiness permeates…

By: Chuck Orloski Activate him by flip-of-a-switch, and so many packages move from conveyor to pallet… and shrink wrapped! Born in Shenzhen Silicon Valley, he is ageless, never slothful, he’s come to save mankind from its unproductive sins. He requires no…

By: Robert S. King Tonight I’ve come to watch my mother die or someone they say is her, who matches no photograph now, who gropes like a child for her mother’s arms, for the mercy of a God who, like a…

By: Robert S. King In his worn-thin army fatigues, Daddy is drunk on moonshine. He’s lost many jobs but never a battle. His eyes aim their barrels at me. A tattoo on his right arm says The baby is dead. Mama…

By: Robert S. King The beard who sucks his thumb moves every day to a different cardboard foxhole, never sleeps in the Shelter, that orphanage for grown-ups. The few who’ve known him long say his younger mouth was always open, a…

By: Chandramauli Chandrakant, NIT Warangal AP Shailendra Chauhan was born and brought up in Uttar Pradesh/ Madhya Pradesh. His father was a primary school teacher in Vidisha. shailendra completed his education from Vidisha. He did Bachelor of Engineering in Electrical branch…

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick The color of pain is blackness enveloping the flesh It bares the bones A skeleton remains The color of pain is crimson From the gashes blood seeps No compress halts the stream The color of pain…

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick Too much, too little Caught in a crack Tense muscles The mother cannot relax The child, the child, the child Struggling with essentials Rent, water, power, food, gas If only it stopped there Car insurance, car…

By: Bob Kalkreuter “Uncle Frank, you out here?” The voice was young, clear, and female. He was sitting outside, on a straight-backed chair placed on the dirt path that led from the porch, giving him the best view of anyone coming…

By Chuck Orloski No, no… at ease all soldiers of the War for Civilization! And pay no mind to the poem title ’til later? It is July 2002, city of Scranton fallen into debt, Britain’s media dares accuse M16 of sheltering…