Unrequited love through a poem titled, “Colorful Game Booth.” By Ana Surguladze, a poetry editor with Flora Fiction.
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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.
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Lazy Sunday by Laurentiu Stehan
A Lazy Sunday stroll by the lake turned into an epic adventure when Willy was attacked by an Ice Dragon near the Medieval Castle.
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Smoke and Ashes by Stephen Spotte
My father’s cigar-smoking, or rather its imminent threat, had caused our banishment to the porch. After supper, Dad had taken a cigar from his shirt pocket with the practiced deliberation of an actor. Mom, recognizing the cue as hers, stood and began clearing the dishes. “Marcel,” she said, “you’re not going to smoke that…
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Dogeared By Basil Humphrey
I am well worn, thumbed through, creased at the edgesAlways stuck on the same page, always mid-sentence,I can neither avert my eyes, turn thoughts, nor paperFor it is my life’s work, knowing something of what’s gone beforeBut no clarity as to what comes nextI live in the now of uncertaintyNo future, beyond skittish dreamsMy imprint…
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A Different Kind of Game By Loren Meza
Right now I’m sitting alone in my favorite bistro. A cocktail or two, some delicious comfort food, and possibilities, all lie in waiting. Nights like this call for red lipstick. Nights where, no one you already know can make up for the crappy day you’ve had. The ones where existential crises dictate the order of…
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Kaleidoscope By Susan Cornford
“I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up all over my wedding dress!” I said. “Breathe,” my friend, Monica, replied. I breathed. I didn’t throw up. It was past the time of morning sickness so something else was wrong. The woman in the mirror in front of me reapplied the…
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Life By Eva Wal
Smiling into the morning’s faceI lie under a tree Listening to birds With my eyesI kiss the crooked treefull of rounded fruits A happy crowd held in friendly arms I can do what I wantI watch the river flow Don’t be a slave, don’t be a foolshe speaks to mewhile I cry tears of joy…
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The King’s Pirouette By Jaden Fong
Just to the left of the dying lavender,there is a castle of a web, fit fornothing short of a king. That’sjust what I expect the spider is, too: a king.His galt is royal, regal, intentional.He spins crystalline twine day after nightafter day, laying each ivory wing to his thronecarefully, one after another. I suspectthat he…
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