Saturday, December 4, 2021

Haiku by Barrie Levine

walking with dad
the crunch of leaves
softened by rain



Barrie Levine retired from the practice of law and in her seventies began avidly reading and writing haiku. She participates in virtual open mics and teaches a writing class at her senior center. If anyone asks what she does in her retirement, she proudly identifies herself as a haiku poet.

Friday, December 3, 2021

City Afternoon by Barrie Levine

I saved an outside table
for coffee in October
with you, dear daughter,
our sugar cubes
and conversation
dissolving in laughter



Barrie Levine retired from the practice of law and in her seventies began avidly reading and writing haiku. She participates in virtual open mics and teaches a writing class at her senior center. If anyone asks what she does in her retirement, she proudly identifies herself as a haiku poet.

Thursday, December 2, 2021

Monoku by Eric A. Lohman

stripes on the winter fly   referee’s coffin



Eric A. Lohman is a psychiatric social worker in the ER of a large hospital in Atlanta, GA. He lives nearby with his wife, kids and an assortment of animals. His poetry has been widely published and he edits FreshOut Magazine, an online journal of poetry and art.

Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Haiku by Mona Bedi

leaf blower - 
all my thoughts
here and there



Mona Bedi is a medical doctor in Delhi, India. She has been writing poetry since childhood, but a few years back she started writing the Japanese form of haiku. Mona is the author of two poetry books: they, you and me and dancing moonlight. She has won prizes in many haiku competitions and received honorable mentions at the 2021 Japan Fair as well as the 2021 Autumn Moon Haiku contest. 

Tuesday, November 30, 2021

The Wind by M.J. Iuppa

An apparition of wind winds its way
     down the deep-rutted dirt road, scuffing
dust in its quick twist up the sleeves
     of soaring evergreen trees, swaying in-
visible signals to those who happen
     to look up to see its ripples of air rising
full of prayer and apricot light, singing
     beneath its constant breath— whispering
good-bye with its filmy wings— this evening’s
     dance— autumn’s departure.



M.J. Iuppa’s fifth full-length poetry collection The Weight of Air is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in May of 2022. For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability and life’s stew.

Monday, November 29, 2021

True Enough by M.J. Iuppa

          Howden Pond, 2021

Standing at the pond’s edge, watching four swans
sleep soundly, heads tucked beneath folded wings, I
wish I could live passively, letting hours slip by with-
out a worry of wind riffling over the water’s surface,
over white feathers that compose these bodies drifting
like clouds, like voices in a dream unsung . . .

How often I hear music when I watch this quartet
floating in an accidental arrangement— never once have
I heard the same song, but a melody made better by the pull
of memory—these idle dreamers passing me like countless
hours I’ve wasted—we wake together, shaking off the chill
of what is unimaginable, knowing there will be a time when
we no longer find ourselves dreaming.



M.J. Iuppa’s fifth full-length poetry collection The Weight of Air is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in May of 2022. For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability and life’s stew.

Sunday, November 28, 2021

Waiting for the End by Scott Wiggerman

This listlessness. You wallow
in another day, another day
not quite the same as depression,
but definitely a complementary shade.

The same book retrieved from a shelf
with the same bookmark at the same page
of another day. Another day
like a household cat’s, interchangeable

Sundays, Mondays, holidays. Days
differentiated by what’s new on TV
or when you run out of clean
underwear (Wear another day?

Who’s going to care?). Two months
and the canvas is still empty,
the journal still short of words. Maybe
another day, maybe tomorrow, maybe.



Scott Wiggerman is the queer Albuquerque author of three books of poetry, Leaf and Beak: Sonnets, Presence, and Vegetables and Other Relationships; and the editor of several volumes, including Wingbeats: Exercises & Practice in Poetry. In 2021, he was inducted into the prestigious Texas Institute of Letters.

Saturday, November 27, 2021

Haiku by Roberta Beach Jacobson

rise
of desert dust
earthquake



Roberta Beach Jacobson is the editor of Cold Moon Journal.

Friday, November 26, 2021

Haiku by Roberta Beach Jacobson

letting go
of balloon string
child's hand



Roberta Beach Jacobson is the editor of Cold Moon Journal.

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Unspoiled by Lynn White

I didn’t spoil easily,
not even as a child.
I took the treats in stride
and resisted my mother’s attempts
to mould me in her image.
I knew it would ruin me,
arrest my development,
curtail my growth,
my flowering.
So I was ready for you
when you tried.
You tried.
But by then
I knew who I was
and there was nothing
you could do
about it.



Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Find Lynn on Facebook and at lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com.

Wednesday, November 24, 2021

We Both Lose Words by Vera Kewes Salter

I push something square
into a silver machine

and eat it for breakfast. White
emptiness where the words should be.

He supplies the word toaster.
I kneel to tighten his shoes.

As we walk around the park
we struggle to find the word

for a water bird with a snake-like neck
that dips its head below the surface.

We see a lone sailboat moored near
the winter shore,

watch gulls crack clams and mussels
on the asphalt pier.

Then, in sudden unison shout—
cormorant.



Vera Kewes Salter is aging with her husband in New Rochelle, New York. She is published in Red Eft Review, Persimmon Tree, Nixes Mate Review, Writing in a Woman's Voice, New Verse News and other publications.

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Haiku by Stephen Toft

winter dusk
fading to grey
the cat’s milk



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. He is the author of three haiku/tanka/minimalist poetry collections.

Monday, November 22, 2021

Haiku by Stephen Toft

christmas eve
everybody boards the train
except the station guard



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. He is the author of three haiku/tanka/minimalist poetry collections.

Sunday, November 21, 2021

Haiku by Stephen Toft

firefly night
the glow
of distant tents



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. He is the author of three haiku/tanka/minimalist poetry collections.

Saturday, November 20, 2021

Haiku by Stephen Toft

leaf blower -
the convict makes
a cloud of colour



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. He is the author of three haiku/tanka/minimalist poetry collections.

Friday, November 19, 2021

Hunger by Rose Mary Boehm

It’s always the one that got away, that sheep
lost in the sand storm, the man who couldn’t love you
and the child that didn’t want to be born. Then there
are the talents you wanted to develop but instead
you had to crunch numbers in Mr. Henry’s lumber yard--
the songs you wanted to sing, the guitar strummed
by the boy across the road who never wrote you
a love song. Even your mum who made you who
you are today: practical and food on the table.
She never noticed you went hungry.



Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry journals. Her latest collection, Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders, has just been snapped up by Kelsay Books for publication in May/June 2022. Her website: https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/

Thursday, November 18, 2021

Walking Corpse Syndrome by Howie Good

Now that I’m seventy,
night files in so quickly

it seems time itself has
sped up. To anyone with

a healthy imagination,
the moon might look like

a silver button dangling
on a loose thread, and not,

as it does to me, a cracked,
and weathered skull. God!

I’ve thoughts I wish I never
had – with sharp little teeth

and murderous claws and
the subtle smell of blood.



Howie Good is the author most recently of the poetry collection Famous Long Ago (Laughing Ronin Press).

Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Critical Condition by Ben Rasnic

Toss a few stones
at the imposter
in the mirror;

potential unmet,
expectations lowered,

a blurred image
in need of sharpening;
engaged in pointless conversations
that reach no consensus;

a life left idling
with the meter still running.



Ben Rasnic currently resides in Bowie, Maryland. Author of four published collections (three available from amazon.com), Ben's poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.

Tuesday, November 16, 2021

Words, Birds, and Me by Richard Martin

          "… if you can stop identifying things then
          you have a better chance of identifying with
          them."
Steven Lovatt. Birdsong in a Time
          of Silence.

Two young magpies clutch at a branch
of the chestnut tree on the street corner;
their squawking screeches make it easy
to identify them – but then, does that really matter?

Two more have flown out of the fir tree
to join yet another pair on our neighbours' chimney –
a collection of birds, but not being their parent,
or a predator, my only interest is in their actions:

I see them as mirroring myself searching for changes
in perspectives of the view, and envy them the ease
with which they can manage this.



Richard Martin is an English writer who lives in the Netherlands close to the point where Belgium, Germany and Holland meet. After retiring as a university teacher in Germany, he turned his attention to writing, and has published three collections of poetry and numerous poems in magazines in England, the US, and Austria.

Monday, November 15, 2021

Restless Autumn by Richard Martin

The calendar announces that autumn has begun,
although the trees, the true harbingers of the season,
have not yet got the message – they remain green,
apart from the chestnut‘s skeletal fishbone branches
with their handful of crumpled paper leaves,
due more to sickness than the season.

Only the winds sending gale force shudders
through twigs and leaves seem truly seasonal –
however, the agitation of piled up leafy cushions
only narrates the foreground story of unrest;
far away on the skyline stolid arboreal regiments
resist the wind‘s determined advances.

Here, neither mists nor mellow fruitfulness,
only the occasional russet or yellow leaf
fluttering uncertainly on the fruitless cherry tree.
The magpie in its erratic flight, swooping,
diving, skimming from fir to beech and back,
is the true image of autumn in its restlessness.



Richard Martin is an English writer who lives in the Netherlands close to the point where Belgium, Germany and Holland meet. After retiring as a university teacher in Germany, he turned his attention to writing, and has published three collections of poetry and numerous poems in magazines in England, the US, and Austria.