Academy of the Heart and Mind

By Gail Brown Kara slowed the spaceship in orbit around Planet Loreia. Loreia was the destination for those who needed a break from the mental stress of daily life, as if there were so many of those these days. Or was it cycles? Truly the cycle on a ship was so different from a planet surface. Any planet. She clicked the comm. “Arrived at Loreia. One week on the surface. I’ll be waiting.” Kara…

By Kandi Maxwell A few months back, when I traveled to my former home in California’s north-eastern corner, I knew the fall colors would be vibrant. The bright yellows of the Quaking Aspen leaves shimmered at the slightest breeze. The tall cottonwoods hadn’t turned completely yellow. Instead, brilliant green and yellow leaves blended together against a sharp blue sky. In the early morning…

By Katherine Casey I know where the sadness lives in you. I know the savagery, too.  I know how it felt to lie on your mother’s chest, skin to skin, and hear her heart beat; how whatever happens and wherever you go, you feel her with you.  I know how your mother lost babies and how each of those unrealized souls somehow landed in you, making it so you were never just your own. I know how it…

Here is a message from Peter J. Dellolio about his new book! I wanted to let you know about my new poetry book that is coming out later this month, Catch Of The Day.    I am very fortunate to have a new poetry collection about to be published by New Meridian Arts Press: https://www.newmeridianarts.com There is a review excerpt on the back cover by Swapna Peri of Book Reviews…

By Jed Neill My hand stopped working ten minutes ago. I hope I’ve written everything down. It’s so hard to tell, the damn page betrays me each time I hold it. Shaking as if scared of taking note. The pen is somewhere here, let me have a look, hold my intentions will you. In the meantime, it might be worth recapping how I got here. I’m a 47-year-old man born in the Home Counties, well, to be…

By Gregory Smith I discovered Eva just before the holidays. The all- Christmas radio station in Philadelphia played her song “It’s Not the Presents Under the Tree (It’s Your Presence Here with Me)”, and I took immediate notice. Something about her soulful, pure voice got to me, much like the first time I heard the great Whitney Houston. Her name was Eva Cassidy (no relation to David). This girl…

By Siha Park Carved into my body are intricate shapesEdges coated in liquid goldBeauty caused by a single bladeTwo faces, one hidden against the wallThere will always be an angle you choose to hide fromIn another lifetime, another life will see meWhat they see, a face they wear dailyCoated in layers of metal and paintDisguised as a tool to show your face The world I see will never depict…

By Anne McPherson Arthurs On a hot Saturday in mid-September, Roger stood near the only shade tree in the backyard, loosely gripping a beer while meat sizzled on the grill. The sky above was a deep, restless blue, cut with shards of thin grey clouds that lingered but offered no relief from the heat. A breeze ruffled half-heartedly at the corners of the red tablecloth clipped to the picnic…

By Jordan Miller CW: Self-Harm Deborah’s heart felt a warm pang of pride watching her daughter enter their new house. The house was beautiful, with a red brick roof, white panel walls, and a blonde awning delicately dangling over the gray wooden porch. The walls had large white windows with green outer trims. An array of colorful flowers blankets the foundation, veiling the black railing. It is…

By Heidi Larsen Give love with meMake it slow and strong.Hold my face in your handsPassionately long.Carry me, touch meEmbrace me in your heat.Cuddle me, spoil me,Sweep me off my feet.Cushion my back.I deserve more than floor.Think of me firstAnd hold my door.When you think of love,Think of me.Brag your love to all You see.Secretly drive behindMe at night,To check up on me,To see I’m…

By Mounashree No sound I’ve heardcomes closeto the sound of silence—All the voices, internal or external,vanishes away.As it feels like guidance.The only soundthat instantly calms my racing mindThis stillness provides nothing but kindnessWhen I sit in an open field,under a tree,and drown myselfin the beauty of being,I notice the leavesgossiping about me—probably laughingat how silly I…

By Keith W. Norris One week old fallen snowLooks like a layer of StyrofoamCrunches with each stepLike a bed of DoritosAnd the groundhog saw his shadow.Newly formed potholeBig enough to be a submarine hatchFilled with muddy waterSplashed on me by a BuickAnd the groundhog saw his shadow.Black ice-covered sidewalkSprinkled with rock saltThat doesn’t work below freezingAnd gives the squirrels high…

By James Aitchison I watch — captive —as the storm rolls inacross the bay,and the sea suckslight from the sky.The world ends atthe lashing rain,nothing exists beyond the punctured waves,the sand heaves beneathevery lightning strike,and old palms surrendertheir branches. And after the rage — the calm, deep and majestic,and the world holdsits breath. James Aitchison is an Australian poet and…

By Ken Damerow Another storm north of Hope,others past Denver &Kawkawlin, pushing into the lake,boiling fresh water. At the lip of the demon’s anvil,balanced on the upper tower,we scan radar alertsno longer matching the rising pressures.The bear cage, dangerously building, pushes us, franticfor solace, towardsthe pod-cast people,certain in themselves. Ken Damerow is a poet based in mid-Michigan…

By Umera Riyaz In the fields, I held my hands.The echoes of your voice;plays reels of the past.Numbness shrinks my hunger,kissing the wounds of yesterday.My knees ache;my cracked heels are swollenfrom the weight of my thoughts.Barefoot, I walk like a lost sovereign.To the mainland I must return,But my feet remain still on concrete.A burnt bridge stands before me,once tall and strong.I called it…

By Summer Kim My brother and I sit on the apartment balcony,Knees pulled in, the busy city humming below usAcross the street, a woman stands at her window,Phone pressed to her ear, pacing in slow circles My brother says she’s waiting for someone,That every step is a promise she hasn't broken yetHe points out how she keeps checking the door,How hope makes people feel restlessI say she's trying to…

By Donna M. Davis Conservators know the aromas of old books and the matter that forms them, the rate at which paper decomposes, the glue and the lignin, the stiff cardboard jackets or tooled leather covers.Cellulose dissolves slowly, melds invisibly with the air, fills your nostrils with hints of earth and vanilla. Forest mushrooms pop up their plump thumbs and turn pages. You can sense which…