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Picture
                  



Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel

the worn old door stood just ajar

and drifting through the narrow gap
came low voices and faint woodsmoke

and a clinking of coins ​ ​ ​​ ​
​
by moon-drenched tavern shuttered tight
as owls hoot and the mastiff howls
a tattered form skulks the courtyard
in rags dark as a bat ​​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​



in the faint moonlight
I daren't take a step​
from the path
for fear of crushing
new born daffodils​ ​ ​
​
snowmelt
running down the path
a​ flash of purple
along the edges -

spring violets​ ​Cl


Joy McCall & Monk Gabriel

are the magic times

we hold so dear
enough
for when the sadness

and hard times come?​ ​ ​ ​
​
golden summer meadows
black winter in the killing fields
high sun
a misted moon
I am a coin resting on its edge



Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

a quiet pond

reflects a pool of stars
this must be
what it feels like
to reach the gates of Heaven



the rain is gentle
and the wind is soft
today i vow
to bottle up and save
this moment of ahh



my thumb caresses
this piece of moonstone
i wonder
whose hands loved you
long before mine



from pink to violet
to the darkest indigo
this sunset
has touched my soul
in places i had forgotten



between the lands
of awake and sleep
a melody
rises from each tulip
waiting for your touch



Roger Watson & Erin Castaldi

early evening pond

the splash
of a ghost carp

tornado season
thick thunder wind
buried memories

midsummer montbretia
flames
lick the garden


earth, air, wind, fire
the pressures that lift
men up

patio door
sliding
into silence


cloud woman
drum of thunder
night skin



Bryan Rickert

reeling

the kite back in
summer’s end

after traffic
crows strutting back
into the street

the universe
in a single grain
of sand...
I find nothing but
a broken piece of shell

in the field
where we once
made love
fireflies blinking a thousand
memories of you

slipping
into the old tongue
she reminisces
to a room full of people
who are not there




Roberta Beach Jacobson

let's pretend

this is Paris
COVID weekend

room
for the dog
hammock

madder than the hatter the poet

...eclipse...
(in ellipses)
in parentheses

cyber birthday girl
felicidades and mazels
with emojis



Giuliana Ravaglia

Breve il sonno nella grigia stanza

silenti luci cieche di memoria
ma piano - all'aperto - stingeva l'orizzonte

svaniva il rumore delle stelle
e dal basso saliva il chiaro
frusciando sulla pelle il respiro del mare


Short sleep in the gray room
silent blind lights of memory
but slowly - in the open - the horizon was blurring

the sound of the stars vanished
and the light rose from below
the breath of the sea rustling on the skin




Incerto il passo nelle lunghe giornate
quando l'oscurità è breve
e l'estate passeggia sottobraccio agli alberi

ma ancora ritornano le corse all'aperto
nell'aria tersa che frantuma silenzi
rotolando d'azzurro la cima del tempo


Uncertain pace in the long days
when the darkness is short
and summer walks arm in arm with the trees

but outdoor racing still returns
in the clear air that shatters silences
rolling the top of time with blue



Ciocche d'estate dondola l'alba
effimera danza che ancheggia fluente
sull'ombra ribelle d'un concerto amaranto

amabile finzione nell'autunno che avanza
cercando ancora respiri d'arancio


Summer locks the dawn rocks
ephemeral dance that sways fluently
on the rebellious shadow of an amaranth concert

lovable fiction in the advancing autumn
still looking for breaths of orange




RP Verlaine

ten beers later

the red dragon
breathes fire

silent winter
the spider and I
have stopped talking

full moon
I flick an ant
into sky



Douglas J Lanzo

mountain mist

bends over green sculptures
of bonsai

sliding down
ice-crusted hill
tumbled laughter

a passion
in the nightingale’s song
the evening she passed

temple tea house
pours scent of sakura
through gurgling gardens
flowered by melting snowfall
of cherry blossom crystals

groomed into ripples
of meditating waters
manicured rock waves
expunge stress from frothy sea
calmed in my Zen garden



Linda L Ludwig

pink moon

a softened glow
red anemone

misty winter skies
moon dogs are loosed
as the wind howls

this old doorstep
grandpa’s stories
and I



Cinzia Pitingaro

the shade of roses-

in his solitude
a new dream

wildflowers-
the sky is not far
from our eyes

under the moon
a path without shadows-
solitude

the last snow-
mom's place
much colder

honey drops-
the reflections of dawn
in our eyes



Samo Kreutz

summer

fully bloomed
my new desires

ripe cherries
with them on the branches
his runaway thoughts

raging storm
behind the forest trees
the animals and my fear

changing clothes
a shadow of potted plant
now her dress



Michael D Mann

I too, moth,

follow
the dream
whispers
the moon

moonshine
light from the window
moth bump bumping
if I turn off the lamp
will you fly to the moon?

morning moon
the chagrin cry of
a blue heron
taking
flight



Sherry Grant

FACE IT


little artist, two glinting eyes
spying colours of the future
a world with hope where ambition
quietly sneaks away

feeling invincible with youth
on one’s side, while much startling truth
lies with wisdom from books of old
cunning coincidence

passion-infused verses of youth
a pen compelled to fly swiftly
with one single feather, landing
thoughts for eternity

forbidden thoughts claiming the heart
loud and clear, intentions to break
all existing rules, at Eden
tempted to compromise

conjuring up magic, oceans
part at his command, great power
built on faith, leading followers
away from misery

liberator of great esteem
from slavery proudly arise
who could have imagined how fate
brought him to this glory?



Mark Hitri

counting

after lightning
-daddy’s home

golden hour -
long shadows
of my past

drinking -
above the bottle
I see the North Star

cherry blossoms -
a kitten stretching
It’s paws.

Her cheeks
After the proposal
- Cherry Blossoms



John Grey

GREAT BLUE HERON


upright and still
edge of the pond
not a brushstroke out of place

COUNTRY TWILIGHT

Workers trudge slowly home
alter a hard day in the fields,
silent, weary, dirty of face,
smoking their cheap pipes,
swathed in dusk's gold coveralls.

IN A SERIES OF FLASHES

fireflies
lower
the criteria
for
lighting up
the world



Keitha Keyes

old neighbourhood --

our street is peppered
with widows

Grandma’s house --
a daisy chain of children
and memories

beauty nestled
in urban ugliness --
Japanese temples



Michael H Lester & Joy McCall

on the way

to visit mother’s grave
up the hill
through daisies and clover
all the broken headstones.



leaving a hag stone
on the old folks' grave
if the gods
don't keep them safe
maybe the witches will.



Marilyn Humbert & Laura Davis

Happenings


this spring day
bright with sunshine
we plant
everlasting daisies
and a burgundy rose


it takes time
for a seed to sprout,
buds to bloom…
lessons in patience
watching you grow

toddler feet
follow a snail’s trail
happenings
amongst fallen petals
in our front garden


games
of ring-a-rosie
all fall down...
when will we stop
going round in circles

with the kids
naming cloud shapes
that giddy feeling
as we watch unicorns
gallop across blue sky


home school
giving imaginations
free rein
we discover
our own backyards



Waning Moon

Laura Davis & Marilyn Humbert


early evening
a flock of starlings swirls
through the sky...
I recall a time
when I too soared




alone again
I count constellations
in the south
a curlew’s cry resonates
across barren plains



not one star
brightens the heavens
tonight
rising floodwaters
set my hopes adrift



sandbags piled
high on the levee
I dream
of stitching patches
to the waning moon



all day
news of destruction
and heartache...
how can we mend
our own broken fences




Michael H Lester

On the Way to Tombstone


along the trail
an intrepid adventurer
hobbles to the creek
to look upon the water
and bathe his tired feet


a thousand ripples
expand into each other
from the zigzag
of minnows and tadpoles
scavenging for bits to eat


a water bird
long-legged and knock-kneed
stands motionless
on the gravelly creek silt
near an outcropping of reeds


further down
a large rock protrudes
from the bank
slick with a thick coat of moss--
mosquitos swarm in the wet heat


an owl hoots
and there is a rustling
in the sagebrush
I bite into some jerky
and sip from my canteen



Anna Maria Domburg-Sancristoforo

somehow

the twitter at dawn
of an unknown bird
looks lonely
to my loneliness


without the moon letting myself live I look for stars


Travels Diary

cliff of Nervi
the shameless scent
of brown seaweed

Eau de mure …
you take me by the hand
in rue Casimir Périer

salty breeze …
again as it once was
on the cliffs of Moher

ghetto of Rome
artichokes alla giudia
and yellow mimosa

church in Chapaize
the smell of roses
up the wall



David Watts

heat wave

lemon yogurt
on my spoon

another birthday
the half moon
in my thumbnail

wisdom tree
a slow rain slowly
shapes the hillside

not his name
I use it
anyway

standard time
a shotgun shell
in the plowed field



Srinivasa Rao Sambangi

frost moon

in the dark alley
as of now
all that remains is
the hiss of a breath

pink moon
a bright patch on the wave
comes and goes

hospice window
till yesterday cherry petals fell
one at a time



Dave Read

startled from sleep

by a flurry of bullets…
my son
doing battle
online


he circles
the last day of school
before summer…
a headlight that shines
through the fog


the blinds sway
with the breeze
through the window
the lilac scent
of spring


me and my friend
begin lifting weights…
a couple
of old
rusty dumbbells


I watch an old movie
that features
some travel…
my mind drifts away
from the lockdown



Eva Joan

weightless


in our dreams
let us spread our wings
let us fly through the night
on a silky soft breeze ... weightless
to the edge of our souls
and beyond


time 2.0

with beating wings
wind mills are grinding
my time into fine sand
which runs incessantly
silently, gently
through my fingers



low tide
the beach naked ... deserted
so loud the silence

these tired eyes
in my morning mirror
i do not know them



Tony Williams

bog pool

a mirror
reflecting night

spring day...
even the broken glass
sparkles

wildflowers
my eyes stray
from the path

sun behind a cloud
I pick a snail off the hedge
while she talks

a C a V a W
the lexicon
of geese



Adrian Bouter

street busker

he smiles upon
the breaking string

cornflower a prayer in blue

down the beach
where children play
buckets of sea

a wave breaks
and another one father
can you hear it too...

the moon
dresses you in light love
chirping cricket



Alex Fyffe

runaway

the long ride
back home

mother's day
all the things she could have been
without him

mid-spring
the mud in her breath
as she sleeps

drip... drop...
the kitchen faucet
dreams of rain

all this rain
too late for the basil plant
your mother gave us



Neena Singh

beyond all

space, time and distance
our souls
stand on tiptoe
to hold each other up

corona pandemic
more than a year old
I pray it ends
to see children with bags
rush to school, giggling

dew-laden
fresh-mown grass...
my dog sniffs
to find a familiar spot
for his morning ritual

remember a spring
four decades ago...
a red rose
you bought to propose
became my garden

holding
the silver-framed
photograph
I smile her smile
with my sad eyes



Bee Jay

tall woman

with a long stemmed rose--
short kiss

bee in a rose--
we make love quickly
in her garden

at the exhibition
she shows me her breast
I say i like it

adultery
her husband shows me
his knife

her sly wink
the tree shakes off
another leaf



Pippa Phillips


thinking about
the things I can't change--
how a Christmas tree
seems false
the day after

music in a song's pause--
she adds another pearl
to the string

morning commute
on the windshield a raindrop
merging into traffic



Ben Gaa

river barge

passing over and under
the moon


shard of glass
catching my finger
catching the light


slowing my pace on the trail
i become one
of the birds


way past
the end of the record
lap cat dreams


daffodil shoots
i, too, am longing
to bloom



Milan Rajkumar

lake in autumn . . .

a boy's fishing rod pokes
the sun for a bite

another iris
from the same stalk --
the ballerina's daughter

reading death poems . . .
from the plastic wall clock
dawn chorus

this craving
for a cup of wine –
moon gazing

contaminated
yet still revolving . . .
third rock from sun



Chen-ou Liu

a bald-head boy

in the hospital window ...
cicada summer

breezy sunshine
a wood thrush
breaks into song

a drift of leaves
memories I hold on to
and those I let go

lightning
splits this winter night
after the talk
my wife stays in the past
I move on with shadows

waiting alone
behind the barbed wire
in summer heat
a child migrant clutches
his pierced-through dream



Robert Witmer

a sunny breeze

juggles autumn leaves
loves roller coaster

cracked clay
the rhythms of empty corn
in percussions of the sun

mobile
the baby's toes
wiggle above her laughter

dandelion duck
up to his quacking
in honeybees

park bench
an old man tugging his beard
the lovestruck pigeon nods



R K Singh

in the park

seeing the green in her eyes
joy wells up:
she feels the silver blue
the leaves breathing her touch

looking for image
of divine on the wall
to pray or chant
a mantra or hymn in mind
she leans on him to kiss

intruding
the darkness of bedroom
a tree’s silhouette:
she whispers its masked presence
and says no to making love



Joy McCall

the Inuit man sat carving

a piece of green jade, and then ...
the sound of geese overhead
gave shape to the stone

on this same night five years ago
a small star fell on my bed
and settled there; and when I woke
it too had gone away

the gypsy cob, too old now
to pull the tinker's rattling cart
stands at the edge of the pond
watching yellow ducklings

the little girl filled her bucket
with berries from the hedgerow
and skipped home singing down the lane
her hands stained berry red

all along the banks of the stream
that runs through the fair green woodland
ferns cover the mossy ground
waving in broadland winds



Joe Sebastian

early morning pond

stillness reflected
in stillness

Covid infected
a faint curve of twilight
fading from my porch

Zoom meeting…
chic coat and tie,
boxers below

first long trip…
fresh jasmine garland
on dashboard deity

Covid crematorium
charred smell of a new forest
everyday.



Parthar Sarkar

Defeat the statesmen

Pandemic. They throw
The corpse in darkness.

They blame me I give
Importance to the darkness.
But they do not remove it.

A few leaves are green.
but that
Does not mean it is spring.



Joe McKeon

random patterns

on a rain splattered window
night sirens

asterisked season
the ones we lost
along the way

Library of Congress
the book about kintsugi
covered with dust

gravesite flowers
the comfort
of routine

off the path
the snow deepens
step by step



Vladislav Hristov

Spring rain

the silk plant blossom
has a new hair-do

relay race
my father's smile
on my son's face

night train
unknown girl
reads the same book



Hifsa Ashraf

gleaming window...

a young spider walks
across the moon

still pond
a water strider lands
on the day moon

evening horizon
a tidal wave claws
at the migratory birds

winter equinox
a river of fog flows
through the valley

spring meadow...
against the bus window
child’s face



Freddy Ben-Arroyo

after Stravinsky

I'm on the Northern Line heading home
Maestro Charles Dutoit
probably drinks champagne
with the young violinist


whenever I fancy to get lost
to "Ten Bells Pub" I go
no one will ever find me there
approach me and say:
"Freddy I presume?"



Carole Johnston


feeding birds
on snow pink mornings
I stand still
and feel myself blend
into turning time

Rilke says
become the wind
pour myself
into the flowing void
nothing left but words

voices
the shock of
creation
vibrating ...
Ommm
in our bones


every night I wander outside
to see what the sky is doing
deep breathing in the silent night
watching the stars watch me

like Picasso's Blue Guitarist
bony limbs and claw like fingers
lurching over a purple cane
surreal ghost of himself



Lafcadio

lost on steep roads that curve and twist. I walk through meadows of wildflowers. the call of the coyote echoes in the breeze. the sun slips down into a secluded forest with low-hanging moss covered limbs.


the rushing wind
in the trees--
someone called my name



faded love letter--
the scent of lavender
persists

the window
framing my thoughts

bird of prey
hovering--
the weight of air

wind in the trees
trading whispers
in the night



Caroline Krakora

cat’s cradle

falling
walnuts

closing up
before my eyes
dandelion...

beneath
white oaks
crushed kief

anise biscuits
the love grandma
used to bake

platter of salmon
under the seats
flirting feet



Zahra Mughis

dusk clouds

obscure the view
a ship sets sail
into oblivion
oil on canvas

watching the birds
fly above the meadow
hearing freedom ring
shadows of her doubts
sweep across

hoisting flags
on a castle
by the mountain
of seashells
childhood flew by



Maya Daneva

evening news

only the tide
is high

poppy field…
where is the white moon
in the blue sky?

relocated
unpacking again
my solitude

without an umbrella
under the heavy rain
my true self shines

brighter than the
first spring sunshine
my baby’s smile



Nisha Raviprasad

holi celebrations

all the colours of my childhood
faded

Holi is festival in India where different types of colours are smeared on each other.

Grandpa's grave
his walking stick holds on
all the moss

pumpkin vines
I comb grandma's curls
in my mind

Autumn moon
the emptiness of my womb
again

passing by....
on a blooming rose
a dragonfly



Sonam Chhoki



loud clatter of pebbles
as the waves leave the shore . . .
the thrashing, crashing of all l hoped
when you left for other shores

once the spectre
of Mongols crossing the peaks
to raid our valley
this new year, the spectre of the Covid

clouds of pink this cold, cold spring
the cherry blooms for the first time
uncombed and without a word
she returns in dream

in and out of the mist, dzong* ruins . . .
how our sacred past seems beyond grasp
deep in the ravine, as if in sympathy
the wails of a hill partridge


*Note: dzong (Pron: ZONG): monastery-fortress.


washed light of winter dawn
waking up from a dream of our parting
I learn more and more
how to live without you



John J Dunphy

the garden hose

run over by my lawn mower
now a sprinkler

lunar ecipse
plunged into darkness
the moonshiner's still

morning walk
my dog snaps at
falling acorns

manual typewriter
child looks for
its on switch

worn tombstone
its faded inscription darkened with
a felt-tipped pen



Ani Staykova- Ivanova

a crumbling stable

the houses deserted
the owners are gone

a delicate bouquet
in a basket. fir cones
ikebana

mountain plateau
magnificent sculpture
by God's hand



Lori A Minor

this loneliness church and state


speaking in tongues covfefe

fake news the virgin birth

guilt ridden this body paper thin

another mixed episode van gogh’s missing ear



Tom Bierovic

old tire swing

the girl next door
in her first high heels

the rustle
of willow leaves
her prom dress

a new feather
in Grandpa's fedora
stepping out

no longer on speed dial Mothers Day

a regret on every page high school yearbook



Erin Jones

Close the door

Let the memories remain
Such as they are

Steady down comes the snow
Streets turn white
Slow and steady the drive home

A bold blue moon
On All Hallows' Eve
The world did not end

A warm autumn night
The wind blowing through the trees
A peaceful feeling

Insomnia
Tired bodies
Dreaming of sleep



Carmela Marino

starfish

I find my dream
between the stones

wildflowers
I learned to talk
to his chromosome

flat sea
the yoga posture
of a child

white coat
a sky without clouds
in his eyes

my spring
the silence and the shadow
of each shell



Agus Maulana Sunjaya

stirring

the soul of an old beggar
first autumn wind

pattering rain
the muezzin call deepens
within me

Milky Way
so many places
to call my home

daybreak
a bit ahead of us
our child

a young crow
on father’s tombstone
July heat



Maria Concetta Conti

slopes of the volcano

the moon disappears into
the smoke

backpack down
into someone's cloud
spring rain

from the balcony
a cherry blossom I knew
by its scent

gust of wind
the day of remembering
has began

following
the scent of the past
a broom on the rock



Kathleen Vasek Trocmet

the cat

smelling of prairie grass
comes home

spider kiting
on gossamer threads...
windblown journeys

wild crocus...
our smiles fly free
around us

tea pickers
sing faster
rain clouds



Mike Gallagher

open arms

the toddler grabs
at air

sunrise
what the moon left behind
dewdrops

the moon
a bright saffron
her cloak

a neighbour visits
the scrape of chairs drawn
into the kitchen table
the rattle of crockery
tinkle of spoon on china

rich and poor
all travelling the one-way street
to the graveyard gate







Alvin B. Cruz

raking leaves

before they fall --
forgotten dreams

five-leaf clover --
syllables of words
between our silences

spring grass --
the bed I lie on
to dream of God

bullet train to Kyoto --
my shortcut
to the old world

last train home --
the moon returns
less than whole



George Schaefer

MORE PERFECT MENU


Chalkboard on floor
the colored chalks take over
pretty kaleidoscope of words
form a more perfect menu



INCURRED WRATH

cast iron
knots in wood
a napkin blown off table
a sorrowful plight
incurred wrath of rum drinkers

feral cats
adorn the seashore
newfound home

morning java
eyes wide shut
indifference to new day



RITE OF PASSAGE

Rite of passage
I’ll learn
if I listen
the winds tease wisdom
as bird songs beckon hope



Helen E Herr

living a dream


Desert Sands is a poem written by Joy McCall in her book
this is my song. It speaks of her aging uncle who wants
to fulfill his dream before he dies - to ride a camel.

the old man
lives his dream
riding a camel
singing and singing
so far from home


Did Mary sing baby Jesus to sleep the night they fled to Egypt?

Joseph the guide
Mary and baby Jesus
rocking on a donkey
fleeing in the night
so far from home *



I rode a camel once. It was in Egypt. I was travelling by bus
on a Christian Tour from Israel to Mt. Sinai. We stopped
to stretch our legs. Camel rides for sale. The camel driver
promises I will be safe. All this for a photo to show my
family at home.

the camel is old
rocking sideways
I’m not singing
as I hang on tight
so far from home

* Matthew 2:13



Lakshmi Iyer

cherry blossom fall

the child's burial
wrapped in pink

after the rain
a different sun
in the sea

joining the dots
from one to twenty
a meandering train


Five Rengay

Side by Side

Sherry Grant & Christina Chin

new bride’s
first kiss
sunset clouds


perigee moon
the way you look at me

butterflies
flutter within
sweet date


afternoon matinee
tickets for two corner
back seats

side by side
fun fair rides


a heartbeat away
under one umbrella
wet with rain

Deeper Silence
Michael Czarnecki and Sherry Grant

long late day shadows
creep over spring green hayfield
lone crow overhead

how stillness cuts through the heat --
new crescent pierces dark clouds


from nearby woodlot
owl’s hoot shatters quiet night
then deeper silence

mirror to the moon
hushed lake shares its memories
so soft this murmur


if one listens carefully
heart has so much to relate

cuckoo’s pressing calls
two loving souls side by side
perfect unison


Blues
 Sherry Grant &  Jackie Chou

dream’s border --
first bird
bursts into songs


shards of sunlight
spill through the slats

last night’s dinner
still
on the table


what's left unsaid
lingering
in the morning air

in the news
more countries at war


blinking cursor
flashy words borne
out of my woes

Sunset
Kayla Drouilhet and Sherry Grant


her still body
amid falling leaves
a loud sunset

blood moon
a sword glistens


dear wife’s
ghostly whispers
come home

cherry blossoms
in her
loosened hair


inky black
damp from recent rain

strike
in the heart
reunion


Moonlit Tides
 Sherry Grant & Richa Sharma 

sea spray
fine pearls around
her neck


stacked sea stones
dream's emblem

sparkles from the tail
caught in sunlight
a glimpse


evening sea song
a streak of starlight
sways his throne

distant memories of land
sunken ships


a tale’s sigh
the moonlit path
still drapes



Christina Chin

showers of weeping

cherry blossoms
April full moon


stifled sneeze
dizzying fragrance
of dwarf jasmine



Debbie Strange

small(holding)


crab-apple wine
the dance floor dad built
in the orchard

the scent of hay
wafts over our pasture . . .
we breathe deeply

wheat gum
our laugh lines etched
with dust

a slice of moon
dangles from the auger . . .
rusty combine

barren fields
the scattered bones
of our farm

the jangle
of a tin roof leaving home . . .
desolate prairie



Picture

TanshiArt

Christina Chin


Kathleen Vasek Trocmet


Debbie Strange


Michael D Mann


Sherry Grant  & Christina Chin

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