By Rose Aiello Morales Someone screamed for five minutes and no one applauded. One reader whispered curse words in several languages. Then they let in the clowns. One juggled several stanzas while riding a unicycle blindfolded, another stood stock still as a tear ran down his cheek, which drove the crowd wild. They threw sawdust … Continue reading The Poetry Reading
“Recitation”
By Thomas Page I’ve never read any of my poems in public. Not because I have some apprehension about sharing them in a room mixed of strangers and friends But just that I prefer people to read them themselves. I tend to write “closet poems” like many of the plays of the Roman language, … Continue reading “Recitation”
Just Because, Bad Heart
By Michael Lee Johnson Just because I am old do not tumble me dry. Toss me away with those unused Wheat pennies, Buffalo nickels, and Mercury dimes in those pickle jars in the basement. Do not bleach my dark memories Salvation Army my clothes to the poor because I died. Do not retire me leave … Continue reading Just Because, Bad Heart
Old Men Walk Funny
By Michael Lee Johnson Old men walk funny with shadows and time eating at their heels. Pediatric walkers, prostate exams, bend over, then most die. They grow poor, leave their grocery list at home, and forget their social security checks bank account numbers, dwell on whether they wear dentures, uppers or lowers; did they put … Continue reading Old Men Walk Funny
Injured Shadow
By Michael Lee Johnson In nakedness of life moves this male shadow worn out dark clothes, ill fitted in distress, holes in his socks, stretches, shows up in your small neighborhood, embarrassed, walks pastime naked with a limb in open landscape space- damn those worn out black stockings. He bends down prays for dawn, bright … Continue reading Injured Shadow
Canadian Seasons Exiled Poet
By Michael Lee Johnson Walking across the seasons in exile in worn out house slippers, summer in Alberta prairies- snowshoes, cross-country skiing winter in Edmonton, Alberta. I'm man captured in Canadian wilderness, North Saskatchewan River. I embrace winters of this north call them mercy killers. Exiled now 10 years here I turn rain into thunder, days … Continue reading Canadian Seasons Exiled Poet
Bloomsday
By Thomas Page If I had one day unrelentingly noted By an expatriate in some Romantic country Twenty or so years from now What would they say? How would they start? With rambling thoughts as I groggily wake up? What would be important? What I ate? Drank? What I did on my phone? … Continue reading Bloomsday
Academy of the Heart And Mind 