Poetry
By: Linda M Crate the crows follow me remind me to give wings to my dreams make them a reality, and it must suck to be you standing in monuments of moments that you mean to forget; always buried in…
Poetry
By: Linda M Crate i have always tempered my tongue before i spoke to remain tactful and kind, but sometimes it’s so tempting to become like the monsters in my life simply ripping people apart with their tongue; but then…
Poetry
By: Tamara White I She sits And waits. The Angel Trumpet of the Bar Her bloom is full, her vibrant coloring flawless. No sharp edges just soft lines flowing seamlessly together to create her seductiveness. Waist is narrow like a delicate…
Fiction
By: Bob Kalkreuter The shots were sudden and clear, crisp as breaking sticks. Gary Eason flinched. For a moment Stewart’s lips got pale, his eyes went wild, and he muttered, “Goddamn…” They were both in Gary’s boat. Gary was fishing, but…
Fiction
By: Tom Sheehan They kicked in then, at sight of the wild-eyed gunman on the Greyhound bus moving into Vermont and on to Canada, my other lives, the separate and strange ones, spinning back through me, each one of them,…
Poetry
By: Tom Sheehan When asked to read to celebrate my new book of memoirs, I let the audience enter the cubicle from where the work came. I told them: I’ll celebrate with you by telling you what I know, how…
EssayNon-Fiction
By: Larry Lefkowitz in obtaining a publisher for my novel, I decided to take matters in hand: I would become my own literary agent. I debated about the name – as literary agent for my novel. I decided on Flavian Zorbach…
Fiction
By: Michael C. Keith If you battle monsters, you don’t always become a monster. But you aren’t entirely human anymore, either. –– Jonathan Maberry We were in our getaway rental six miles up from State Road 359 when we heard…
Books Reviews
By: Indunil Madhusankha With her head lent against the front post of the shack, she plunges into freakishly terrible concentration Dumbfounded and as still as the motionless stump Her mouth is open in blighting apprehension The fear that tortures her…
Poetry
By: Indunil Madhusankha We have an āchchi in the neighbourhood She has a son fitting to be called a highly dedicated son She sweats out from morning till night cooking, washing, sweeping and cleaning She performs all the daily chores Her…











