Among the rich, anger’s no rarity:
hatred comes cheaper than charity.
Genus, Aucte, lucri divites habent iram:
odisse quam donare vilius constat.
Contributed By: David Macey, Martial
Among the rich, anger’s no rarity:
hatred comes cheaper than charity.
Genus, Aucte, lucri divites habent iram:
odisse quam donare vilius constat.
Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
“He reeks of last night’s wine!” That’s off the mark. He drinks until dawn clarifies the dark. Hesterno fetere mero qui credit Acerram, fallitur: in lucem semper Acerra bibit. Return to table…
Rome lauds, loves, and sings my little books. I am in every pocket, every hand. Behold: she blushes, pales, dazes, yawns, looks sick. That’s what I want! Now I’m my own fan. Laudat,…
INTERVIEWS Eric Shonkwiler interviewed by David Bowen Power & Light Juan Gelacio interviewed by Robert Joe Stout Invisible on Paper ESSAYS Leonard Kress What Kind of Parent Lets a Thirteen-Year-Old Cancel Her Bat Mitzvah? Erinn…
In Prisov, not far from Košice, a shul or rather an exhibit of itself restored, except of course for its congregation, is open for tourists to visit and inspect. On a wall are photographs of…
“Once, there was a little girl” no, not a girl, let’s make it a boy this time and wait, this is not a good way to start a story at all.
I‘d like to go all negative on Kent, as he seems to relish any lively fracas, but alas, regarding his analysis of the often soppy, intermittently snarky state of poetry criticism, I can only say, Yeah, that seems about right. So rather than dispute or debate I’ll mainly just dilate—a few thoughts follow from Kent’s […]
Let all the cries of Heraclitus, and all Simonides’ dreary complaints and laments, along with other ancient malcontents, stoop-shouldered and sighing—let their tears fall as they cross my threshold for this wake to help me mourn my daughter, to seal her casket. Help me, a father like a mother nightingale— her nest discovered by a […]