By Thomas Page 268 A dying leaf, life In miniature; a mystery Play put on by trees. 269 A wolf howling at The moon is looking for some Other of its kind. 270 A child will not know The fruits thrown into the trash By his own parents. 271 A caterpillar Wishes to be a … Continue reading Haiku 268-278
“The Wise Child”
By Laura Potts I remember he fled from the fogdrop moors with the dawn and the bells of December beyond, calling morning to the streets while winter wept beneath the trees. A sleeping me before the door glowed on behind my mother’s knees. With holly-forest at his feet from leaping long the brawling leas, … Continue reading “The Wise Child”
“But then parts of you”
By Laura Potts But then parts of you are dead. I sent the world a postcard from a fusty window that said I am wearing my grief. Sling clothes into the bin: your socks, your skirts, the … Continue reading “But then parts of you”
“Sweet Autumn”
By Laura Potts And years later, you at the bus stop. Yesterday's leaves in your hair. The seat where we laughed. Our words in the air. Sweetheart. The years threaded up our names scratched on the glass. Rain argued away the grass-stained fingerprints, the love turned over on clumsy tongues, the moonbows, the flimsy … Continue reading “Sweet Autumn”
“Whatever Brilliant Shade”
By Thomas Page Whatever brilliant shade that happens Upon a petal or blade inspires The mind’s eye to a world hued with the Intensity of everlasting springs That beget ever-knowing happiness. Nature preserved in Keats’ frieze, an urn Adorned with the ultimate perfection As gauged by an imperfect eye wishing For it to be so. … Continue reading “Whatever Brilliant Shade”
“Alma Mater”
By Laura Potts Widow-black and winter, evening took me south into lamps burning blue in the dusk. Out and over my hometown musk lay the hinterland hills breathing low in the dark. Still, frostspark sharp on the city streets, holy rain sweet in the winter and the wet, with no evening stars ahead I … Continue reading “Alma Mater”
“The Night That Robin Died”
By Laura Potts I remember it best as burnt lips and black that night when the mouth of the house spat you and your terminal news out to the stars and back. Before the last evening hours had passed, flame yielding life to the ember, the crack of your ash called a duskdark September … Continue reading “The Night That Robin Died”
“A grass widower/lover writes”
By Sunil Sharma Even in your long absence--- I hear daily your musical voice! The multi-coloured jingle of the bangles And the silver anklets Your laughter lingers On summer nights. I smell the perfume you wear To your work daily. As I drift finally Into the land of beautiful gentle sleep After a long … Continue reading “A grass widower/lover writes”
“Flight”
By Sunil Sharma Wings tiny, wide-spread Against a crimson sky. Dark body dipping in/out Fluid dots spiraling out in a wavy series. A flight of pigeons going separately. The bird, joyous. Evening! Time to return home For the kids of the sky! Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and editor. Mumbai-based, he has … Continue reading “Flight”
“Madhouse”
By Sunil Sharma In a madhouse, the only sane are the insane the guys know/see things the normal are denied If there were no insane folks, how the world would measure its own diminishing sanity? The institutionalized soul was meditative: Why the mad politicians/terror-mongers outside? Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and … Continue reading “Madhouse”
Academy of the Heart And Mind 