By: Kris Price The owl speaks too: Raggedy, obese, dirty old slobs, Mortality is a weightless spoon and Education is a basket full of flowery looks. Religion is a meticulous tune and Critical Thinking is hidden away in nooks. The…

By: Kris Price The day’s bone gnawed through the blue winter frost that surrounded the bum on the street corner. He flicked his silver lighter to make a small fire in the barrel that was in front of him. The…

By: Kris Price I sip my pilsner looking up at the glistening golden cockatoo and parrot. Stoic just like my beer on the tattered oak. How did they come up with the name Top Hat? The rings now evaporated under my…

By: Dr Jessica Folio In Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things are, young Max’s bedroom is transformed by the power of the protagonist’s imagination into an extraordinary setting including a forest and an island where he encounters malicious beasts called the…

By: Hana Khalyleh A dingy harem, scattered with junkies, Stinking of lust and dusty Forget-Me-Nots A black-veiled, crimson-lipped beauty Night-haired and spacey-eyed Purple painted nails laced with cigarette smoke And a stubby cigarette laced with moonlight Skulks to my side…

By: Hana Khalyleh I know a place of pepper moon Where sunlight streams through cotton clouds Where snow flakes dance upon your nose And trees sing shades of green so proud I know a place where lightning tickles And thunder’s…

By: Hana Khalyleh How Far Does a Child Stretch? A horrible question, I know, but isn’t that what aging is? Rising more paper thin after every scraped knee and memory scabbed over, Yet taller and taller after each step? We measure…

Canadian short story writer, Alice Munro won the Nobel Prize in literature for the year 2013. This honor came at the age of 82 when she had announced her retirement earlier this year. Munro is the second Canadian writer to be…

By: Monika Nair Dark and dense as the color in my veins, The ink laughed hard, about to run through the paper white, Beginning to start an end, I mused over what to write. A few words won’t be enough for…

By: Monika Nair At two distant places…there’s a transparent me and a translucent you. As we walk together, our shadows follow us. I watch them play little games…watch them merge and then, diverge. I flap my fevered eyelids and gape at…