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The Bamboo Hut Number 4 2020









Giuliana Ravaglia


a lark again

on the windowsill in the morning
it spans the horizon
the waterfall of the firmament

words chase each other
in the golden shadow of the evening
in your bare hands
the silence of an avid blues

in the shade of wisteria
raids of blooming dawns
I still chase you
my dishevelled spring




Ron Scully


full moon humbles

night blooming magnolia
breaths innocence

flighty butterfly
lights on a Chrysanthemum
needs no reason

origami cygnet
broken wing unfolds slowly
signs white silence

white lotus cloud
drift on Mirror Lake

rudderless



Tiffany Shaw-Diaz


awaiting

the cooler days of fall
i curl into
a book
as thick as the moon



it’s late at night

and i might be
the only one awake

to watch the softness
of your breath
lay upon our home



first the lightning
then the thunder
when a dream
finds parts of my soul
i had yet to discover



that feeling
when you first wake up

here but so far away

i want to on hold on
to that moment
just a few seconds longer



after rising from sleep
waves of life
crash upon me

perhaps it’s a good thing
i have always loved


an untamed ocean



Anna Maria Domburg-Sancristoforo


in this house

since you are not here
the sun is burning
birds find salvation
in cold remoteness


a day identical
to uniform days
between sun and moon
for one drop of joy
I have to see the sea


your sweat ...
on my skin
a salty dew
was it all

just a dream?



Christina Chin


sheets curing

in the smokehouse
the smell of rubber


wildlife park
the petting zoo closes
indefinitely


autumn clouds
the dug trenches drench
in buckets of tears


parliament debate
the owl strikes
its prey


forest fire
the parrot mimics

a cough



Taofeek Ayeyemi


dry farming . . .

the cry of a partridge
I do not see


a quick scuffle
on the crawl path . . .
mamba's tail


the stench
of rodenticide
fills the room . . .
exhibited phobia
of lassa fever


vernal equinox --
the blossoms and the colour
of his bow tie


gong beat --
a fountain splashing

over a metal box



Abdulazeez Shomade


misty morning. . .

bride mourns
her deceased husband


abortion--
sister weeps over
her cancelled wedding


lavender blossom. . .
mango leaf wafting in mid-air
as stork stalks a snail




Scott Wiggerman


walking in sand

the distance
between us grows

bruised skies--
promise of rain
sting of hail

sleepy droplets
caress the garden
female rain

socially distant
and yet the scent
of his cologne


welcoming
the dark side
stargazing



Gerald Northcutt


Of all the mortal men...

None have been more important...
Than he, when called "Dad"


Who you are today...
The sum of your yesterday's...
For your tomorrow.


Music builds a bridge...
As we look at each other...
Through generations.



Bakhtiyar Amini


inscription on the asphalt

a truck running over
the heart itself


oh Rio, Rio
from year to year
from dream to dream


candyfloss
melting in the mouth
childhood



Elancharan Gunasekaran


imprisoned
in glass towers
ember clouds



slow breathing
dusk
         water for
         parched shadows



peeling darkness from concrete first light



flat above
glass breaking
i remember
grownups screaming



Jibril Dauda Muhammad


withered leaves...
a black mamba
finds home

election day...
thumbing ballots
amid fear

stepping
into the theatre
in their face
the shape of
unsolved equation

sudden spark
on the power line
the birds scatter

covid rules...
our shadows
keep in touch



Kathleen Vasek Trocmet


stepping out of the car
into an air-bomb
of barnyard smells
swallows swirl above
the rooster cupola
reminders of my ancestry


old woman
signs hello
to the new day
her fingertips
touch the tree
where sparrows sing


while he waits
does Schrodinger's cat
meow


the raven silent
in the barn shadows
black shiny eyes gleam
in the lantern's light ...
midnight calving


mom's family album --
tears come easier
as each page is turned



Roberta Beach Jacobson


Of The Forest


when
I am a tree
I am strong


before
the leaves came
I was the trunk


in the forest
my wood is
weathered



Willie R. Bongcaron


clinging vine
the host playing dead
and dumb


such bright colors
her silk kimono


harvest moon
only for tonight playing
with the fireflies


morning calm
each second i browse
from the bay window


honeycomb...
the long-awaited
delivery day




Michael H Lester


What Sound Does a Dead Man Make?


the neighbor boy
a walking onomatopoeia
his sound effects
carefully calibrated
as if by tuning fork

leaning forward
motoring down the sidewalk
on his tricycle
he mimics the sound
of a roaring engine, Vroom!

quivering
as he releases an arrow
from his bow
he supplies the whoosh
and the reverberating twang

pedalling
his little red fire truck
past my house
you can hear him clanging
and whoop, whoop-whooping

his coup de grace
the sound of a machine gun
in Vietnam
where he utters his last
rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat



Michael H Lester & Joy McCall


a poet
can’t possibly wish
for her poems
to languish in obscurity
like the dark side of the moon 

what could be better
than seeing the universe
from the other side?
the mouse, the witch dance
with the lunatic on the grass 




Lavana Kray


the sea
is a tear in the window -
this agoraphobia
that grows in the ever-widening
space between me and you


if I were a leaf,
I would take a roundabout...
however
is the end of my road,
it has a no return sign


poplars in the wind -
my twin shadow left
the shore;
little waves of the lake
distorting my face


a day to cry
among old memories
in the attic -
the rain keep changing
its tempo on the roof


if you come
and can't find me anymore,
take a look among stones -
I'm still waiting for you
in our secret place



Eva Joan


safe at night


i feel your closeness
when the moonlight
wanders golden
through bare branches
when all heaviness all suffering
is lost in the darkness


advisedly

i lay my words
- advisedly -
like stones
into the deep ocean of stillness


day and night

every day without you
and every night
hurts me more
than any injury
more than all my scars


longing

a single
lonely delicate soul
drifts lost in silence
between glittering stars
longing flies far into infinity
and beyond


dust

dear moonlight ... please
breathe imagination
between all these lines
up there
where in the deep blue
unwritten words
have fallen to dust



Anthony V Villanti Jr


sun sets at days end

creatures of the night wake up
the moon watches all


angry sea rages
shore surrenders its bounty
rocks covered with foam


echo of loons cry
canyons carry the sad song
wind through the pine trees


hawk waits eyes it’s prey
below rabbits scurry for dens
Mother Nature directs


sharp scythe stands ready
wheat stands tall in golden sun
no prisoners spared 



Rp Verlaine


unable to keep

my eyes on the steps
i fall for her shadow
above mine
on the steps

she exhales
smoke from her cigarette
while the pond water
we share swallows
the ash

children in cages
is now the norm
the highlight of their day;
standing in cramped halls
while their rooms are cleaned

with no more faith
than when I had entered
I leave the church
to bury a friend
who would want a drink now

in the ruins
of a hurricane's wake
we walk like zombies
our shadows touching
all we have left

moonlit
how the city rats
have grown



Joan C Fingon


catching fresh breezes

the bronzed seal gleams
in the sunlight
taking in the view

at the old barn
flashlights in hand
ghost shadows

grabbing the newspaper
off the front porch
in the early morning
the neighbor’s cat
greets me on the step

on a cool September night
laying on a cozy warm blanket
stargazing listening
to a chorus of crickets

Perfection

standing in line
imagining the fluffy white
foam rimmed cinnamon
flavored coffee
in my hands




Anna Goluba


The Pere Lachaise...

It's like
They all could wake up
In a moment


Journey
Into the unknown...
One kiss
Provokes another


Middle of the night...
His strong restful voice
Right into my ear
Straight from the radio


Deep silence
A frog
Hesitates


Sinking Titanic
Another piercing scream
In the delivery room



John J Dunphy


front yard

couple plant a rose bush
where the cross was burned


light drizzle
waiting by his driveway
my late neighbor's dog


Mount Rushmore
couple with children point out
the slave-holders


long line
I arrive at check-out with
two haiku


cave exploration
on the tip of a stalagmite
dried blood



Chen-ou Liu


my parents

keep silent all the way
to the airport ...
outside the window
a kite with no string


twirling spaghetti
around her silver fork
without eating ...
the tie between us severed
by her knife-sharp silence


at 3 am
flickers of light
covidsomnia


gathering dark
cry of a neighbor's baby
the only sound


a line of crows
on the White House fence
smoky twilight



Joy McCall & Steve Wilkinson  (ryuka pairs)


solitude comes so rarely

these crazy days; I hold it
close to me and sing old songs -
that's when the poems come


Sing me a song of solitude
when all the world has gone to sleep
may the darkness give birth to poems
that are purer than light



A silken thread of spider's web
Glistens in the morning sunshine
A cabbage white rides on the breeze
And vanishes from sight

shadows on the long dry grass
come and go as clouds race by
across the almost-autumn sky ...
random thoughts fill my mind




Mirela Brăilean


my ankylosed fingers

walking on the piano keys
what shrills sounds
just in my memory
the perfect melody


my prosthetic knee
leans against the bed -
I woke up late
in my dream
I had ran
all night


in the spider web not only its life story


the rice pickers
in the setting sun -
calligraphy


behind the fog
inside the fog

the fog itself



Debbie Strange


The Birds Inside My Ribcage


railway spur the to and fro of meadowlarks

blown cattails
moorhen prints emboss
the mud

circles of sun
in the peregrine's eyes . . .
windy bluff

smoky moon
a sandhill crane's
rusty crown

solstice
the snowy sky freckled
with crows



Matsukaze & Joy McCall


we reach our peak

then begin our descent
diminishing ...
aging and growing older
until we return to dust


ashes to ashes
the fire within
is burning low
I turn over the cinders
looking for faith




Janice Doppler


muddy trail

the sound as my heel
breaks the suction


corn stalks rustle
rear legs and a tail
vanish


beach walk
the taste of salt
on skin


ripe cherries
the still warm pie
disappears


missing tooth
beneath her pillow
a coin



Monk Gabriel & Joy McCall


limping

and all-embraced,
we will one day
squeeze through
His narrow gate


one day
the loving voice
will call us
to rise up
and walk




Alex Fyffe


dusty piano

just another thing
I almost learned


therapy
she says it's nice to have
someone who listens


wet bathroom tiles
the scent of freshly opened
Necco wafers



Joy McCall


twilight in the stone circle

his hand on the grey capstone
past, present and future come
slipping though his fingers


restless through the dark of night
I wake weary and look outside
and in the sunlit brickweave
a yellow dandelion


the river flows down the ages
the bedrock is littered with bones
old souls are washing out to sea ...
from the source, the spring rises


a long dark feather, turning
falling to the quiet ground
its flight over, it rests ready
beside the dark inkwell


thunderstorms and lashing rain
the sky dark, the roads flooded
the garden girl sends a text -
shall I water tonight?




Sherry Grant


Buddha Alive in Stone


downcast, quietly suffering
deep, perpetual contemplation
oh Enlightened One, teaching this
world, having lost its way


The Shining Ones


nature’s elemental spirits
in exile, civilisations
like mushrooms, sprouting instantly
the shining ones returned



Flight of Colour and Bliss

flight in pairs, rainbow phoenixes
sped away, radiance fading
glimpse into a magical world
no longer shared with us



Ingress

entrance, mystical dimension
beyond these steps, another world
determined, our destination
future in suspension




Awake, Aware and Going Somewhere


omnipresent, with prying eyes
our nature suddenly awake
aware, maybe going somewhere
observing behaviours

* Sherry's poems are inspired by the artwork of Jennifer Baird. See images below.

www.jenniferbairdartist.com



Veronika Zora Novak


choking

on its cacophony . . .
murder of crows

Venus
merely an ornament
in the night sky
tonight, my long tresess
fallen to the earth

tangled . . .
backward glances
of albatross moons

above us . . .
an orchestra
of stars

moonbathing
I slip out of the stars
of my kimono



Juan Edgardo De Pascuale



Sunlight rolling over
the maple tree,
not a single leaf moves


dark thoughts
at night
made light
by the brightness
of the stars


sprawled
on the church steps
waiting for God
to arrive
--a homeless man


at the wake
the old priest
made too much
out of nothing,
nothing at all


spinning on the bar stool
my hungry heart
looked through
her lonely eyes
--straight to the door



Suraj Nanu


A brief call


Driving up hairpins
through the hill tracts
at night
light beams
lost in the sky..


a royal mansion
smell of coffee
and pepper
labyrinth of the past.


on the upper canopy
of the woods
a giant squirrel
sieving
the sunlight.


a red hat
hide in the bush
sound
of a gunshot.


unknown lake
in the new moon
a white scarf
floating.


driving downhill
it is still
drizzling
in the heights.



WWW.

a curated hall of cobwebs....




Peter Adair


at least at least…

summer sky
unmasked


a few more petals
fall from the sunflower –
autumn fog


even in rain
the sunflower hails the old man –
withered friends


in the autumn sun
a fly on a bramble leaf…
brief home


buddleia
rooted in the pavement
going nowhere




Zahra Mughis


monsoon mist

tracing distant lights
on window panes


rising wind
free in the blue sky
my paper plane


blooming early
the colors of autumn --
september dusk


etching dreams
in a stranger's house
the woodworker


stargazing
by the river
unasked
questions
answered



Keith Polette


childhood days . . .

those bright streets
with no names


end of summer
the frayed cuffs
of my work shirt


home again
the river rising
behind me


the moon
once a stranger
my beloved


spilled coins
the loose confederation
of myself



Paweł Markiewicz


autumnal buckrams

the last roses dreaming of
flowering seasons

the ramson in fall
I would need tender feeling
of the meekest world




Cherry A


strutting of peacock

on the roof
first drop of rain


rainbow colours
one after another
circling kois


jasmine blossoms
memories of mother
all over the house


after our argument
the weight of
his words


​pied cuckoo ...
the sound of rain
on leaves




David Watts


after dusk

the tree roots exhale
chill on the lawn


what use
the naked branches
windows in a tree


towhee
on the branch
aroma of rain coming



R.K. Singh


covid-19

reading the astral transit
ceaseless lockdown
oversanitised hands
playing 'stairway to heaven'


the rivers
decayed into sewers
revive in lockdown:
no plastic bottles, no bags
and fishes swim near the banks


ridicule
their exploring gaze
veiled women
with colours, patterns
and seismic movement


I'm not alone
waking up in the grave--
angels await
my rise to eternity
my love's union again



Ramona Linke & Helga Stania


Down the Log Road


nothern shrike
yesterday still
the winter moor’s soul


in the light of blue hour the sundew 

thoughts about
Olafur Eliasson’s
symbiotic seeing


down the log road shreds of our yearning 

as image
joins to image
──dragonfly eye



A Raku Bowl

Jaybo aka Monk’s
Olympic Antilope
…wind is getting up 

into silence── Four Last songs

divine drama
beyond the old Nō-Theater
the crescent 

a Raku bowl   a good deal of inspirations

Graffiti
Girl with Balloon*
... always on my mind 

*Girl with Balloon (There is Always Hope), Banksy, London



Nivedita Karthik


The bechamel sauce is bubbling in the saucepan

and my memories go to another day, another dinner…
…The scene shifts to a hospital room
where the monitor above the bed beeps loud and long
The end? Yes,
it is the fire alarm signaling my burned, now unsalvageable sauce.


No matter how many times you
try to tell me how to
live my life,
in solidarity with my inner self I stand
marching to the beat of my own drum.


Just a weekend trip you said.
Let’s go the beach and have some fun, you said.
To the seaside I went,
holding onto you carefully, not yet ready to lose this moment.
And then, let go I did and watched
as your ashes gently floated on the waves at dusk.




Maya Daneva


stillborn

her family planting
a baby pine tree

​
dark night
she plays
a waxing moon


waxing moon
he searches
her dark sides


after a summer hailstorm
I catch a whiff of
the neighbor’s barbecue


carving wood
all her years
before we met



Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel



growing older
we don't rush in
where angels
fear to tread – we sit
watching, waiting 


getting my affairs in order –
it’s too much.
I unfocus on the willow’s
spilling branches
space out on the soothing swans 



all night I dream
of English breakfast
eggs on buttered toast
a loud jackdaw
raids the dove's nest 


all day thinking
of sweet potatoes with lumps
of brown sugar
a bevy of hummingbirds gather
around the quince bush 



Hemapriya Chellappan


row after row

of silver wheat
Van Gogh night

ghost moon a poem writes itself

whistling wind
a babbler broods
in silence

deadwood
three perched
little boys

winter stillness I practice crow



B.A. France





black and yellow
swallowtails together
... shared harvests


pink hibiscus
demanding afternoon
rum drinks


rereading Montaigne
... quiet joy in a mind
at play


another dish towel
hanging sideways from her tooth
another chase


claiming a space
high in the dying oak
... buzzards watching



Lakshmi Iyer


first flight:

the kingfisher opens
the morning sky


Hiroshima day -
memories unfold
in the fallen blooms


city tour -
I visit my neighborhood
on virtual meet


train journey -
the gibbous moon
slips on my pillow

​
off-beat ...
pitter patter of raindrops
on a plantain leaf




Susan Burch



warm blanket

how cold you are
still gets to me

air hockey
can I win
this argument

stationary bike
this relationship
going nowhere

fast-moving clouds
how quickly
you turn on me

panic attack

everything
is in his name




Clifford Rames


summer cinema

the flare of a falling star
during Titanic


wild clover—
learning to step over
bumblebees


sunken pumpkin
the old farmer harvests
his false teeth


Plácido Domingo…
the pitch perfect tenor
of tinnitus


Amish Country
the livestock odor

not in the brochure



Chad Lee Robinson


Independence Day--

by lighting
his own sparkler
my son's outgrowing
even me

my dead brother . . .
a dragonfly
between the years

my blood
my horse's blood
this hard land

fish story
the bottles of beer it takes
to believe it

small town store
a cat napping
next to the tuna




Robert Witmer


a little boy

shows his pinwheel
to a windmill


dusk
lighting her almond eyes
oboe d'amore


fallen
into fallen leaves
toy soldier


a shovel rusts
under wet leaves
small bones


an empty spoon
in a child's hand
the bottom
of an empty pot
black as night



Xenia Tran


old neighbour

she escapes once more
from the care home
an inner light still guides her
to a world beyond our own


there is no sound
from the puddles in our street
only silence
where the wind just blew
and rattled all the rafters


hiking in the dark
to watch the moonrise
we see
a lone man's silhouette
climb the next mountain


all through Coigach
where his father used to walk
a camera
carries brand new memories
to bring the old man home

(Coigach is a peninsula in the North-West Highlands of Scotland)


his grey hair
full of sunlight
the sea retreats



Keith Nunes


Traffic loud even at a standstill

Another jet takes off
How big will this city get?
There must be a queen here
To attract this many bees


Off in the distance
The chameleon mountains
Change their clothes whenever
The calendar changes its mind


The icing of snow has
Melted away revealing
Indistinct black blurs that
Register as the peak of something


Nothing in this room will
Function as it was designed to do
Without my input
In here, I’m omnipotent


Feels like it’s raining in here
Monsooning me with an inexplicable guilt
A singer said it always rained on him because he lied at 17
I’ve been lying off and on for 50 years
It's a hard rain coming down



Steve Black




sweating on a new path
in the spinney
in the corner of my eye
my winged comrade
flying his red flag


digging holes
for fence posts
sitting in the sky
a crow with a lot to say
for itself


down time
chasing likes
from virtual strangers
the algorithm
of the heart


trying to get ahead
of the arthritis
i recall those i loved
and the few
who loved me back


the sea takes
my son's sand castle
before he is ready
i tell him
you're never ready



Gavin Austin


a fleeting sunset

leaves the lake as dusk settles
at its sedges--
your smile caged in glass
now lights up a silver frame


at her table
she serves tea in fragile
floral cups…
no one sees the demons
waiting for darkness


shafts of sunlight
through the picket fence—
her days
of strung grey hours lit
by visiting grandchildren


her name
carved in sandstone
the wind’s ancient song


pathology...
sibling rivalry
for a donor match



Tom Staudt




the weirdness
of feeling nothing--
conundrum


lockdown blues
a fly watches us
watching TV

so much hair
in every brush--
oncology ward


tearing away
the chains of existence
our tears                                 taste saltier
when they flick the switch


you’re too noisy
the old crow from downstairs
complains...
then she starts feeding
a murder of crows



Erin J. Jones


a snake on a rock

enjoying the warm sunshine
lazy summer day


a lone vulture
standing sentry on a branch
waits patiently


spring day on the lake
everything is in bloom
and warm sunshine


project completed
a sense of satisfaction
lingers


two robins
the first of the spring
welcome home



Steve Wilkinson


Maple leaves on a wooden bridge

autumn descends like an angel
Whispering good news to the air
all things will be renewed


a hot September afternoon
pine trees swaying in the breeze
and me unable to shake this
cognitive dissonance


My words become the winter wind

blowing across the frozen fields
there is no one left to listen
no one left to care


For many years I've sailed this sea
ridden the peaks and the troughs
rudderless now and cast adrift
unsure of where to go


I am a leaf on the tree

transitioning into autumn
I am yellow, orange and gold
spreading joy till the end







The artwork of Jennifer Baird which inspired Sherry Grant's poems.
www.jenniferbairdartist.com


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