by Ricki Garni The first day that I ever heard SKA music I felt as though I had just been born.Everything seemed so new and fresh. I felt as though I fell in love for the first time.I felt as though I ran so fast through the woods that I thought my heart was goingto burst. I felt as though I played the piano and laughed as though there was nothingmore delightful in the entire world and I was playing terribly. I felt as though I stoleapples from the corner store. I felt as though I jumped over a turnstile and jumped … Continue reading SKA!

Now Showing

by Bruce McRae A movie I’m not meant to understand. A silent film, but in a foreign language, its sub-​​titles melting as if in a downpour, and just the noise of the ancient projector, with just myself in this empty cinema, a cold hand in the buttery popcorn and a sense that I might be missing something, something important, but I’ll be stuffed if I can tell you what it is at the moment. On the mercurial screen ghostly figures go about the business of fading from memory. The fire curtain flutters purposelessly, at least not for any reason I can … Continue reading Now Showing

Death Of A Mouse

by Bruce McRae Which is no great thing, coming in from the frost-​​bitten fields, meeting its mousey maker, eternity’s agent the simple housecat, a fat and playful angel of death. The mouse, its life poured out on a mat by a door, the watch of its heart stopped, the wheel in its head no longer turning. As must we all lie down, a little dirt-​​nap for the fallen just, an old wind aching in the yellowing glade, fields of gold calling us home, the grains of harvest piled high. Continue reading Death Of A Mouse

Cometh The Hour

by Bruce Mc Rae Can’t you sense it, son of a bitch? Something is coming over the fields. Something approaches us on its stomach. Some say it’s winter or an army of snow. Some suggest a muted messenger. Everyone nods when death is mentioned. It’s marching out of the seventh level, dragging a chain, a bad foot, a giant’s head. It flies from out the valleys of reason, my sweetest demons rattling in their beds, all my soft monsters despairing, the sun blighted, the air soured. But it’s only the rain, an optimist says. Schools darken, our churches condemned.                                     It’s only the plague … Continue reading Cometh The Hour

The Markets Are Down 2%

by Afzal Moola Banish the hubris;Toss away the choice wordsSpoken by rotten, broken tongues.Silence the chorus of appalled shock. Shred the sermons,Burn down the gory edifices:The churches, mosques, templesAnd the muted Gods they mock. Drain the sewage.Flush away the insidious odourSeeping up from malls, homes, carnivals.Put it in a closet and weld the key in the lock. Shut it all off.Turn out the lights.Pull the damned plug.But hold on to that blue-​​chip stock. Continue reading The Markets Are Down 2%

The Infidel

by Afzal Moola The infidel writes, blasphemes, rejecting cellophane sermons. The infidel whispers, cursing, the benevolence of the higher power. The infidel chokes, gagging, on the odour that emanates, from self-​​righteous mouths. The infidel waits, patiently, for the retribution that must arrive. The infidel casts off, the labels of faith, of belonging, of sanctimonious snobbery. The infidel refuses, To beseech the merciful god, And to cower, And to kneel. The infidel stands, At times alone. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone” Continue reading The Infidel

A Sleeping Pill ShapedLike A Snowflake

by A.J. Huffman I spin. My thoughts like a web. Untravelable. Interpretable. As directions to the seven levels of hell. I was there. First.  Last.  And foremost. I survived. To tell a tale no one will believe. But they sit in awe of its beauty. Bloody and bold. Like a song with no name. They will carry it in the back of their minds. Forever. Locked tight. Like the secrets of death. Frozen. By a fear and a forgiveness too deep for my hands to see. Continue reading A Sleeping Pill ShapedLike A Snowflake

The Anniversary

by Guhan Santhanam Tracing breadcrumbs on a cloudy sky, Searching footprints in pouring rain. A brail , a cane , a best friend, To stammer down, memory lane. Past with present, is a strange infusion. Sights of a father, with eyes of a son. When your laughter,carries no noise. Your sorrow , no tears. You regress to fall, but stand in bloom. Memory treasure hunts, will measure the distance; Between you then, And you now. Sculpted moments, flash. From the journal of a saga. Overwhelmed, unprepared Ghosts of the past, could never open doors. Would leave a window, to a time that was. Horizons of the past, caress your grasp. Horizons of … Continue reading The Anniversary