ASHOKA BY JANET POWERS
Ashoka told his story everywhere:
on rocks, pillars, iron columns,
and what he wrote startles even now.
Waging war, he admitted,
was a mistake.
Author: admin
HUMMINGBIRDS BY RICHARD LEBOVITZ
The hummingbirds
arrived in our backyard
again this summer,
stopping to refuel
on their long flight south.
BURN AND RAVE BY SEAN LAUSE
My father rages at time and fate,
wrestling with the angel of bandages,
burning the forge of his dying heart,
TZU-JAN BY WALLY SWIST
Tsu-jan Literally meaning self-ablaze, it is what I experienced standing in the riverbed of Cushman Brook that summer of drought those twenty-five years ago, my Labrador standing on the banks, curiously watching me, tilting her...
Read MoreNearly Invisible Pollen By Mario Duarte
weeps over the humid air at twilight,
a shallow creek meanders across town,
while small, white butterflies dissolve into
terminal nothingness—a cicada husk
THE FIELD TRIP WHEN HEARTS GREW COLD -XXIV- BY DANIEL JAMES SUNDAHL
I do know this: In the years that followed, I never again saw that little girl dance with the same abandonment as she did that Saturday morning in the aisle of the church bus which beetled its way north….
Read MoreSTREETS OF LOVE BY DIANA RADOVAN
And maybe letting go instead of holding on will be a harder process than you could ever imagine, harder than anything you have ever done before.
Read MoreWASTED TIME BY LINDA EVE DIAMOND
Time awakens late—and slow.
Looks back—into a black hole.
BIRD SHOT BY GERALD KAMENS
“And George,” Curtis had called up to him earlier that night, from his seat in the first row, as George appeared from behind a wing, “Just remember, when you enter the stage with your nephew, to lean down on your cane the way we showed you.” No, they weren’t actually in the Ukraine, he knew. Instead, they were all sitting around the long dark wood table toward the left side (audience view) of a large stage in a Northern Virginia theater.
Read MoreFOR THE SAKE OF CLARITY BY KRISTINA MORICONI
I realize I haven’t mentioned my ex-husband again in the past 722 words. Literally. I counted. I’d consider another metaphor here, perhaps for the sake of clarity, or closure, but I’ve given him enough words already.
Read MoreAN AMERICAN IN PARIS DAYS AFTER THE US ELECTION BY LEILANI BARNETT
Paris holds too much loveliness for a lifetime. I know too well though that one can suffocate on saints, the single breast, the virgins and graces. Understand that to survive you will have to return to this city again and again for as long as you can, as long as Americans are welcome.
Read MoreOLD MOON-EYE, OR HOW I LEARNED TO READ HOMER BY DANIEL JAMES SUNDAHL
We lived in the country, my wife and I, for nearly thirty-two years, Lake Wilson Road, Hillsdale, Michigan. The address was 2220 when we bought the house and stayed that way for a good number of years until I needed to go to the county court house for a building permit.
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