Author: admin

A COLIN KAEPERNICK NIKE AD

“Just do it”, holds no worth, unless You’re crazy enough, to let self-belief, Turn the corner, into concrete deed. How like in New York, When you turn 90 degrees, it can be Wall Street, Or perhaps Broadway. How you need not...

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NEW YORK BY DILANTHA GUNAWARDANA

The green patina of copper oxides, The jade colored statue of the maiden of liberty, That reminds every man, woman and child, That over here, the grass is greener. How Every minute rushes past faster than A subway train, and the...

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AMAZON BURNING BY DILANTHA GUNAWARDANA

How fire has a way of going viral, Faster than a post of a modern-day Lady Godiva On Facebook, and still, there are No miracle cures for the wild things. Prometheus didn’t bring Fire to this world, for mankind To set her...

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SUMMER MOMENT BY MARIANNE LYON

Walking from front door I go out to visit The maple touch her braille skin comb her abundant foliage expecting my reach and her roots with their clenched knuckles and the soft grass like a slippery carpet and the breezeless...

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ANCIENT OAK BY MARIANNE LYON

I pause beside ancient oak stump the one that bids me contemplate life but my puppy wags, seeking my eyes wonders why we have stopped Inside a moment of stillness I query if a part of me way down in my roots is really untethered...

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MERCY BY MARIANNE LYON

He was young once— brown eyed, dewy cheeks Now aged, he sits at my table sometimes sunshine knells through window other days, rain stings against glass. I am repulsed by thorny complaints gruff laugh, swollen bitterness I do not...

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THE DAY AFTER VETERANS DAY BY KARINA LUTZ

An old, straight-backed man, chest holding tight as armor since Korea, looks at me, a woman walking alone in the wide open park designed by Olmstead according to Wilson’s biophilia so I can see predators yet never be far from a...

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DEATH TO THE ESCAPE FANTASY BY KARINA LUTZ

I. Whiteness is marked, too The colorful one-dollar-a-day expat enclaves, their string hammocks and thinning longhairs, their bare-foot cantinas and surf-soundtracked all-night cheap-dope conversations no longer appeal: I’m an...

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PSYCHE AND EROS BY ANNIE MA

It was an August sunset when I saw you last — the lazy breeze was thick with autumnal promises that hung in the air like warm cinnamon. You were waiting for me at the end of the pebble path you had lined with California Poppy...

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2018 Top Ten Award

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