Public Republic

Vladimir Levchev Photo: dospaz My name is Lazarus. I came from the grave. 17 years I waited, waited perched on a damp root on the opposite side of life. The sky there is dark and firm.

Matthew Vetter Photo: scottfeldstein Quite suddenly, it is autumn. The leaves of the maple fall like asterisks, mere footnotes to the pages of our days here.

Dimitar Atanasov Photo: davidChief In memory of my grandfather whose name I bear “… nothing has ever seemed more intolerable to man and human society than freedom!” Dostoevski PART ONE “Between killing and dying there is a third thing: Life.” Christa Wolf I A light wind was blowing. Srebrista (1) stood on the rise from […]

Unknown Author, c. 600BC Photo: I’mClaude a dead doe in the wild shrouded in white reeds there is a girl, spring-longing a gentleman to seduce her

Donna Ison Photo: deerluvr CHAPTER ONE The scene was perfect…Fodor’s vacation guide perfect…way too damn perfect. A generous October sun drenched the meadow with an amber glow that set each blade and leaf afire. The sweet song of cardinals and chickadees lingered in the air. God sighed and a cool breeze rustled through the tall […]

Ivanka Mogilska Photo: XirannisX en Off The rules of the Lord are iron: You shall not lie! You shall not steal! You shall not murder! You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife! And it just does not say what to do If the wife covets you. Translated from Bulgarian by Iordan Kosturkov

Barbara Sabol Photo: Rene Ehrhardt In Maureen Morehead’s “My Mother Is a Hand,” from her collection, A Sense of Time Left, the memory of a childhood visit to the speaker’s grandmother’s house is described, in two voices and from two subtly but significantly different perspectives. The memory of the speaker as a child and, later […]

Biliana Atanasova Photo: Occhi Rivoluzionari… I’m tired of looking for you, of seeking an unlocked door, of nervously rummaging the drawers, of waiting for an unwritten letter.

David Harrity Photo: shinealight Two-lane farm road— I’m wandering, lost, in the dark of Kentucky. I guide the car to the gravel shoulder, kill the wheezing engine, listen to the dinging heartbeat of the door ajar against the night noise where I step out in the low fog.

Robert Walton Photo: Graylight Snowmelt waterfall Bursting bright, Crystal tresses flung Across ebon cliffs – Impatient girl With all of time To brush your hair But none to spare This morning.

Dean Crawford Photo: VMOS The sky is falling, something yells at me. I stop dead in my tracks so it won’t run into me. Whatever it is looks like a chicken with its head cut off. It’s running around in crazy circles, yelling its fool head off at everyone about the falling sky. Whatever it […]

Barry George Photo: OiMax Japanese tanka is often regarded as poetry of strong emotion and self-revelation. From the earliest poems of courtly love to the impassioned verse the early 20th Century reformer Tekkan Yosano heralded as jiga no shi (the poetry of self), tanka poets have exhibited a wide range of feelings: joy, sadness, longing, […]

Russ Kesler Photo: striatic He wondered what he’d been thinking. He’d never liked tacos—just steak, a potato drowning in butter.

Cathy Nickola Photo: ThunderChild tm Evening & the hounds circle The weary crew wearing lamped hardhats unrolls their map like a scroll as their undaunted captain assures We’ll be done by nightfall…

Zoya Marincheva Photo: paper or plastic? On day one of the new year they went shopping for new hides. Angular roofs towered over creamy facades with rococo beams. His epidermis grayed in distress. Hers oozed a passion for style.

Kristin Dimitrova Photo: Andrew Turner (The following is an excerpt from a novel) (Some remarks, inconsiderable events and traits of the characters are stolen from reality, but the novel is entirely fictional. A myth, however, is true because of the bigger story it relates, and not because of the costumes the characters wear at every […]

Matthew Vetter Photo: littledan77 It is easy to find you, because you want to be found. You hide in the same place every time:

Georgi Borissov Photo: Jimmy 74 The village swamp was already dried for a while, for a while time had started flowing in circles and God was flinging a straw at my mouth, when I reached at the pyramid and stepped on its pinnacle.

Jon Berahya Photo: cadmanof50s What is in the wind? Surely things of a different find, like infinite wings that cannot bend but are able to sing as an angel’s friend through the trees. “That’s the breeze!” smiles one man blind. Whoever knew that the wind was kind.

Rumiana Raykova Photo: *Micky summer walks not reaching an exit suddenly different yet the same and here comes autumn selling yellow chrysanthemums