by Nigel Scotchmer | Poetry
This Father’s Day, the dad is not on a pedestal. He’s mid-step, caught in the motion of leaving, watching his son become a man. A dad speaks- hesitant, unfinished, proud. There are five kinds of love here, and none of them are easy. This poem is not to celebrate a...
by Nigel Scotchmer | Poetry
What does it mean to be reborn when the world thinks you’re fading? For those unfamiliar, Benares is one of India’s holiest cities—a place where the spiritual and temporal intermingle… I At nigh on three score and ten, My gloaming lingers, Standing here...
