I followed the factory spills, the fumes
of Diesel cars banned from the city center
that gathered in carpool parking lots
like civil servants at a fire drill.
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Asphalt
Prose, poetry and more
Poetry for Palestine
I'm thrilled to share that my poem, 'Fatherland,' is featured in a special issue of Homeland, a magazine published by Livina Press (Louisiana, USA). This beautiful piece of art contains poetry, creative non-fiction, and essays from writers from all around the world, reflecting on the topic of homeland. All profits go to Palestine refugees.
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Blood moon and other microfiction
In the dead of night, she becomes a better version of herself. Her red pumps lead her to the little table in the corner where no one bothers her except for men who smell desperation. Bloodhounds.
There's one already. A somewhat older specimen, clearly still in denial. Ironed shirt, too much aftershave. Not her type, but hunger is the best sauce.
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Beyond these mountains
What lies beyond these mountains
rests within me, deep and low
an unspoiled valley
where mythical creatures
with unearthly motives
lead late travelers to their destiny.
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Cover reveal: Darkness most Fowl
Something wicked this way comes… This cover just flew right into my mailbox. I’m so thrilled to be a part of this: a collection of short stories, coming out in the US this very Halloween, published by The Godmother of Horror Press.
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The Pointed Circle
My poem ‘What the universe wanted’ is part of issue 41 of The Pointed Circle, a magazine run by students and faculty members at Portland Community College.
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What the universe wanted
The universe wanted it that way
he claims, and everything happens for a reason
as we’re all made up of pieces of a primordial planet
overwhelmed with nostalgia for the cosmos.
He talks about black holes, the Big Bang
and the evolution from single-celled creature
to fish to mammal to man.
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Trees die standing
I felt it when she first took me to the forest: she belonged here. Alma adored the multi-stemmed alders growing by the green water, the ivy strangling gnarled oaks, the rotten smell of decayed wood, and the compelling silence that hung like mist between the trunks.
“I love being here,” she said, that first time, when we explored every detail of each other's bodies like a complex map of a medieval city. “But I also feel that it's best not to stay here for too long.”
She was right. Every twig that cracked beneath our feet, every plant we trampled, every gulp of oxygen-rich forest air we breathed, felt like a dishonor to this place, which was so much older than us.
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I got published in Trinidad and Tobago
My short story Trees Die Standing appeared in the first edition of Interweaved Magazine. This brand-new lit mag is based in Trinidad and Tobago.
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#Prague
Cab drivers who know about five English words
but refuse to use them, are speeding in dilapidated Volvos
through a city where amongst thousand-year-old buildings
tourists take pictures of themselves.
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Leen writes 