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Little Red Morrigan

Sarra Culleno·October 18, 2021

Little Red Morrigan written by: Sarra Culleno @sarra1978 Many moons ago / in a land of laws...

Poetry English

·1 min read

RASPBERRIES

Dianne Moritz·August 24, 2020

RASPBERRIES written by: Dianne Moritz Before we left for home that Iowa summer, Gramma handed me a...

English Literature

·1 min read

October Hues

Krishna Chamling aka Kr. Chamling·January 20, 2020

October Hues written by: Kr. Chamling The cool October mornings break into Hot lovely days filled with...

Poetry English

·1 min read

A Bountiful Harvest

James Gabriel·October 11, 2019

A Bountiful Harvest written by: James Gabriel @James_Gabriel1 walk the rows of the field snap an ear...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Down East Incident

John R Cobb·October 3, 2019

Down East Incident written by: John R. Cobb @john_r_cobb The sweltering day had followed into evening, and...

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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Little Red Morrigan

RASPBERRIES

October Hues

A Bountiful Harvest

Down East Incident

When The Jehovahs Knock

The Bishop’s Nightmare

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