Blind in Love

We can be each other’s love if you will;
Shall I beseech you thus to feel my love
So both may joy in little things, have fun?
Be guided not by fame but one’s own will!
In shame, guilt and regret we shan’t down bow;
Love. Oh, that feeling we should not once shun.

Compersion

I can’t feel bad if good you do;
I can’t rejoice when you so rue.
I can’t say lies and myself fool;
I can’t break that unspoken rule.
For in you I see the holy spark,
Which does guide me as well in the dark.

We Shall Meet Again

My asymmetric assumptions, they bury
twisted tales of absurd desires
How I learn to hide my wound and heal
worshipping the new face of the devil!
A filthy business to revamp my soul
coated with skimmed pinks
of the blood moon from your sky

The Soldier With the Port-Wine Stain

So, tell me, when you see the face of the governing body of this great land and all they uphold as true, this fairy tale they call democracyโ€ฆdo you see a faultless image, like a dream without any error at all or do you see it? Do you see the port-wine stain? Red and glaring? Signalling like the truth? May the spirit of my forefathers, the calloused over hands of the blue-collar workers, and the sackcloth covered corpses that line the front lines, as Iโ€ฆmay you be the port-wine stain on this country now.

Paper Birds

Fill our paper birds with love
And weโ€™ll never truly grow old
And weโ€™ll never truly fade
Write our names in the heavenly sky
Forever immortal are our pages
Paper birds fly
Forever lasting in black and white

Daffodils

Continuous, the landscape coarse
and choked by urbanite decay,
I tried to sing but sounded hoarse;
a tuneless note of dank dismay,
ten thousand trampled daffodils
destroyed by deeds and dollar bills.

Samuel Hutton and the Three Misdeeds of His Life

Standing on his doorstep was Maisie Beck. It had been years since Samuel had seen her, but he recognized her straight away. She was standing a few steps back from the door. Her hair was untidy, and her mascara had run down her cheeks. Also, her lipstick looked smeared. She was wearing a short party dress and had streamers strewn over her shoulders. She was bleary-eyed and tottering on her high heels.

Meditating on Death, Adventure, Flawed Humanity

The author tells us that Nevada Noir is a dark, atmospheric trilogy of intertwined tales of greed and temptation in the Nevada badlands. โ€˜In these three dark and brooding short stories, set in and around the US state of Nevada, a cast of disparate characters struggle with greed and temptation and the cursed lure of easy money. An old man goes in search of his son in the aftermath of a terrible storm, a couple down on their luck make a life-changing discovery, and an ex-cop has one last impossible decision to make,โ€™ he explains, adding, โ€˜It’s an action-packed meditation on death, temptation and flawed humanity.โ€™

Granddaughter and Xylophone

Who knows what an eye with little knowledge sees?
A xylophone with pink and yellow notes;
Tink, tonk your sounds fly up to the trees.

Connected as One

In two eyes, we observe; in one eye we connect.
Two eyes make judgements that one eye rejects.
Two eyes show this one life, one eye shows the rest.
Two eyes watch the lesson; one eye takes the test.

The Hero Within Me and Humour

Sensing the mass of human boundaries
so overwhelming and disheartening,
love dissolves the choking ghost of fear.
Hidden talents hit the surfaces
breaking down walls that should never exist

The Beacon of Hope

Young Alex considers the goddess her only friend because she doesn’t have any. Her parents don’t allow her to play with the kids in their neighbourhood since they’re ill-mannered, but it’s okay with her because she thinks they’re too loud, and she doesn’t like loud. Her only playmates are her nephew and her two cousins, who live on the first floor; but they’re all boys, and they suck at conversations that aren’t about robots and toy guns, so when she’s not in the mood to play with them, she’ll be alone.

A Stolen Purse

A woven purse of shot silk threads
covered in a glitter like hundreds-and-thousands,
a dust from semi-precious stones
so the purse is abrasive to touch
inside a black leather handbag…

Conditionals in English

Conditionals allow you to express a wide range of scenarios. You can talk about an event that is unlikely to take place with the help of a conditional. Similarly, you can use conditionals to talk about purely imagined scenarios or hypothetical situations. You can also use conditionals to talk about something likely to happen in the future. Hypothetical outcomes that have got to do with the past are also expressed using conditional sentences. In short, they help you articulate your thoughts in the best possible manner, and that’s why they are considered significant.

Out Walking After Rain and Folk Songs

White trumpets of flowers lean
from the bindweed that plaits
a fence of chicken wire
behind which three plastic buckets,
blue, pink and yellow, lie
beside an armchair left out
so long its legs are wormholed,
its green upholstery rotted,
and a table whose top has warped
leaving a concavity
where rain has laid a mirror
so clear I could gaze into it
and forget my origins.

‘Write for Yourself’

Her second book entitled โ€˜A Storm of Magicโ€™ happens to be a YA Fantasy. Speaking about the book, Ms Laino says, โ€˜Being brought back from the dead is an impressive trick, even for magician Darien Burron. Now he must try and use his sleight of hand to swindle modern-day witch, Mirah, to sign her power away, or end up a tormented demon in the afterlife. Meanwhile, sixteen-year-old Mirah is starting to lose control of her powers. After an incident at her auntโ€™s Witchery store, Mirah is sent to a secret coven to learn to control her abilities. While she is away, Mirah meets up with a soft-spoken clairvoyant, a brazen storm witch, and the creator of dark magic itself. The young woman must learn to trust in herself before she loses herself entirely to the darkness that hunts her.โ€™

Broken Times and Budapest

I haven’t seen you in a while, my friend.
But I still remember the time we’ve spent together;
Pictures of you are still vivid in my memory –
A part of my soul will always be there with you

Stopping by the Churchyard on My Father’s Birthday

Whose words are these I know Iโ€™ve heard?
To read his marker seems absurd,
He will not see me stopping by
Nor holding back the need to cry.

Testimonials

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Jesse S Frankel

To the owners and operators of The Literary Juggernaut, I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to express my thoughts in an interview I recently did for you. Many authors try to get some form of public recognition and publicity for their efforts; you have given me both. I only wish that more blog sites would do the same!

As a writer, it is never easy. We spend long hours writing and rewriting, advertising on Twitter and other forums, chatting with fellow writers on techniques, and just plain doodling around until inspiration hits. It is good to know sites like yours exist that help us spread the word about our work.

Once again, my greatest thanks!

Jackie Ross Flaum

I’m writing to congratulate you on a marvelous job writing up the interview with me and my work. I’ve put the Dec. 27 article all over my pages.

As a former journalist, I know how difficult it is to write an interview story that is factual and captures the person’s personality. I felt you did both. Well done!
And thank you.

Erich von Hungen

Having been interviewed by Vatsarah Stavyah (you can read the interview here), I can say that The Literary Juggernaut is AHEAD OF THE PACK. It is perceptive, astute, caring. It is curious, interested, unafraid, committed. It is there. It is all that you would most want from a literary journal, especially now with so much overload. It is a path, that is, to something new and true and real. Of all the journals out there, The Literary Juggernaut is just that, a juggernaut, and it is worth your time. Trust it. Read it.