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Pete

John Baverstock·December 9, 2021

…Pete… written by: JOHN BAVERSTOCK …Pete…. He told many a tale About his foreign tours, Drinking in...

English Poetry

·1 min read

She and The Beast

Sunita Paul·March 18, 2020

She and The Beast written by: Sunita Paul Seema was doing her homework but was not at...

English Literature

·2 mins read

House of Ill Repute

Nivedita Roy·November 30, 2019

House of Ill Repute written by: Nivedita Roy @Roynivi3 They enter as traitors in this lupanar, this bordello,...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Resurrection Tuesday

Judge Burdon·October 15, 2019

Resurrection Tuesday written by: Judge Burdon The subversive scheme of benevolent intention Fades with the last smile...

English Poetry

·1 min read

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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Pete

House of Ill Repute

Resurrection Tuesday

When The Jehovahs Knock

Taps on The Ceiling

This Man’s War

Song

Love

The Meditation in a Sailing Lesson

To Go Back

Stump

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Holes in My Soul

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