You are here

Archive

Hal O’Leary We have a universe…from whence and where? Must we conclude beginning without end, Defying reason, turning to a prayer? We’re left a puzzle we cannot transcend. Must we conclude...
Submitted: July 8, 2013
iDrew i’m a little tornado riding the night bus clothed in a bass hum i pretend to sit statue hold beat kick legs chew gum finger drum look out the dirty window at the moving high street...
Submitted: July 8, 2013
Carol Smallwood I made as many trips as I dared to the restroom without causing comment. Once inside the unheated cement block room, when I opened and shut my mouth to relieve my clenched...
Submitted: July 8, 2013
Cormac Russell The singer signaled for the choir to release the songs he wrote While burying the parchment in the pocket of his coat But the choir wouldn’t sing it, so he stormed out of the...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Anthony Ward My mood refluxes my gut, A hint of mint Escaping my mouth Without reaching my brain. My temper burnt out With the icy sensitivity thawing, As I wish I could just melt into the...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Fiona Sinclair At first my ‘best side’ photo is mobbed by men so feel like Scarlett O’Hara at a ball, until I discover lads seeking carefree cougar sex or a meal ticket, and from my own...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Fiona Sinclair Creeping away from bed and favourite thriller, you must wash your hair, again, perform yet another make-up legerdemain, clamp yourself into iron maiden jeans. At 52, you do...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Fiona Sinclair Front door ajar, no Jack Russell alarm, their house has the uncanny air of a crime scene. ‘’Hello?’’ ‘’We’re all in the living room!’’ Her casual text had suggested coffee...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Neil Leadbeater The most important question sociologists are asking these days is “where were you when company X launched the i-phone?” “Oh, I was halfway between Queen Street and...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Neil Leadbeater “Nightingales” was in one of those mean streets where everything is bland during the daytime but hots up after dark. That’s when the flashing lights come into their own, the...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Ken Pobo When we kissed the sky didn’t look like Gleason in The Honeymooners. Come to think of it, we both resemble Jackie now except that he’s dead. Alive, we’re remembering tithonias, a...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Ken Pobo In spring this flower gets natty red plates with jagged edges that summer shatters— I snip the stalks way down. In August, six new plates appear— sun, moon and even a few hungry...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Virginie Colline popsicle kisses the sweet sixteen is laughing on the Ferris wheel insouciant hours crazy hopscotch and leapfrog in the spring garden silence on the beach your sky vast and...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Stephen Mead mostly like walks: coffee cafes, talk river, occasional laugh bursts & some (lots of)quiet—— Indulgence is insular, & sometimes it’s too much, sometimes, just right:...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Stephen Mead A celebration tonight for your birthday, 76th, reached nearly in life, Mom, reached nearly despite the last agonizing months, eight, which the diagnosing doctors overlooked the...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Phil Howard ‘STENDEC’ – what could it possibly mean? A desperate message sent on an Andean Flight. Perhaps the control tower misunderstood, Yet the word was confirmed twice in Morse Code,...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Mark Nenadov Carrion, carrion! You’ve landed—but you must carry on the side of the road isn’t the spot for a feathered warrior. Soar on my friend your wing shows a gap a lost battle perhaps...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Mark Nenadov Whether your voice fashioned it or not your last blast is caught in cracking rock and as the whole world races by they’ll see and pause in your memory. I found your moan in a...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
( )
Jon Plunkett Today I rode to work on nothing. No bike. No Road. Just a head full of nothing, spinning off into the suck and pull of the vacuum. I carried on into the chasm if only briefly,...
Submitted: April 18, 2013
Jon Plunkett Inside the glasshouse, a metal strut. Upon the strut, a jar – open. Inside the jar, honey, sun, a wasp, its wings glued to a fold, legs motion slowly in the gloop, abdomen...
Submitted: April 18, 2013

Pages