Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

To my brother and surrogate thank you for gifting me life to see the light in my unborn son's eyes,

The siren startles with its high-pitched fever, late summer night, sending folks scrambling down side streets or indoors. Cops are either...

And in the undisturbed brick and limestone, everything quietly waiting for the nocturnal, the gutters to run clear,

We ALL look so alien, just as what we’re called on the official documents.

Can we exit this interlocked sequence of oppression and reflexive violence?

Becoming untouchable takes time. Start young. Instill quiet oppression. Reinforce the stakes, ignore the quakes, the terror. Regular...

A sky bathed in haze veils the prairies, bringing another day of whitish-grey over corn and soybeans and the skyscrapers of Chicago.

This woman who shows me her lovely fifteen-year-old face, polished nails bright red, and the green eyes of a 1985 National Geographic cover.

Today a smoky haze hangs over the trees drapes the fields Wildfires from Canada dropping down on the wind and I think again of Maui...

I sit on the trees in the middle of the nights, Looking at the stars and northern lights. I see in the dark, the reality of life;

Parading in front of cameras and complaining incessantly about the world’s problems without offering any solutions of your own is about...

Journey into winter in a mother’s eyes Sun shines through, fleeting moments A lucid smile breaks the clouds Reminders of her summer life...

What one writer can make in the solitude of one room is something no power can easily destroy. – Salman Rushdie I don’t need your praise...

Afghanistan’s Kyrgyz nomads survive in one of the most remote, high-altitude, bewitching landscapes on Earth. It’s a heavenly life – and...

Isolation speaks our fragility to the shadows lurking in the ruins of us, saying they’re weak alone they shatter, alone they’re just...

I sat as an observer in a state’s superior court. First-degree murder was the charge. Cold-blooded calculated murder was the act. One...

I grew up thinking My suburban life Filled with liberal minds And high-minded rhetoric Had taught me all I needed to know But you cannot...

if I started, “Once upon a time, not so long ago, lived a man with a habit of regretting his mistakes and making more in the process,”...

Each week the technician presses the wand across my womb. I know better than to ask for interpretations, the half-heart still flickering,...

we are asleep inside ourselves. we know you when the dawn sneaks in on a sleeping forest and catches her unawares; we struggle to find...