100 TPC* in “H-Ray Vision”. A poem by Hillol Ray

100 TPC* in “H-Ray Vision” Dawn of civilization opened up human vision To portray their own intrinsic mind- And an “internal sense” of aesthetics was born That’s still prevailing on present mankind. Biogenetic influence in our culture Relates to the seed of beauty in our brain- Followed by ethical values, disappearing fast, Like passengers inContinue reading “100 TPC* in “H-Ray Vision”. A poem by Hillol Ray”

Every Heart. A poem by Connie T. Braun

Every Heart The maps have been redrawn and the roads are filled again with refugees. Have you not heard? Even the stones listen, hold each footstep. Heartbeats return to the earth, engraved on stone, touched with fingertips of memory. Cobbled roads are lined with linden trees, yellow with blossoms in summer. Their lingering scent drawsContinue reading “Every Heart. A poem by Connie T. Braun”

The Other Life, by Patrick Connors. A Review by Darcie Friesen Hossack

To the Point The best poems are written to be read by anyone. Meticulously crafted over a period of time To seem written quickly and simply The best moments in life are the result of years of preparation passing by in a burst causing change even if you are not ready Before you realize theyContinue reading “The Other Life, by Patrick Connors. A Review by Darcie Friesen Hossack”

The Autumnal Series. Poems by Debra Black

The Autumnal Series #1 ten thousand joys and sorrows, a single silver leaf under the paperly sky. beloved, befriended, then gone, gone, gone. #2 ten thousand sorrows and joys, the slatish grey moon, the silvery dusk settles in, my heart leaps into emptiness, beingness, the suchness of such. beloved, befriended, then gone, gone, gone. #3Continue reading “The Autumnal Series. Poems by Debra Black”

Father’s pigeons. Fiction by Sherzod Artikov

Father’s pigeons Translated from Uzbek into English by Nigora Dedamirzayeva “This is the place that you told,” the driver said. The taxi came to a halt near the edge of the road. I looked around from inside the car. The view – the edifice with two green cupolas and myriad pigeons around them appeared inContinue reading “Father’s pigeons. Fiction by Sherzod Artikov”

Histograms. A poem by Dr. Rubeena Anjum

Histograms histograms show city mounted on a graph stormy grey clouds perched on skyscrapers pillars of isolation stand at 90 degrees friendless patios braving bipolar weather elevators pass through the curtained glass penthouses to down below are inmates barely talking, not even to themselves towering flat-chest avenues, yawning at night, quadrilateral lights watch looming shadowsContinue reading “Histograms. A poem by Dr. Rubeena Anjum”

The Torch That We Never Saw. A poem by Mansour Noorbakhsh

The Torch That We Never Saw (A prayer for Afghans and Afghanistan after brutal Taliban advance while American soldiers and diplomats are leaving Afghanistan.) The water hit us like the hard rocks. The darkness engulfed us by the violent waves when we heard the boat breaking and we saw the light of the bullets towardsContinue reading “The Torch That We Never Saw. A poem by Mansour Noorbakhsh”

Sloshing sound of a flowing river. A poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya

Sloshing sound of a flowing river Through my window, filthy clouds of dust reel in from the graveled lanes of an offended city. It distorts my sights, soaks my shirt with filth, churns my stomach and infuriates me all the time. It is not just the denseness of the air or the stench of theContinue reading “Sloshing sound of a flowing river. A poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya”

Yours. Fiction by Bruce Meyer

Yours A salutation is gesture of sincere utterance that either says hello or offers a goodbye. The sign off defines a relationship. ‘Yours sincerely,’ is business-like, professional, cold, and objective. It offers no warmth. It leaves one with the feeling that what has come before was merely a transaction, a letter to the electric companyContinue reading “Yours. Fiction by Bruce Meyer”

All Shook Up. Non-fiction by Paul Germano

All Shook Up Ring, ring, ring, ring. Roughly 44 years ago (August 16, 1977, to be exact), my landline rang and Nancy was on the other end. Nancy didn’t even bother to say hello. Instead she blurted out, “Elvis is dead.” I was, and still am, a big fan of Elvis Costello, so I immediatelyContinue reading “All Shook Up. Non-fiction by Paul Germano”