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
