By: Kate O’Neil The blue sky melts off into the short grasses, rustling green with the wind; that ocelot steps past quietly. The trees almost smell like cordite. I woke up in a tree. I threw this postcard down to a…

By: Ed Nichols My daddy’s name was Jefferson Henry Wilkes and the last time I saw him was in the insane asylum in Milledgeville, Georgia in 1958. He’d been there for four years when we visited him that last time. My…

By: Sam Rapth She came like an Angel. Is this sufficient to say? Considering her beauty precisely, these five words are very less. She was tall to five and a half feet. Slim physique. But, someone naughty like me might…

By: Adreyo Sen Small town shop clerks with butterfly wings on the delicate blackness pedalling their eyes seek to alight and make a home in the homely hearts muscled on ageing bike riders with mothers who had only feet on the…

By: Raymond Greiner Intensity eludes description as the burden of time serves memories as a dinner for one, flashing images on the walls of our minds biting back at loneliness in a medley of solitary thoughts ranging from delight to…

By: Milt Montague Evey and Eddy we join you in mourning as you sit shiva for your dear mother I remember…. I’ve known her over 60 years a nice Jewish girl from Brooklyn raised in a modest home with traditional values…

By: Milt Montague for almost twenty years archaeologists have been unearthing a mound that once was a temple complex from ten to twelve thousand years ago the oldest man made edifice on earth predating Stonehenge in England The Great Pyramids…

Reviewed by: Thomas Sanfilip Translated from the French by Kurt Heinzelman Host Publications Most poetry written today cannot claim descent from the moral standard that underlies all great poetry, but rather the neutered outer shell of language that evolved in…

By: Linda M. Crate i am a train one day i’ll crash into monuments of myself that i won’t recognize; we are always evolving, always changing the more we resist the more inevitable it is— and though we change there’s…

By: Linda M. Crate  i was the girl that was too trusting i believed everything you had to say, and i didn’t conceive the thought you were just being charming to get what you wanted; it was all a game…