By Rajnish Mishra Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. His work has now started appearing in journals and websites. I play animatedly, happily for … Continue reading I am
Jessica Ricks
If you want to see great videos on Fitness, art, dance and more you can go check out JessicaRabbit014
Tommy Haiku #141 -145
By Thomas Page White on blacktop, stark Declarations of commands To obey the known law. Facades of stone and Wood with white paneling o’er Vivid colored signs Shivering sun ignited With the frigid air Of new winter Frosted glass, white panels, Sleigh bells on leather straps ‘round A ring on doorknob. Slow as molasses Time … Continue reading Tommy Haiku #141 -145
Catlogues, Form and Fuction, Birds on a Telephone Wire
“Catalogues” Catalogues online are very Hard because out-of-stock items Disappear forever. Excuse Me, I was trying to find that Shirt in my size, now it’s gone for Eternity. Eons upon Eons I must live without that Shirt—age of frustrated shopping. “Form and Function” Form and function in a poem serve As a guide and game … Continue reading Catlogues, Form and Fuction, Birds on a Telephone Wire
Poems by Shalom Aranas
By Shalom Aranas Old Wives Tale (from watching Atonement) The way James Mcavoy looked at the sea of dead children? Is that you? The way you were filled with such disgust Over flies I saw your profile pic the way you didn’t like the lake maybe, there was no fish like everything else. A dirty … Continue reading Poems by Shalom Aranas
Tommy Poems
By Thomas Page “Late December Days” Late December days are just blurs Because of the Yuletide havoc Causing panic amongst shoppers. Can I e’er so gentle be lured To reverie on a hammock Without worry about the toppers On Douglas firs or green spruces? A sense of meeting toward truces. “The Name of This … Continue reading Tommy Poems
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 