Where Courage Lives
I walk into my parents’ home to pick my mom up for a family gathering, and like most days over the past few weeks, palpable sorrow greets me at the door.
I walk into my parents’ home to pick my mom up for a family gathering, and like most days over the past few weeks, palpable sorrow greets me at the door.
a darkening sky
feeds on a bloodied woman
dawn beckons freedom
While growing up in Spanish Harlem – El Barrio as we knew it during the exhilarating years of the 1970s and 80s – diversity was my monarch, acceptance my culture, and faith my freedom.
Social media has provided writers with an abundance of opportunities. From networking to marketing; it’s now possible for their work to reach thousands of readers, in just a click of a button.
I’m pleased to announce the release of Issue 3 of the Dreamers Magazine. In this issue you’ll find…
A new mother doesn’t need words to pray. Her body is a pulsing prayer in motion. If there’s a part or fiber of her body not engaged in nurturing I don’t know of it.
On a long inland lake shaped like a kidney bean, banked by low cliffs and surrounded by miles of boreal forest, brooded over by a solid grey sky, a lone canoe zigs and zags about the central waters…
in a split second | life shifts | you fall | not sure if | you heard it correctly | sprawled on the ground | truth has you pinned | writing about death | placing it on paper
Blame the promiscuous breeze of Chernobyl, diesel fumes, warp-walled genes. Blame payback. Blame the consorts of unhappiness, Freud shouting Get a grip.