by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Marc Livanos Everybody knows everyone. When you do something, the telephone lines light up like a Friday night football field. It is early spring, so most trains just pass this town on their way to Chicago. Old men sit on benches catching-up on bushels of corn, sorghum and winter…
by Marc Livanos On comfy lounges I sit observing the panoramic view of the green valley below. Clouds blanket the horizon but here and there bits of blue peek through. Live oak’s shimmering leaves mingle with the evergreens towards the far-off skyline. Chattering bluebirds fill the air with chirps longingly…
by Marc Livanos I touch cool grittybay waters,full of blue-green wavestossing and rollingplayfully animated,as they crash against the shore. I taste saltiness,carried and flung ontwisting twirlingmisty sea breezes –briny, fishyforever saline. In this roux, the laughingcries of seagulls carrythe wisdom of the ages,as their mocking attitudetaunts me –dude, go home,…