JINXED | by Betiku Ayokunle Samuel 

They surrounded him, their fiendish gaze reflecting fury and peharps frustration. To the gang composed of very young lads, George seemed invincible. There appeared to be a repelling force around him playing upon their emotions and inducing somber thoughts of the worst kinds. Still, they would not relent. They’d spent days mapping out the best…

Three poems | by Ana M. Torres

​The Shattered World What is wrong with our world? Where has sense gone? Afraid I’ve become Of the human spirit. What have we done? Does anyone care? We can’t trust What we see anymore. Perhaps too informed To the point of ignorance, We no longer speak Its hatred we spew. Some show ugly souls. Compassion…

Photography | by Fabrice Poussin

Sphynx  ​ Good night   Teasing Heaven  Heaven  Soothing  The Courtroom                    *** Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The…

WOMEN IN HATS (Episode 2) | by Steve Carr 

​“It was horrifying,” Michelle said as she unlocked the door to Connie’s apartment. “I couldn’t stop bawling and all the time Miss Purcell thought I was having an attack of grief.” “What were you having?” Danielle said. “An extreme case of nerves,” Michelle said. “If you hadn’t agreed to let me pick you up to…

WOMEN IN HATS (Episode 1) | by Steve Carr

Sitting on the edge of the cobalt blue satin upholstered chaise lounge, Michelle reached out her hand and with her long slender index finger tapped her cigarette, dropping ashes onto the intricately designed Persian rug. In front of her on a Brazilian teak coffee table, the solitary gold fish in a small bowl floated belly…

​After the Kids are Gone | by Rob O’Hara

A natural part of becoming an adult is pushing back against your parents and taking a stand for something you believe in.  I remember the first time my son stood up to me and took a stand for something he believed in.  He was twelve years old. “Come on!” I yelled from the living room…

​Hello, Dolly, Goodbye | by Pam Munter

Nearly everything about the musical comedy “Hello, Dolly” is legendary. It’s a nostalgic time capsule set to music, not only of the early 20th century but of Broadway’s golden era. And yet, it remains timeless to audiences. Bette Midler has been playing to sold-out houses in a recent revival and in January Bernadette Peters will…

Two Poems | by Kemi Okunade

FINDING HER PIECES You sold me the story of forever, ‘Cause you knew I would hear no other So you painted the world we will be friends forever, ‘Cause you knew a girl like her won’t take lesser. You held my hands and we walked down the aisle For anything less, would have been a…

Ode to Cyprus| by Sofia Kioroglou

O troubled Isle of Aphrodite So battered by hostile winds that vie with one another When will this storm abate? O thou, my father’s land Thy very heart so torn and so in pain A castaway from thy native land thy core is rent in twain Strewn across thy verdant carpet Soldiers have trampled thou…

Photography | by Wayne Russell 

Old door  Abandoned house Sun flower  Indian Chief  Ivy on the Wall  Wayne Russell is a creative writer and amateur photographer that was born and raised in Florida, in March 2016 he founded the online underground lit zine called Degenerate Literature. DL can be found on Twitter, Facebook, and at their website at the following…

​FIRE! | by Betiku Ayokunle Samuel

Tayo saw the reflection of his face on the window of the Black Maria. He stared, mouth agape in shock at his swollen tearful eyes, swollen lips and unkempt hair.This image he saw (if it truly was his) was a far cry from the young handsome teenager he knew he used to be.This was all…

SERIES: Save My Soul (Episodes 12) BY Oyelude Yetunde

  Kamil froze. “I’m not pregnant Kamil. I lied.” Kamil staggered forward, gradually raising his arm and pointing at Lolade in disbelief. “You…you are not pregnant? You…you lied?” He stuttered. Lolade sniffled and used the back of her hands to wipe the tears off her face, only to give way for another stream. “I lied…

Two poems | by Mark Young

A line from Willem de Kooning   Super Bowl is upon us. The U.S. auto industry is heading for a downturn. We must shake ourselves out of our   four-wheeled stupor. The autonomous car is driving into view as the future of transportation. It’s time   to put an end to the debate. The impact…

Two poems | by Ann Christine Tabaka

​Scented Memories Scented memories waft through the air. Expectations widen the eyes of hope, brushing away cobwebs from the lost corners of time.   Synapses fire off as muted sounds of distant voices manifest themselves among the garbled words of blank faces.   History in reverse, snippets resurfacing, if only for a moment. That old…

​Mr Brian Austin | by ​John D Robinson

80 years old and fighting cancer he is still razor sharp witted and quick with it and the gift to tell a good story and one of the  favourites is about meeting Robert Graves: his wife was a big-house published poet and had a close correspondence with the great man and had the rare privilege…