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The Cunning Linguist

Lee Dunn·February 9, 2021

The Cunning Linguist written by: Lee Dunn @66human Gimme those geometries, those triangles and squares, Dimensional anomalies, to...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Corona Virus: Covid-19

Krishna Chamling aka Kr. Chamling·April 23, 2020

Corona Virus: Covid-19 written by: Kr. Chamling Be careful with that harmful nerd, cannibal which Lurking in...

English Poetry

·1 min read

El Destino

Jose A Gomez·March 29, 2020

El Destino written by: José A Gómez Se me esta escapando el deseo de luchar Fofo me...

Poetry Jose A Gomez Spanish

·1 min read

The Gardener

JPK·October 12, 2019

The Gardener written by: JPK She came each Saturday at half past nine. The girls, when they...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Artisans & Fools

Randal A. Burd, Jr.·August 29, 2019

Artisans & Fools written by: Randal A. Burd, Jr. @COLONELRANDAL The sparks of protest fly as hammer...

Poetry English

·1 min read

Light Of The Forest

zen·January 22, 2018

Light Of The Forest written by: Zen @simplyzen80 I rush making room For rolling out the dry...

Poetry English

·1 min read

Tool Boxes

Maryanne Frederick·November 14, 2016

Tool Boxes written by: Maryanne Frederick @MAFAuthor At twelve, we hand our boys Tool boxes With hammers...

English

·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...

Features

Taps on The Ceiling

This Man’s War

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Celia In Underland

Spotlight On Writers – Johnch

Spotlight On Writers – Beachglass

To Go Back

When The Jehovahs Knock

The Marketplace Poet

A Canvas

Behold, Tools!

Just Special Art

Blacksmith’s Dilemma

tools

The Cunning Linguist

Corona Virus: Covid-19

El Destino

The Gardener

Artisans & Fools

Light Of The Forest

Tool Boxes

Taps on The Ceiling

When The Jehovahs Knock

This Man’s War

Song

Love

The Meditation in a Sailing Lesson

Lost in Church

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Consonance

Her Note

“Tomorrow” – An Excuse

Fallen Vine