poems by John Grey
Top of the world We’re flying over snow-buried land, flat and tree-less. This desolation is the quickest route between two places where people live.
e-revista EgoPHobia
Top of the world We’re flying over snow-buried land, flat and tree-less. This desolation is the quickest route between two places where people live.
by Somodi Iulian Verse 1: In the urban landscape, where the concrete meets the sky, There resided a wordsmith with a message that could never die, He strutted the boulevards with a confident gait, With poesy in his pockets and sagacity innate.
Re: Recovery things can open too fast I bang the wall just another time and it falls over so much I’m not ready for
Three Forms of Mind (For his soul melt and his mind flow like water. Ivo Andric, The Bridge on the Drina)
by Jonathan Vidgop translated into English by Leo Shtutin My room is very small. I can traverse it in five steps, turn right or left, depending on what wall I’m walking along, and take three further steps. My room thus resembles a Christian coffin or an antique pencil box with a fitted wooden lid. But […]
The American Dream with streets once paved with gold, now filled with detours, the dream has been put on hold.
by Chris Gartland Nice, Nice, Very Nice – 12/23/2022 Despite planning a solstice break, scribblings on paper, persistent as paintings on cave walls, do not allow it, it, it, it’s not a real word in the sense of understanding offsides if never having played the game – perhaps a proof in the form of an […]
Blockage this feels like a lot more than ninety-eight point six but there’s always something to be said
by Elizabeth Bruce Daughter I ask, you waver. The questions linger there behind the lace curtains passed down from mother to mother to you, Daughter. Your teacup trembles, its lilac flowers basking in the timidity of your embrace.
[A ten-minute play] by Cătălina Florina Florescu, PhD CHARACTERS: Grandpa, 70’s Grandson, 23 TIME: A summer day with clear sky LOCATION: A forest by a lake