Author: admin

MIDSHIPMAN’S MAGIC BY STERLING WARNER

Abalone luster lost, Melvin’s pickled herring sense of humor brought smiles to faces long and teary, stimulating downcast eyes a long time lost in self-denial, caught between steam punk pacifists and discord’s cold-hearted...

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MOCK-HEROIC MINIMALISTS BY STERLING WARNER

Young, inexperienced, eager for adventure we explored each other’s bodies with words amalgamated curiosity and intuition left deft impressions on metaphysical planes where we scanned each meter of our mutual heartbeats, measured...

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BOUDOIR TRAMPOLINE BY STERLING WARNER

I impressed brothers and sisters slithering over a foam topper pad like a lizard, flaying arms and legs like St. Andrew’s cross, fingers and toes pegged to pillows after tossing blankets, pup tenting sheets and mimicking jungle...

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LOVE THOSE LEGS BY DIANA RAAB, PH.D.

When I was 14, a young man in a red sports car wasn’t looking where he was driving and crashed into the station wagon in front of him. When the policeman asked him to describe the accident, the fellow said, “Sorry, officer, did...

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HOROSCOPE BY JOHN ATTANAS

Every morning I check my Aries hoping to read You will soon find love. Black coffee, a bowl of Wheaties, staring out at the cloud-laden morning, imagining the face, the smile, the kiss. Monday becomes Friday. October becomes...

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SILENT WINDOW BY JOHN ATTANAS

After Emily Dickinson She stares out the window, vacant street, upturned garbage can, squirrel searching for breakfast. The silence of the approaching storm encircles her, chains tightening with each breath. A flock of black...

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POST OFFICE AS METAPHOR BY JOHN ATTANAS

  I didn’t murder the clerk even though he threw my change like I was a beggar, even though he barked, Check your receipt after I asked when my package would arrive, even after he gave me the finger when I wished him happy...

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FUGUE BY BURCU SEYBEN

The package arrives. Thrown onto the sloping staircase. The Halloween kids mocked. Their steps were right-angled, ours nearly a slide. Laughter rang out. An adult hushed them, we might feel ashamed. Softly to the child. Feels...

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AT 6 AM BY ARTHUR GINSBERG

birdsong pours through the open window. I cannot know if the suet I hung yesterday fills them with joy, or if, the handsome male in the maple is wooing the female in the condominium next door, or if, it is simply dawn that fills...

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SWALLOWS BY ARTHUR GINSBERG

Of those things held like nectar in the soul, the pearls of fidelity are lustrous in the unveiling of each day, are strung and clasped from hope to hope that illuminates the dark, as when, year after year, swallows take refuge...

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