By: Lindsay McLeod RED FLAGS The flowers in her hair dis-turbed the voices in my head and it wasn’t too long beforeI said, (as suave as all get out) ‘Let me slip into somethinga little more comfortable.’I slipped into my…

By: James Aitchison Forests rustle,we are amongthe living,listening to lightdrip from the moon.No shadowsdarken our world.No earthly struggleshold us back.We harvestour eternal minds,because everything isbalanced within us.

By James Aitchison T Tasmanian-born Errol Flynn was a lucky man.  He literally stepped into Golden Age stardom on the strength of one minor film.  While his acting talent was frequently dismissed, no other star looked so convincing in tunic…

By: Alex Stolis  Tales of Brave Ulysses; the Cyclops of Cancer Odyseus leaned on Athena’s soft shoulder, bright eyesaflame defying her father, the Fates; the lesser deitieson Olympus trembled. He knew the Gods could beunpredictable, drunk on power and truth…

By: Catherine Arra Adagio Or anunmoored 12-barblues, wounded sonataa busted-up nursery rhymeor the lost versespeechless stanzamirrored in minor keysfor mourning, for melancholy,maudlin afterone too manydirty martinis, noolive, loving white sand desertswanting beaches,the notes of mysingle solo played inallegro. No time…

By: Frances Leitch Tapestry of Morn The dawns soft lineThe morning lightThe opening eyeof the sunlit skyThe pearly cloudson the blue field sewnThe taste of warmthin the soul knownTo revel at themountains greensmooth folding hillsFrom which the dawnbehind is seenThe…

By: Imrana Muhammad Nata’alah. DEBT OF DEATH, DEBT OF LIFE At midnight, I felt a warm hand with thousand fingers jacking me by the neck, like my bowtie.These were practically hands of deathtaking my life; as the bucket of my…

By: Carl Papa Palmer Crossing Across Clear sky, high seventies, hot Seattle afternoon,Mom smiles from the bow of the Bremerton ferryfilled with those photo posed prior to the launch. Deck clears ten minutes into our hour ride, too coldfor others,…

By: Grzegorz Wróblewski DOLL They say that such places do not exist.I found myself there unexpectedly.There was someone sitting next to me whoreminded me myself from many years ago. He wanted to fold paper into a cube ora little doll….

By: John Robinson Francis Bellamy did not intend his publishing gimmick to turn into a national ritual, nor did he intend his words to be taken up in the mouths of those seeking asylum or new beginnings in a democratic…