The days are dull now the clouds closing in. sunshine and bird song gone gone the anticipation, the when and …
Brushes-for-fingers. A poem by John W. Sexton
In the subtle movements of their branches the fir trees are treading air. They never drown in it. Even when …
Burnt Offerings, Palms and The days stretch long. Poetry by Josephine LoRe
Burnt Offerings With which sacrifice will we appease the wrath of unnamed gods? Will we offer our first-born, the head …
His Hands. A poem by Madeline A Stringer
His hands that made my childhood now were calm, the bruising cruel butterfly had flown. Fingers lay waxen in my …