April 2016

It was a warm and humid August morning, so warm, so bright. Gerrard, a young chap of just eighteen,...

My hands worked quickly.  The knife I held in my right hand sliced down, red seeped from the cut.

Anne Tammel is a well-known name in poetic/literary circles in the USA, and increasingly known, now, amongst serious readers...

She barreled through the crowd wrapped tightly around my shrinking figure, a miniature dynamo of flying blond curls and...

Poetry is such a futile activity. I’m sure most poets know the feeling. We run around in the streets...