By: Robert Yee Throughout his literary career, David Herbert (D.H.) Lawrence wrote plays, novels, letters, and poems that elaborated upon his personal beliefs about society and opinions concerning his outlook on life. In particular, his collection of poems expounds upon…

By: Chuck Orloski A few hours after an armed holdup Wednesday morning (January 13, 2016) at a downtown Scranton-based Community Bank, I drove my school bus very carefully down a very icy East Mountain road. Every time I applied air brakes…

By: Rick Edelstein Please sit, Dr. Jiminez. Good to meet you finally Dr. Eslinger. So, how was your flight, do you find your apartment suitable, Zurich is such a long way from New York, sleep off the jet-lag, and that…

By: Robert A. Davies A hummingbird is at the window! My heart beats an extra stroke. I watch it hover, dart bump into a blossom, my heart bumping also, Drone! elegantly fashioned to target tomorrow you or me.

By: Robert A. Davies tik tik, the winter wren answers. It comes closer tik holds still for me. I note its eye-brow, white black dots in a row on its brown folded wings — no visit complete without this tiny scene….

By: Holly Day She had perfect teeth, possibly because she never ate anything complicated, eschewed anything too spicy or heavy, or foreign, as she would never say aloud but we both knew what she meant when she watched me cook…

By: Holly Day I spent most of my pre-teen years in small towns in Nebraska, with parents who were hard-core hippies, and I was truly a product of my upbringing. I publicly despised television, which, of course, we did not…

By: Holly Day The skeleton stands by an open hole, freshly dug leans on its spade and mourns the loss of its skin. Just days before, a riot of fibrous nerves and thick lobes of muscle wrapped it tight in…

By: Sasheera Mehrani Gounden Insipid palate of the moon For celestial lunar lips to part and reveal the tongue of Neptune The intrusive starling of star, Beckons beyond the windowsill Pygmy pristine limp fish cling to fishing rods Like sticky pegged…

By: Mary P. Douglas My son and I, we live each other’s lives. She said, “That’s good. You can relate.” That’s not the words that came to this mother’s mind. My son and I, we live each other’s lives. We…