Gharib S – Susie Gharib

To Rodal Church   Some asylum seekers flee the penury of their homes, others, the scourge of a tyrant and very few the narrow horizon that constricts their roles. They’re prepared to perish on their way to the land of their choice. Some had suffocated in trucks. Others drowned while traveling on the semblance of a boat, but all have the same goal: a better life abroad.   Today I introduce a new type of asylum that the dead uphold, when someone’s soul dictates its final abode. So what if it dwells in some spot before the body has yielded … Continue reading Gharib S – Susie Gharib

Reddick N – Niles Reddick

Two stories A Job Interview             The provost for the small, private college seemed nice enough during the interview, was polished, and had a small head and long neck, like Parmigianino’s Madonna with the Long Neck. When Dr. Margaret Hamilton stood, I followed her out of the office, and like most males, I watched her behind swoosh in the tight black skirt and hose. Her behind resembled a heart with rolls moving up and outward on both sides and then back in, tapering off near the knees.             As a newly minted Ph.D., advised by my own professors at a … Continue reading Reddick N – Niles Reddick

McGowan Dr J A – Dr Jennifer A McGowan

In Issue 1 I included some hand-drawn initials, which reference back to the medieval Books of Hours and other documents. They are drawn with skill and humour. The artist states “These are initials adapted from the Macclesfield Alphabet Book, a fifteenth-century manuscript. They are modern ink on scraps of vellum”. Here is one which is now complete with the text. When not hiding in the fifteenth century, and sometimes even then, Jennifer A. McGowan has published poetry and prose in many magazines and anthologies on both sides of the Atlantic, including Pank and The Rialto.  Her latest collection, With Paper for Feet, a series of dramatic … Continue reading McGowan Dr J A – Dr Jennifer A McGowan

Griffith M – Michael Griffith poems

Love   How can I help you? the home robot asks as I tap the screen for my morning game.   She gives me the same dopamine rush, just with different apps. Different apps by day, different apps by night.   How can I help you?   I’m hungry.   I curse the old toaster for burning my bread as the ‘fridge tells me that I’m low on eggs and high in cholesterol.   The robot discards the burnt toast and toaster. The drone will have new here by lunch.   How can I help you?   Endless choices, all … Continue reading Griffith M – Michael Griffith poems