By: Debbie Tunstall Griefs algorithm It goes like this: punching walls to the sound ofthe snapping of the bottle, followed by silence. The upward trek on hind legs,the ground sliding beneath them. Trek quietly, lightly, efficientlywith smiles stuffed into my…
By Drew Bufalini When cousins Paul and Jerry were young, daring, and impressionable, they made a good name for themselves in their bad Detroit neighborhood. They were smart types who went through phases of intense interest in a particular subject,…
By: R.T. Castleberry Reaching Through Ice Secured in this viewing chair,slow healing in another’s home,the new year brings erosion rain.Through terrace glass,sweatered against the frost,Hennessy in the teaI watch afternoon fall.Tastes of pain meds, sweet cerealcoat my mouth.Bookmarked through The…
By: Ranjit K Sahu Spring night on the terrace A whisper, a whimper and a muted voiceStretch into the prolonged hours on the terraceThe nuances of a mutiny evolve in the mindThe romances being the cause on the surface Deep…
By Nolo Segundo Enemy Near You have an enemy near you,as close as your breath,as close as your heartbeat,as silent as the grave. This most intimate enemywas born with you andgrew as you grew.In some it is strong,others have tamed…
By: Bruce Levine Feasting on a breakfast of worms A robin hopped across the wide expanse of lawn. The rain, over-night, had awakened the worms And brought them to the surface. A dog sniffed the grass and gazed at the…
By: Rakev Gemechu Glory to Him We sit in a circle, arms folded tight,feet beating the earth like it owes us something.The sun isn’t gentle; it burns our soles darker,carves white lines across skin like old scars.My feet, still smooth,…
Dilli Writers Buddies was the name of the event, and it marked the first-ever Author Meet organized by the podcast channel Books & Theories. The initiative brought together a thriving community of writers, poets, and publishing professionals at Utsav, Lower Ground, The…
By: Richard LeDue “The Meaning of Life Haunts Empty Rooms” I can understand why people listento Mozart, and although he died long ago,he left something much more alivethan a ghost, and I also know whysome people conversewith empty rooms,letting their…
By: Connie Woodring March 25,1945. That is the day we received a new patient on our ward. Her name is Buella Whitehouse. I wasn’t sure if she would be accepted by everyone (patients and staff), since she is a Negro….