Latest Art - Page 3 of 15

July 12, 2021July 19, 2021

Estimate by Robert Boucheron

A fictional take on an elaborately detailed “Estimate” written in the second person by Robert Boucheron, an architect in Charloettesville, Virginia.

July 3, 2021July 19, 2021

Ghost by Anthony Emerson

“Ghost” by Anthony Emerson, explores the ethereal nature of love and the world. Anthony lives and writes at the edge of the North Maine Woods. More of his work can be found published elsewhere.

July 1, 2021July 15, 2021

Suzy and The Last Revolution in Ager by Laurentiu Stehan

Suzy and her friend Sarah live in Ager. Suzy will quickly learn that the Council of the Wise does not approve of her thinking. The Protectors of Freedom come to her aid.

June 29, 2021July 15, 2021

Shush Please by Tamizh Ponni

A poem about insomnia on a cold night that’ll keep one lucid. “Shush Please” is by Tamizh Ponni, a Design Facilitator in an International School in Bengaluru, India.

June 27, 2021July 15, 2021

Burnt Sienna by Jagari Mukherjee

Jagari’s poem “Burnt Sienna” paints the colors of love. Mukherjee is an award-winning poet and reviewer based in Kolkata, India. She is the Founder and Managing Editor of EKL Review.

June 25, 2021July 15, 2021

Broken Masterpiece by Fereshteh Hadisi

Vulenerability is straightforward. Fereshteh Hadisi exemplifies this in the poem, “Broken.” Fereshteh grew up reading books, loving stories, and studied English Literature as an undergraduate and graduate student.

June 23, 2021July 15, 2021

Colorful Game Booth

Unrequited love through a poem titled, “Colorful Game Booth.” By Ana Surguladze, a poetry editor with Flora Fiction.

June 9, 2021July 15, 2021

Black Marble by Rock Martinez

“Black Marble” is an illustrative tribute to lives that have been lost for the USA. Robert Martinez is a 75-year old veteran who has been writing poems, short stories and novels for over fifty years.

June 7, 2021May 7, 2021

Snow Angels by Lucie Han

Falling snow. Steady and soundless, like a clock ticking from within a void. Like running your fingers along the keys of a piano, but never pressing down. Camille likes to do that when his heart feels too hollow for music. He touches the smooth white silence. Camille is standing at the edge of an…

I found a notebook filled with fragments.fleshless bones,skeleton poems,stillborn fiction.I reread them,bleedings from a badly sutured year,throatless memoirmy own ragechoked by my own pen.my own thoughts shrouded, unallowed.no more.I tore each page from the spine and burned my words alive. Missy is a Cleveland poet, madly in love with words.

Does your soul live with you? It is dark. The night is losingits battle against the eternity,although it’s never giving in.I was trying to switch offthe moonlight, and take offtoday’s colourful skin. Because beneath there isa memory of never endingnight that started with a fool moon.Because beneath there aretricky memories ending likea good movie –…

My eyes are lilies.My skin turned toflower flesh forcingsecrets straightto my bright heart.So I become a rose,flower head with no potbut field fresh and readyfor my growth. Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California. In his spare time he writes poems, takes long walks, and looks at birds.

I am four-years-old. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub while my mother paints on her cat-eyes. It is not enough to watch her in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror. I want her to face me, to feel her arms around me, to squeeze me until bedtime. Instead, she sprays her sweeping up-do…

“George Murata found some pearls here in the lake,” said Otis. He burst into the bar where I was resting drinking a beer after a long day working on a gasser at Caddo Lake. “Who the hell is George Murata?” I drawled. I looked at Otis, his face was black with oil…

Instagram