I’m asking for your help. Do you feel this is something of interest? Is there value in this? Am I wasting time I could spend elsewhere, such as eating okra, hating cats, buying socks, traveling to distant lands, writing my own stuff and staring at the walls of my office? You tell me. Please! Check out the poll and send me your comments!
A poem from Sonakshi Angras, a first time participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. Sonakshi is not a professional writer, but someone who enjoys capturing fleeting emotions in words.
An poem from Indrani Ganguli, a prolific participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. ****** You have no notion do you? Dear love, dear lord. The light of my life The fruit of my flower
A true story from Dr Jindal's clinic. ***** Ramesh walked in alone, into my clinic. He had bought an auto rickshaw recently and drove it around Delhi streets from 6 am to 11 pm at night. He barely made enough money to pay the mortgage for the auto, rent for his one room home, just enough rations to keep his family of four children, his wife and himself, alive.
A very personal account from Peter Philipps. Mr Philipps is a previous participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. ***** That Sunday, for some long-forgotten reason, we took the streetcar to Villa Brandt rather than walk, as we’d always done in the past. That got us there half an hour before the first garden concert of the season was to begin. As my father and I opened the gate and let ourselves in, Dr. and Mrs. Brandt and their three daughters were getting into position around their ornamental water fountain for a formal photograph. Against a backdrop of apple trees beginning to bloom, it made for a captivating tableau. A passerby might have concluded that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.
A very personal and touching account from author Darlene Campos. Darlene is a previous participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. ***** During the height of COVID, Jake, a rabbit I adopted after finishing graduate school, died of a genetic disorder. I knew at the time I adopted him that he did not have long to live, but I still wanted to give him the best life possible. Although he lived a year longer than expected, I was completely heartbroken when he died.
Two poems from Joan McNerney, that provoke thought. Joan is a previous participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. ***** I descend clutching a teetering banister to the bowels of this holy place.
An introspective post from Indrani Ganguli, a prolific participant in The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival. ****** Dear baba, Sometimes I wonder. Did you have an inkling of the sheer level of comfort I have when surrounded by my weaponry? And you do know, more than anyone else, that everything I have at hand, or feet, automatically turns into a deadly device.
As you waken to the world By the light of the morning sun Cool winds waft through the air Delightful scenes unfold before you Everything seems calm For it is not yet started.
A short piece of fiction, after a long period. It's dialogue driven. SPOILER ALERT: There is no rain in the story!