By Thomas Page A new year is born in the dead of winter. The sun sets above the mountains. I can feel the chilly air as it blows through barren trees above the mountains. The spring comes like a mewling child, trembling from dying winter’s grasping fingers. It shakes off the snow which melts into … Continue reading “Above the Mountains”
Tsuki and What’s Important
By Thomas Page “Tsuki” Bashō, seeing his Final moon setting, writes on His name—banana “What’s Important” Issa, confronted By critic of his whimsy, Shows him the world's joy.
Her Sparrow
By Thomas Page Catullus wipes his tablet, groaning about His mistakes. His beloved, his Lesbia, Has gotten some troublesome pet sparrow Twittering around herself. Damn bird, who can Be with my Lesbia where I cannot. I’ll Make a mess of you. If only I were a Bird. He pictures the sparrow doing many Things with her. Vacations … Continue reading Her Sparrow
“Billiards”
By Thomas Page Gwendolyn stands on a crowded street in Chicago looking at a bar The men inside are playing pool. She Looks past the simple smiles of the players. She Knows that there is a disconnect between what she Sees and knows about the people inside. She Hopes to unlock the pageantry proposed each … Continue reading “Billiards”
Haikus of Art and Philosophy
by Thomas Page Woman with lamp shade On her head in an advert; I guess it is art? A drenched leaf floats In the murky waters of The Potomac—Fall A parkway flanked by Trees of every shade and tint Paint a picture of Fall The eve’s close around The hour twenty-two ne’er Midnight or midday … Continue reading Haikus of Art and Philosophy
“Stone Cottage”
By Thomas Page A man stands at a precipice, a deluge comes. He allows the soot and ash of a dying age wash over him. Can Cathleen ever be heard again Over the roar of the coming age; an age without reason? A gentle sound interrupts Yeats’ reverie. A young man comes in with … Continue reading “Stone Cottage”
Atlas of Puddles
By Thomas Page Have you ever seen an atlas of puddles Speckle the pavement? An atlas of puddles My feet are wet to the bone, my socks drenched And my shoes seemingly soaked, man. An atlas of puddles The pavement undulates ever so low Making deltas in the city plan An atlas of puddles The … Continue reading Atlas of Puddles
“Akimbo”
By Thomas Page Walt Whitman, he himself, prepares to take a portrait. A portrait of something beyond the Walt that has been know. The Walt of Manhattan, the dandy pedagogue, known for his tendency To prefer the physical over the spiritual To desire what can be attained over what can be inferred He, the … Continue reading “Akimbo”
Stay
By Jessica Ricks “Are you hungry?” “No.” “Can I get you anything?” “No.” “Why are you doing this?” “Because I don't want to eat.” “You know what I mean.” “Because I have to.” “I still don't understand.” “I don't fully understand either.” “And yet here we are...please talk to me. I don't want to see … Continue reading Stay
Homestead
By Thomas Page With the glide of a Pen, Emily Dickinson Writes a little poem. She looks out her room’s Window, the cemetery Calls her to picture Momento mori— The fly captures dying light From someone’s pale eyes The buzz steals the soul As the weak lids close firmly To open nevermore. She puts … Continue reading Homestead
Academy of the Heart And Mind 