by Anne Mikusinski
Baby-stepping their wayRead More »
Across blank pages.
Tag: writing
Newark Penn Station
by Dave Nash
I saw you waiting at the front of the platform, I inched up closer. I hung behind the other commuters who allowed me anonymity. I strained for a better look.
I saw you on a good day, a lucid moment from my ennui; yesterday I would have put my head in my phone and waited for the train to pull in.
Read More »Self-Acceptance
by Megan Wildhood
I can hear it from the edge of the dark wood,
but I have to come to its brim to feel
the back and forth of the sea.
2 poems
Poems of Lungs
by Lungmying Lepcha
the whisp of summer air
smell of diesel between the congested road
the last bit of sun setting
hot beads of sweat tickling down the neck
and the long summer talks
of the wish to go back
grab a cup of ice water
sinking on a chair
near the balcony
with a plate of hot samosas
and ranting about the heat
which seems
unbearable for the hills
the cool breeze awaits to cover the town with its blanket
at night
the sudden signs of rain
thunder clashes it
only to find
a bright day the next morning
Writing Prompt, IV.
With the end of summer, we’re re-starting our monthly prompts!
We invite you to send us your thoughts in form of writing or visual art or basically anything, on the theme of utopia.
Below are a few questions to inspire you.
Read More »Hope for the Future
by Ramona Gore
Emi exhaled into the night, her breath quickly condensed by the cold air. She buried her icy hands even deeper into her pockets in an attempt to regain some warmth in her fingertips. Her cheeks had surely turned pink by now and the padding in her thick coat provided little relief from the brick wall she leaned against. Just as she was about to call it quits, he stepped out of the doorway she stood next to.
Read More »The Amazine celebrates its one year anniversary!
An immense thank you to every single artist who trusted us with their work in the first year of our existence, as well as every single reader and follower ❤
Yes, today marks exactly one year since we launched this project and what a ride it has been!
Read More »A creative writing teacher told us we were not allowed to write about suicide
by Ron Riekki
in class, so, out of class, I’m sure we did, at least, some
of us, me, anyway, now, here, which I hope it’s OK to do,
and I’m not going to glorify it, or understand it or, maybe,
even write about it, instead, writing about the fragments
Lines for a Dog-rose
by Emma Butcher
A queer flower, not delicate though small,
is the sweet scented bloom of the dog rose,
placed carefully in its sharply-thorned wall.
Read More »
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