Andrey Gritsman

EMPTY HOUSE BY HUDSON House abandoned,even traces of souls evaporated.No one will die there anymore.Nobody prepares the bed.I am just a passerby,incidental traveler.And I am calm, my returnsecured. For some reasonmy soul’s in the empty house.It calls come backto the dark corners, to dust.This is my regular stroll,passing the house,passing myselfon the road unknown. Translated…

Nidhi Agrawal

The three poems are located below the introductory paragraphs, but we recommend reading the introduction to fully appreciate these works. Introduction In India Lord Shiva is known as the Father God and Goddess Durga is referred to as the Mother Goddess from the age of the Indus Valley Civilization of Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa (The civilization…

George Freek

I PONDER THE FUTURE (After Su Tung Po’s ‘Autumn’) The summer’s lilies are gone.They’ll never come back.The autumn chrysanthemumsare also fading.They’re turning black.What beauty is there in winter?I hear a cardinal whistlehis lonely cry.‘Look at me’, he seems to say,raising his despondent head.Perhaps he just missed a grub.He’ll also soon be dead.I know rivers still…

Carson Pytell

White Elephants and/or Sacred Crows All is misery-fraught in the realm of earth,the work of fortune changes the world under the heavens.Here wealth is loaned. Here friends are loaned.Here man is loaned. Here family is loaned—And this whole foundation of the earth wastes away! Dick came home late again to a hot dinnerwhich his maid…

Dandelion Prinsloo

A bike ride through Colonial Hills You peddle past the smell of sprinkler water on warm pavementYou are not depressedJust a little tiredAnd breathless from the peddling uphill with the weight of hot sun in your satchel. There are no shade trees lining Maint St.Not like in the nicer neighborhoodsThe only thing separating you from…

Ellis Elliott

OR I was afraid the housewould burn down,or that it wouldn’t.Fear that smelledof Jim Beamand Kent Regularsand felt like fistsof stinging nettlesin my twisting child-size gut. Never thinkingpast her hot ashesfalling from cigaretteto mattress. Thenit could be over, the flaregun of my flaminghouse would tellthe story I could not. Heard Trish and I could almost…

Jordan Hartt

El arroyo he lies in piñon shade with a plastic jug of gasoline-colored gin           both he and the piñon gripping the sandstone dirt to keep from falling into the arroyo          y debajo de él, en el arroyo, un jóven de dieciséis años sentado en sombra salpicada por las ramas secas de una acacia solitaria                  tenía el…

Brian Baumgart

Artifact I.She closes the book. Her fingers break open on the edge of the pages, small slits like half-asleep eyes. Crying. She stains the paper red, but only on the outside. If you open the book and read, you’d never know she bled, or how, when she looked inside, the coiled letters called her snake,…

Kevin A. Risner

Chalcedon A sign in a squareTo inform passersby or those in lineFor the newest latte offering.Something had been here, a structureDuring the time of Chalcedon. Schisms and diocesesNotwithstanding. That building is notStanding any longer. Only remains remain.But not even that. I see nothing. I wonderWhat it was that was there.All around the entire district.I, too,…