Taps | by DC Diamondopolous

Peter crouched in front of the attic window and gazed down on old man Mueller’s cornfield. The plow, unhitched beyond the stalks, turned north like he meant to continue but got interrupted. Peter looked toward the barn, no sign of Mueller’s horse and buggy. The Amish and Mennonite neighbors, with their peculiar ways kept to…

Poetry is an art- Poetry is beautiful | by Ozo-Iyama Keziah 

Ozo-Iyama Keziah is a student of the University of Ibadan, Faculty of Arts (Department of European Studies). She derives joy in singing, reading, being creative, just to mention a few and apparently, writing – it is a hobby I admire and treasure a great deal. She is into sports (Tennis, Basketball, Running) and likes to put…

​Argyle Nights | by Paul Beckman

“If you loved me, you would fight with me – you would at least argue with me – you wouldn’t just sit and stare,” my late wife Vanessa would say. “Don’t you care enough to argue – to raise your voice? What kind of man doesn’t have a strong point of view? Or any point…

Four poems | by Michael Lee Johnson

​ Classic 70’s Chick (V2) Classic 70’s chick scent of these times gold digger want to be. Poet & scholar stuck on T.S. Eliot “The Waste Land.” She tracks down a few stray men, prospect hunks, & greenback dreams. Her long legs stretched out beneath this dinette table, these high wooden heels hang out @ Dusty,…

Momma’s Rules | by Paul Beckman

There are seven daughters but only six on display. Number 5 (we are not allowed to say the name of the missing—it’s not allowed), these are Momma’s rules and have been all her life—all ninety-two years. I miss talking to Number 5—we are the closest in age and have always been best friends except for…

Leaving | by Leslie Kain

On a brilliant spring morning, as daffodils nodded their golden heads, robins poked at greening lawns to find insects for breakfast and sparrows busily gathered bits for their nests, Dr. Samena Burns headed to her office. A light breeze carried intoxicating scents of warm earth, lifting her imagination to faraway unknown destinations. But she resisted…

Between Buhari and Naomi Campbell |Kemi Okunade

Yorubas would say “e ni wa fa, wa ofo”, meaning it is a person who seeks disproportionate or preposterous intent, seeks for misfortune or detriment. That’s the case of our dear president and Naomi Campbell. Let’s put sentiments aside for a minute and agree that there is no way President Buhari would have known who…

DAPCHI GIRLS: TRUE LIFE BLACK PANTHER | KEMI OKUNADE

Sometimes ago, my friend told me there is nothing new in Nigeria. What is being called news is not new. What is being reported is old stories that are being recycled because of relevance and the need to report something. Abi what is new in fuel price hike? What is special about corruption and bad…

Damascus in Syria before the war | by Sofia Kioroglou

​I love spring Whenever I look out the window I see a riot of color.   Flowers of all forms and sizes Blossoming in my garden after being shrinking violets.   But Nigella damascena is my favorite reminding me of Damascus in Syria before the war   Reminding me that the Chaghoura, the beautiful gazelle…

Two poems | by Sravani Singampalli

​Rooh Afza I start composing my poem I say I am petrichor I am the fresh perfume Issued from cardamom thoughts When I smell the sweet earthy scent Of the immature rain. This is so mesmerising! As I stare at the rain I wait for my cup of hot coffee And a plate of pakoras….

MacBens Tea Shop | Makinde Damilola Peter

She snuck up to him again, casting a wandering spell on his mind for the umpteenth time, that night. He stared at the ceiling, towards the beautiful chandelier hanging from it. But the ornated lighting wasn’t close to what he was seeing. She further strayed his heart, flashing a smile across his reminiscences, making his…

Four Poems | by Yuan Changming

This Thought This is the thought that is Sailing along the horizon This is the thought ready to fall Finally from the leaf-tip at dawn This is the thought looming afar Beyond the stark mountains This is the thought newly taken Out of the water by the swordsmith This is the thought with a bloated…

Meditation | by Mare Leonard 

Can’t let go  can’t say noticingmoveon   I focus on a photo Blocks of red yellow blue   In center a bold cobalt spot Nothing that designed   Not a kid’s Lego tower Set into  grooves   A makeshift avocado shed Open thousands of green   Spheres swarm like locusts Around my head  like the…

The Home I Miss | Olamide Tejuoso 

As dry logs blaze to ashes, three years have scurried away into thin air, leaving my final year skinny and naked before concerned eyes. Yet, that feeling of father’s hug while I was a freshman still stood grounded in my memories. Many would say I should have grown out of this. But what would an…