The Bamboo Hut Number 1 2020
Pere Risteski
Idiot
Dostoevsky reads
my soul
long night
snoring
the mosquito
spring fatigue
Eric Satie
and me
Daniel Page
A field of samphire
Drowned by an angry sea
Herb of St Peter
place of safety
From ferocious summer squall
Rain battered refuge
Illuminated
Harbour waters lap quay wall
Mist rolls over marsh
Lifeboats swift descent
Pitched and tossed in foul sea waves
On, saviours all
Joy McCall
echo
the burning bush is gone
the clouds hide only rain
no ladder up to heaven
no trumpets on the plain
the heartbeat on the hills
is only thunder rolling round
and manna never falls
upon this ground
but there's an echo from the place
wherever stillness sleeps
and murmurs from the mud
beneath our feet
in the clamour of the age
there's a whisper down the years
in the silence of the stars
in the circling of the spheres
in the quiet of the evening
be still, and listen hard -
from deep inside, from everywhere
comes the voice of God
Paweł Markiewicz
when the tide is out
a pearl diver is fetching pearls
from a sunken vessel
a bewitched waking dream
is more marvellous and free
Larry Smith
In Soft Darkness Just Before Dawn
while night holds us still,
we stumble around what’s near,
yet look out past curtain lace
at stars shining bright and clear.
In faith near blind we wake
to who and what we are.
No words, no thought,
just the breath in and out
the day begins again.
Staring at the ceiling
I find myself.
Mark Ward
hunched over the bar
the old men gossip darkly -
night trees lean in
rain like a threat -
the pregnant air occupies
more space in your lungs
Hema Ravi
autumn wind
my leafy dreams
ascend past clouds
that lingering fragrance our only bond
already Halloween -
my white uniforms in the
gusty autumn eve
winter green
my potted orchid
has sprouts
Spring melody
I discovered my
two year old can sing
Roberta Beach Jacobson
sunken ship
of Asian secrets
the teas
where splatters matter art
quinceañera
little girl
in a big dress
evening breeze
he opens the window
she turns up the heat
liquid rainbow in a drop of oil
Hifsa Ashraf
an old refugee
jumps the queue
at the border
petrichor makes
him restless again
long food queue
wailing of children
gets louder
after a clang
from the empty food pots
a fleeing boy
following the fireflies
on the riverside
the epiphany of life
takes him beyond darkness
Lavana Kray
strolling the beach
a shell cut my barefoot -
our
last sunset together
a cure for everything
ashen morning -
wish I could be mist
to swirl up
from this room as quiet as
your burial chamber
night winds
covered everything with leaves -
you
never knew how to hide
your lies so well
Anna Goluba
Lonely stork
Wandering
In the empty field...
Did I really
Tear up
All those letters?
Long night
Drips from the tap
One drop at a time
Meeting after years...
One empty wine bottle
Joins another
Autumn evening
Across the ocean of a puddle
Ant on the leaf
Wild horses -
Always running
Through my veins
Desire
For freedom
John McManus
father sets off
the last emergency flare . . .
sideways rain
cotton-wool clouds
I shoo the black sheep
away from my child
swaying pampas grass
beneath a starry sky
the newlyweds dance
court summons
the caged cockatiel
flaps its wings
raking leaves
my neighbour sings a folk song
from his homeland
Jim Young
a lone soprano
slowly undressing the night
see-through moonbeams
as cherry leaves
the dawns and sunsets
of October
plump old ladies
in their pinafores
dead ringers
wales
mountains and cemeteries
widow’s tears
spider moon
spinning lies on autumn rain
suspends be leaf
Lucy Whitehead
Indian summer
a beetle scatters gold
through the grass
summer wind
my husband asks
if I called his name
captured
in the spider's web
the last rays of summer
first day of autumn
the sun lounger
soaked with rain
bright autumn day
a spider weaving
sunlight
Ani Staykova Ivanova
an autumn tree
kaleidoscopic palette
imbues the park
heavy fog
grey autumn weight
for the lungs
bare forest
mournful trees weep
sad leaves
snowy covering
god's shield
for crop yield
snowy road
cars plodding
with the pace of turtles
Cullen Whisenhunt
Buzzard circles
over city cemetery
—seems redundant
Waved off once more,
the fly tries a new spot
on the same body.
A squirrel leapt
highline to limb—in seconds,
the world suspended,
bowed slack,
then reset, still
Ben Moeller-Gaa
catching the wrong eye across the bar
cocktail bitters
the itch
of old wool socks
toenail moon
broken streetlight
so much depends upon
the moon
spider silk
the poet’s lines
tighten
unable to let it go
the word “hope”
on a polished stone
Anna Maria Domburg-Sancristoforo
evening quietness
the white wash of waves
a soothing sound
in my heart a longing
heavy of tenderness
it runs with the train
the moon almost full
it appears disappears
as a far away echo
between night shadows
Prayer
Do not tell me
what I already know
incomprehensible words
thrills of distant lights
Do not tell me
what no longer has
even a name to take
away in nothingness
Give me roots
to be planted in the wind
until it's too late
Give me courage
for this wind that enters
in the embroidery of the void
Chen-ou Liu
roar of the wind
a street dog chasing a man
chasing his hat
all that remains
of a receding tide ...
an empty bottle
prison wall
a skinhead outstares
his shadow
a scream
pierces this cold night
her stained hijab
still scented
with lavender
the scent
of summer breeze
my gaze fixed
on an eagle soaring
higher and higher
Kandace Reid
desolate wintertime
when flowers try to reveal themselves
betrayed by the sun
a valley exists where
a trembling shadow speaks
above the echoes
earthshaking mountains
demanding rain from the sky
to cool its insides
Seasons Changing
Open eyes
Call forth fall breeze
Tall mountains and blue sky
The ground opens for falling leaves
Winter comes
Keith Nunes
Perspectives
Alison C Rollins
Your poems moved me
To the other side of the room
Where the view is quite different
Quite shocking
Josie and Tony were separated
By geography
But now they’re separated by her choice
Which is denser
More effective than granite
For you
One thing
For us
It was not an important failure
Sarah was the last to leave
David had left before
But she left last
That’s what stays with you
Bride Kate seems tall
Groom Jim seems short
They are the same height
Ruben James
Queue here for death
While my parents are alive
I don’t believe I’ll die
I can’t possibly die
We’re standing in line, right
I’m a strict observer of queues
I DO NOT push in
Marina Bellini
a jasmine branch
curled around
my finger
his hair so fair and fine
that slipped away
a flight feather
caught in the cobweb
many moons have risen
since you set sail
Roger Watson
pulled one way
then the other
the ying and yang
of ice cold beer
and jasmine tea
my thoughts
like parallel lines
converging
making a point
with chopstick philosophy
in the spirit
of Goldstein
in my Hut of the Small Mind
I seek
my tanka road
Tiffany Shaw-Diaz
blank canvas
the earth covered
in fresh snow
a brush
of color
...spring returns
the Master’s Hand
flowers here
and there
a few leaves
redden
...chiaroscuro
endless art
nature’s glory
throughout the year
Bryan Rickert
new spring
the every-which-way
of wisteria
glints from bird wings
as they circle it
first light
locust song
from the river bank
stirrings of dust
heat shimmers
the dog’s tongue
more out than in
gentle rain
between boulders
mountain laurel
Helena Ingram
Alive
But alone still
Tomorrow is coming
I hear nothing but wind in the trees
In death
Mountains
A cold breeze hits
Cinnamon is in my breath
Leaves tremble through the brisk cold winds
Calling
Vacation
Oh, the beautiful sights
Lost
Dave Read
too lazy
to clean the house
for guests
I polish
my social smile
sneaking chocolates
when nobody looks
I gather
another
five pounds
my son makes
his way home
in the dark
the light of the stars
in his eyes
M.J.Iuppa
old sled guards the entrance
snow-covered boots stop there
dripping
sleigh bells hang
over the fireplace mantle
garland of sound
far-flung net of
starlings soar– vanishing
into winter air
Lynn Carol Brown
Snow flakes fall gently,
And deep is the stillness,
Of snow swept woodlands.
Barnabas I Adeleke
harsh harmattan . . .
my pee a deeper shade
of amber
Christmas Carol --
a faint halo forms
around the moon
fragrant blossoms --
fresh cow dung litters the path
to a river
new houses
less and less visits
of snakes
Michael H Lester
We Don’t Celebrate Christmas
overnight
ice on the windshield
an inch thick
I hammer my scraper
with chattering teeth
be careful
my father’s words ring
in my skull
you don’t crack the glass
by banging too hard
the tires
on the passenger side
stuck in a deep rut
spin in place at the curb
as I try to pull away
I have a job
at the Christmas tree lot
miles away
breathing these exhaust fumes
I long for the scent of pine
a truckload
of fresh-cut evergreens
tied with rope
I wonder if I’ll ever
see mother again
Veronika Zora Novak
soft whispers
of autumn dew
this heart
of moondust thrown
into the wind
the sorrowful
refrain of a gull's cry
ocean breeze
to feel your presence
again
winter
north winds become
hymns
of a peacock writhing
in its death
a dream
eclipses a dream
lavender
the taste of stars
in my midnight tea
unforgiving
moon after moon
a thousand deaths
to feel his constellations
inside me
Erin J Jones
nine vultures posing
like impressionist art
waiting to eat
a young raccoon
watching me watching him
as I drift near
buck in velvet
races across the road
like a finish line
2019
lot of time spent preparing
for 2020
native songbird
on a swaying willow branch
sings to the world
Bruce England
Salmon are jumping
in rapid-running water
a bear leans in, jaw open,
ready to snatch one,
life and death inches apart,
captured in a photograph
Only One Great Thing
I think again
on my small adventures
in my kayak,
drifting out with a shore wind,
I thought I was in danger
I thought
my fears so big, for all
the vital things
I had to get and reach,
yet there is only one thing
One great thing –
to live and see in huts
and on journeys
the great day that dawns and
the light that fills the world
Five triads by Joy McCall & Don Wentworth
Only the gate
Of the abbey is left
On the winter meadow. Shiki
in the dead oak
A door to another where -
the old graveyard. DW
flint stones
in the dead grasses
the shape of a cross
all that's left
of the old church JM
Mountain storm
don't blow so hard
at night on my journey!
I sleep on one sleeve
of my white robe. Ryokan
in the night
my heart overflows
with the sound
of a single cricket
chirping, chirping DW
I fall asleep
in the high circle
the long moon shadows
of ancient megaliths
watching over me JM
Autumn wind-
mountain's shadow
wavers. Issa
moving
beneath our feet
everything DW
winter Orion
his belt slipping
sideways JM
where wind makes sad noises
in the pines -
and adding to the loneliness,
the cry of an evening cicada. Saigyo
without someone
there is no loneliness --
the three-sided coin DW
the music
of pine-winds
winter rain
and cracking ice
... the blues JM
Although from the beginning
I knew
the world is impermanent,
not a moment passes
when my sleeves are dry. Ryokan
a lone crow waits
among limbs and wires -
another answer
questioned DW
do they help,
these tears for the suffering
and lost?
however far away
they are all my kinfolk JM
Steve Wilkinson
Acceptance
I focus on my breath
and listen...
to the wind stirring the leaves
let the leaves
blow from the tree -
there's nothing you can do
to stop them
fallen leaves -
I pick them up
and let them fall
into the river
------------
secrets
we keep to ourselves -
the unseen owl
that calls at night
from the darkness of the pine
------------
Slow flowing river
The shadow of a heron
crosses empty fields