July 6, 2022

Student Poetry by Anai Gonzalez

Student Poetry by Anai Gonzalez

my hoodie reeks of depression it has food stains and maybe tear stains too my scalp flakes from excessive stress regardless of how often i shower my hair isn’t even as beautiful as it used to be it doesn’t shine anymore and i’m losing handfuls of it and of course, my mother is right beside me to remind me of all this my smile is shadowed by my saddened eyes needless to say, it’s faker than ever these days my body isn’t anywhere as fit as it was just months ago i’m losing all my muscle fat, i don’t love my body anymore my skin consists of red dots spread across my cheeks exposing my imperfections, embarrassing me to tears my mind is way too troubled to develop concrete thoughts and translate them into decent…

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June 21, 2022

“Circling the Bronze Sculptures,” by Paul Germano

“Circling the Bronze Sculptures,” by Paul Germano

She first notices him at the far end of the room, lean, rugged, rough around the edges, wearing dark-wash jeans and a grey hoodie under a brown leather jacket. He has short-cropped coppery-red hair and two days’ worth of reddish scruff. He rubs leisurely at the side of his face while pondering a watercolor on bark paper, an evocative rendering of a lonely fishing boat tied to a weather-beaten dock in murky water. He steps back, slightly tilting his head. He can feel her attentive gaze, but pretends not to notice. When the moment is right, he sneaks a peek and likes what he sees. Her dress is just tight enough, a navy-blue number with white trim and matching high heels. She has chestnut brown hair that’s shoulder length and silky smooth, piercing green eyes…

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June 18, 2022

“Juneteenth: Remember That Time” by Derrick R. Lafayette

“Juneteenth: Remember That Time” by Derrick R. Lafayette

I remember in mid-march 2015, Kendrick Lamar’s second album debuted. One of my closest friends, who is white, had played it for his wife, who is also white. Needless to say, the first thirty seconds is a sample from Boris Gardiner’s “Every ____ is a star.” She promptly told him to turn it off. She was uncomfortable, and I understand. The first fourteen years of my life were a heavy combination of daily reminders and academic study into the bloated, complicated, and emotionally traumatizing history of slavery. My elementary school had taught me “Lift Every Voice and Sing” when I was four years old. Some people don’t know that there’s a Black National Anthem. I’d seen Roots, The Color Purple, Shaka Zulu, Panther, Rosewood, and Malcolm X by the time I was in seventh grade….

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June 13, 2022

“Ideology as a Way of Life,” Poetry by Tali Shabtai

“Ideology as a Way of Life,” Poetry by Tali Shabtai

“Ideology as a Way of Life” Women like me, yes have been added over the years to overshadow what preceded us that is mostly not in line with our agenda. The accepted wording is not what will satisfy our desires – Desires? Ours? Well then, I write in the female first person plural so as not to sound as one who sins with pretension as an individual woman, however I do not have many female friends for this journey and those who have already passed through a station or two according to the fixed rules of society A woman like me tries to stay free from society and at the same time to be in it with boycotts in double-digit ages until the arrival of the adolescence age and beyond I bear this bitter insult…

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June 7, 2022

“Virtual Math,” A Short Story by David Rogers

“Virtual Math,” A Short Story by David Rogers

I meditated on this lost and perhaps mythical labyrinth . . . on the secret summit of some mountain . . . I imagined it infinite, . . . a sinuous, ever-growing maze which would take in both past and future and would somehow involve the stars.            —Jorge Luis Borges, “The Garden of Forking Paths”  “I did it,” Professor Radiant announced. “I’ve solved the problem of faster-than-light travel.” Radiant was the most senior member of La Mancha University’s Department of Mathematics, but no one listened to him. He was well known for his quixotic quests to solve problems like the Riemann hypothesis or to show Pi did, in fact, have a last digit. Of course these efforts never ended well.  Thus, not until Professor Radiant made his claim about the secret of FTL travel…

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May 23, 2022

“Lend Your Ears,” Poetry by Tapeshwar Prasad

“Lend Your Ears,” Poetry by Tapeshwar Prasad

Lend your ears I have other ways To enamour your heart Hark! My calligraphy Lending your ears On the wings of a butterfly – One flower to the next ** Colour of my grief I puff up the earth A little more, from Under my grave To see you blooming Colour of my grief  – The blood of my poppies Rooting the nerves, inside ** Scarecrow of the night You have been So easy upon me Like a butterfly of my dreams Yet, the reality; outside was maintaining an eerie silence in this turbulent night I settled down With an imagery of the fore Cozy in my sleep Yet the evil spirit of the night Was hell bent over frightening me, with its Scarecrow imagery ** Trollybag I was all seeing – You, that were…

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May 12, 2022

“Pain of the Poet,” Assamese Poetry by Guna Moran

“Pain of the Poet,” Assamese Poetry by Guna Moran

PAIN OF THE POET Original: Assamese: Guna Moran Translation: Bibekananda Choudhury Creator means poet So many innumerable poems did my mother write In the fresh leaf of the heart From the date she conceived me in her womb Who has bothered about the silent poet? I don’t know how much help I could be Having now understood the value of labour of the creator At least I could discover my sangfroid brother As I write My mother lovingly serves a cup of tea And says, looking at me From the corner of her eyes “Poem is one only Only writer is different But the pain of all the poets are All the same” The sun is burning to light others— Fuel cannot give light to others Without burning itself Don’t write much My darling I…

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May 2, 2022

Carolyn Adams — Art and Poetry

Carolyn Adams — Art and Poetry

“Epiphany” In the Absence of Red Alarms My blood sisters remember what I’ve almost forgotten, the menses that measure our time. I’ve lapsed my membership in that club, I travel free from the 30-day clock. My time is counted differently now. Days are years, years are millennia, millennia are without measure at all. There is no monthly debt; all accounts have been balanced. I spend myself as I wish now, with no child or threat of one. I’ve reached a bargain with the planets, their moons, the sky and all of its diamonds. I won’t wish on anything anymore. I have what I need. Days pass quietly here in the corner of the universe where I savor the slight air of a spring night, where my steps have taken 60 years to make sense. I…

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April 28, 2022

“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

POINTS TO MAKE Today began like a heart on fire. In between there was this hot-cold-hot-cold movement to establish the fact of me. It ended like a man with something to bury. I woke to the sight of a burning house, instructing firemen where to point their hoses. Family units are brittle. I’ve known this all along. I fell asleep that night like someone on a long, long highway. There must be something here about love – no, yearning – that’s it. In future excavation, you who yearn to uncover the ancient will find nothing but ancient yearning. Today, everything moved. It tried to leave me behind but I kept seeing me by my side. By night, I’d made it. I vowed to teach the light – teach it something new. I’m who I am…

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