Devil’s ring “Devil’s Ring” call the Clitoris Some religious And some cloistered nuns What do they see in the vertical smile
The Poetess
by Doug Dawson I thought I was smart – 39 years old and still running around – a sexual libertine who loved wild women and sexual conquests. Over the years I’d cut a swath through the arts community and in my spare time dated love-starved ex-nuns, socialites, cheating housewives, well-padded matrons, a swimsuit model, a […]
Conversation with God
by Ramzi Albert Rihani I have a few questions that I will be grateful if you could send down your answers. I say “send down” because we’ve been taught that you are up in heaven. God forbid, you cannot be down in hell. That’s where bad things happen. You are the almighty, the most powerful, […]
poems by L. Sydney Abel
Press Men All the press men talk the same Same filth from the same drain Needed is honest legitimacy
poems by Yusra Usmani
Manifesto A man needs something outside of his comprehension to revere, or else he makes an idol out of his own intelligence. The absurdity of a God who’s both the first and last; the manifest and hidden; the creator and destroyer, is necessary for this reason. The excess of religious art and architecture thrills […]
poems by Milton P. Ehrlich
With a name like Lily, she had to endure Bullets flew all around her like swarms of stinging bees since the day she was born.
Sonnet about Apollonian beauty of the world
by Paweł Markiewicz We think of the fascinating charm. We fantasize about wizardry. We ponder on the amazing bard. We reflect on poetic beauty.
poems by Dennis Williams
Pull me up Burden overburden I’m sinking very fast this is more than my fair share of the cross, I must bear.
Caine, Utah, Washington and Maine
by Thomas M. McDade I hitchhiked to Salt Lake City in 1986. I’d just read Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. My adventures were no match for his, no ride in a rig hauling dynamite or truck like he boarded in Iowa City, driver “crazy and yelling,” and definitely not the flatbed loaded with other pilgrims […]
poems by DB Jonas
Freud in London in the Rain … I thither went With inexperienced thought and laid me down On the green bank to look into the clear Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.