By Tamara Yancosky Link Blog Shimmering silver triangles dart about beneath the sun bobbing up and down among crystalline dwellings. Leaping into midair, they hover and begin dancing beneath mysterious magnetic poles owned by tourists. Copyright ©Tamara Yancosky
By A. M. Moscoso Link Blog When I was little my family told story about a girl who used to live in my Great Grandmother’s House. She disappeared one day, the story goes, and the neighbors were sure her Mother had something to do with that and that her Father buried her in their basement. That’s… Leer más At The Bottom Of The Stairs
By Seden B. Watanabe Link Blog When I was little, I was labeled as “Shy”/“Introvert”. Since then, I started to feel a bit insecure about myself…wondering., maybe being that way is wrong. With that low self esteem inside of me, I carried on for years and today when I look at myself, I guess I… Leer más Be your own magic
by Sun Hesper Jansen The mud of the Rio Grande does not easily release;it anchors the ankles cold as the current rushes, directsevery liquid molecule to the source, even as the horizonbruises beneath a veil of rain, spurring the heart to flight. The kick of wind does not ruffle the birds; unhurriedthey call from the… Leer más The mud of the Rio Grande does not easily release
by Robin Saikia blog link I read with interest Luisa Zambrotta’s interesting post on Lionel Johnson. Johnson was Bosie’s cousin and a contemporary of his at Winchester College. He introduced him to Oscar Wilde, with fatal and well-recorded consequences. When I was at Winchester in the Seventies, there was precious little evidence of Johnson or… Leer más Lord Alfred Douglas
by Ingrid Sundberg Blog One of my major writing philosophies is that there will always be work to be done. Quite a few years ago, I started to look at the work of writing as a necessity. As a fact. I realized I had to accept that there will always be a ton of work: there will be… Leer más Perhaps We’re Looking at the “Work” of Writing All Wrong
by Michele Lee From the banished back row, she did step forward. Her curves revealed by a full moon’s midnight glow, extending from the side, to the middle of the road. Along the edge, where the imposter merged with flesh, a woman was seen kneeling, with head held low. Possibly praying while changing a tire… Leer más Sunrise Forthcoming
mashed potatoes poached eggs beans and some homemade garlic sauce but no meat for the princess’s sensitive stomach “I’m full,” she said “No, you are not,” said mother. “Eat up. Finish everything from your plate and trust me, it’s been calculated. It’s the right amount. Now eat up.” Father agreed. Being a step-father he didn’t… Leer más another bulimic princess by Bogdan Dragos
By Matthew Robinson Blog Link From the time I was a toddler, my grandmother saved all my birthday cards. She saved them all in a box that, over the years, accumulated into boxes and boxes of saved birthday cards. She told me to never throw them away. She told me they’d always hold value. When… Leer más Birthday Cards
By Tina Cleveland Link blog As she shuffled down the street, pulling her ripped shopping trolley, she reflected on where she had come from and where she had been. A far cry from where she was now. Her fat, chubby wrist which was once adorned by fine, sparkly diamonds, ached through pulling the trolley. All… Leer más Riches to rags
Link blog Mike Two-dimensional visions of a man…a man I knew well…as a cartoon bear; of the crucifixion, with the Christ in female form, eerie and bloodless, her Mother forsaken of her; to behold a forest, a very real forest, yet to see it as if drawn by a child using wax crayons; to touch… Leer más A JUNTA OF STARLINGS by Mike Steeden
By Sara Reichert Link Blog A cold onigiri for breakfast with a glass of warm milk, flushing the dregs of disoriented thought. The day begins with construction’s chaotic cacophony, ruffling earth’s dewy breath and chasing away echoes of early birdsong. Without consideration for those still stirring between the feather-soft layers of dreams. A helicopter flies… Leer más A new perspective
Don’t walk the path that was too hard To traverse in the first place. The world isn’t always made to be overcome Because we can’t overcome ourselves. Never look for love. Love in this town is a bare-chested man Screaming obscenities At other bare-chested men That are screaming obscenities At women that look like their… Leer más — Motivational Speaker — by Aedus Ryther
but that handle was made for his hand hand – handle handle – hand the fingers would close around it to never let go It had to have flesh around it at all times But the blade… the blade was still naked. He couldn’t let the blade naked It wasn’t fair “So that’s why you… Leer más The knife listens by Bogdan Dragos
Blog Michele Lee Link they studiedthey trainedtested they wereJust like the menfighting firessaving livesprepared they areJust like the mendedicated servicecourageous actseach shift bringsAnother day for themneither brave actsnor lives savedbrought the camerasFilming the four of themvacations observedschedules adjustedcaused a firehouse stirInterest in the four of theman “all-female crew”now a headlinea first, but not permanentFour firefighters… Leer más Engine 34 by Michele Lee
Diamonds are not forever, as their reflection is brass to declare. Obscene gestures of love, their pride leaves children’s backs bare. Diamonds are not forever, nor is their shimmer the splendor in wear; until they feed hungry toddlers, they are nothing but a gaudy glare. Diamonds are not forever, though they strut without a care;… Leer más Diamonds Are Not Forever by Tamara Yancosky
Link blog Robin Another decidedly tarot-like image from Gaetano Zompini. The coal carriers, carbonai or carboneri, unloaded coal from the barges that docked at the Riva del Carbon on the Grand Canal. They delivered it around the city in large baskets known as corbe. In the rhyme they describe themselves as “privileged”. This was because… Leer más 18th Century Venice: the Coal Guys by Robin Saikia
By Francisco Hernández There she was, bent over her knees, her hands half-buried into the soil. Mrs. Gardner felt a deep relief. There is nothing more religious and purifying than getting down-right dirty, she thought. She made little piles with the soil she extracted from the holes. Five rows of ten, fifty carrot plants, she… Leer más Blissful Moment
As promised, Bogdan opens fire with a short storie -j re crivello (Editor) Something wasn’t quite right in this small, barren room. The man sitting across the square table, dressed in a white coat, seemed a little to calm for someone in reaching distance. ‘I could just reach for that bald head and snap the… Leer más the veins By Bogdan Dragos
Introducing a new contributor: Chantal Brown. Welcome! Link to blog At first, the rain came like a flurry of snowflake kisses over my face. Light and gentle. It seemed only a palpable imagining from my thoughts. Of course, I don’t remember my head being full of such whimsy. But by the time I realized that… Leer más Musings on Nostalgia
