Transition
by David Ngo
Ever since Mum made me a kite and I gazed up at the sky, I believed I could fly like Ultraman and E.T, and I wondered what adventures we could have. I once believed the ultimate goal was to break free from the line and follow the wind into the vast. Now I cherish holding on to the final moment.
high above
drifting silent
a bird
Listen to Oana's reading on Instgram:
https://www.instagram.com/reel/DHEoxD2g4yi/?igsh=MTd0MnRjaHhzZGdzbA==
reading his epitaph
I have fought
the good fight
a leaf drifting
down the stream
—Alvin B. Cruz
dawn fishing
he catches
a glimpse of stars
—Alvin B. Cruz
lovers' lane
night rain filling
beer cans
—Adrian Bouter
petting zoo
the one lamb
choosing us
—Adrian Bouter
bonsai garden—
the way little things
matter
—Mona Bedi
deep winter
more bone than skin
on mother’s hands
—Mona Bedi
leafless tree the children we lose to war
—Mona Bedi
a crescent
in the old dog's eyes
winter mist
—Mona Bedi
leaky tap I let out a gossip
—Mona Bedi
ménage à trois
now à deux—
dead robin
—Tony Williams
the way
no one notices
a cherry tree in winter
—Tony Williams
clearing my mind
the sickle moon
pierces the pine
—Sharon Ferrante
on the last train no-one waving goldenrods
—Sharon Ferrante
twilit dusk
the city below nothing
but fireflies
—Vandana Parashar
Sunday choir
the gentle swaying
of bluebells
—Vandana Parashar
online auction
placing a bid on
my childhood
—John Pappas
fossil hunting
a shoebox full
of love letters
—John Pappas
haloed moon—
dad no longer remembers
so many words
—Nicoletta Ignatti
winter storm—
everything
we had already said
—Nicoletta Ignatti
midterm
she tacks stars
on hole covered walls
—Sheikha A.
crescent moon
first rain on her
father's grave
—Sheikha A.
tulip buds
a resting place
for winter
—Timothy Daly & Oana Maria Cercel
strawberry milk
the sweetness
of first words
—Kelly Sargent
mom’s thumbprint
on my baby picture
blue forget-me-nots
—Kelly Sargent
the day I leave blue morning glory
—Kelly Sargent
chimney smoke-
his old letters
keeping me warm
—Melissa Laussmann
traffic jam-
bird watching people
in their cages
—Melissa Laussmann
kintsugi...
the frayed shape
of a cloud
kintsugi...
la forma sfilacciata
di una nuvola
—Angiola Inglese
the last leaf lightening the loneliness
—Mirela Brailean
orphanage yard
a cat is breastfeeding
the newborn chicks
—Mirela Brailean
scented memories –
the pressed flowers
alive again
—Oscar Luparia
spring breeze
I stop
making plans
—Oscar Luparia
a dram for me
and a dram for thee
thirsty grave
—Mike Fainzilber
deep end
finally forgetting you
every single day
—Mike Fainzilber
dummy egg
I hope so often
in vain
œuf factice
j’espère si souvent
en vain
—Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont
daylight saving time
the time wasted
changing clocks
—Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont
reading in bed
her page turns into rain
on the river
—Anne Fox
spring snow
an almost haiku
gone
—Anne Fox
morning drizzle -
the smell of hay dust
off my rucksack
—Roman Lyakhovetsky
forest shortcut—
a drop of my blood
on the cyclamen
—Roman Lyakhovetsky
cold moon
in the web of barbed wire
a refugee child's gaze
—Chen-ou Liu
jolted awake
from a recurring dream
I murmur
is my immigrant past
this black hole of what-ifs?
—Chen-ou Liu
first snowflakes ...
a lone refugee girl
pirouetting
—Chen-ou Liu
waltz dress
stops waving…
her blue eyes
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
spring insomnia…
morning sun caressing
my baby's face
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
river swallows
if only you and I
had this much sky
—Joanna Ashwell
carnations
every colour left
to forget about you
—Joanna Ashwell
my cries
muffled by cherry blossoms
tax day
—Joshua St. Claire
cloud panorama all that’s left of a single heron
—Joshua St. Claire
midnight silence
on the power line
a still possum
—Tuyet Van Do
checking emails
in the kitchen
the clock ticking
—Tuyet Van Do
catch up with old friends
on the verandah
kookaburras laughing
—Tuyet Van Do
Dear community members of CMJ,
We have just finished publishing all texts for February. We're grateful for all your submissions and patience as we get used to things. Take-home messages for you:
1) From now on, we will be publishing poems on a rolling basis. This means that, once we catch up (which will be soon), there will be anywhere between a couple of days and a month between us receiving your poem and it being curated and published. This means that texts sent in a given month can be now published in that same month. We won't send notification of receipt because we don't want to use automated messages, but we will of course notify you of acceptance (and immediate publication) or rejection.
2) As before, send only one batch (of up to 5 poems OR photos OR one haibun/tanka prose/haiga) per calendar month.
3) We have chosen our first four nominations for the Touchstone Awards 2025 (to cover January and February), which will be announced on Instagram and BlueSky. At the end of June and December we'll also mention all of the nominees up to those dates here on the CMJ website.
Without further ado, let's get back to poetry!
Timothy and Oana.
rising
from afternoon nap
low winter sun
—Govind Joshi
winter sunshine
the warmth
of a river stone
—Govind Joshi
breakfast show
intense, intense, fade-out
the sky behind the pines
—Katie Montagna
sunlight glinting
off the wingtips
of geese
—Katie Montagna
drawing me
down the beach
this full moon
—Katie Montagna
first day—
gathering a bouquet
of pussy willows
—Susan Lee Roberts
mom’s house …
sun beams
on my paintings
—Susan Lee Roberts
frozen pipes
waiting for
my head to explode
—Ann Sullivan
new morning
waking up
without bird song
—Ann Sullivan
overnight snow . . .
a deluge of paws
in and out of her garden
—Ann Sullivan
emoji . . .
wondering why
she never says it
—Ann Sullivan
flowers
breaking the rules of Vāstu-śāstra*,
blossoms in all directions
—Swati Ved
*the ancient Indian architectural design and science
business lunch
a bit of green
in his smile
—Joseph P. Wechselberger
bruised fruit
she says
she fell
—Joseph P. Wechselberger
the hug
a little distance
keeps us together
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
death haiku—
after the fragment
a long pause
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
earthquake
the landlord's white shirt
full of soil
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
border value crossed
they call me
sweety
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
rescue boat
a boy's request
for one more trip
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
her dreams
flowing down the drain
child marriage
—Rupa Anand
river sunset
lapwings outrunning the dark
—Rupa Anand
ruby sunlight
in a jar of plum jam
last summer's gleam
—Janet Ruth
river of fog
floods the valley
my frosty breath
—Janet Ruth
new in the hospice one more winter
—Maya Daneva
fragile China cups...
we both choose our sentences
carefully
—Maya Daneva
the homeless mother
makes home under the shadow
of the banyan tree
watching bird's babies in nest
unfinished mom's lullaby
—Manasa Reddy Chichili
lingering war
dark energy
in the void
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
lightning—
an even more visible
blackness of the night
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
diagnosis—
the spring wind disperses clouds
about the sky
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
first light
on hardwood floors
a slap of bare feet
—Audrey Quinn
his spectacles
full of smudges
bedtime story
—Audrey Quinn
sunup—
birdsong breaks
into light
—Sondra J. Byrnes
summer storm
church bells remixed
by the wind
—Sondra J. Byrnes
snow walk
stepping in the footprints
of those who came before
—Allyson Whipple
flowering garden
even the hummingbird finds
a moment of stillness
—Allyson Whipple
your argyle sweater
the cigarette smoke
I can’t wash out
—Allyson Whipple
foggy morning
the hidden contours
of the shore
—Allyson Whipple
flakes peeling
off the old pine gate
collecting my thoughts
—Herb Tate
beginning
to grow on me
grave side grass
—Herb Tate
purple
until I google the field
lacy phacelia
—Herb Tate
winter birthday
giving me a bouquet
of twigs
—Jamie Wimberly
outdoor shower
the salt air within
soap bubbles
—Jamie Wimberly
falling stars
the day before
naming her
—Jamie Wimberly
raging heat
his words
against mine
—Hifsa Ashraf
moonlit trail
dad recalls
his first love
—Hifsa Ashraf
looking at
a quartered apple
my other half gone
—Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont
evening rain
my father’s bookmarks
laid to rest
—Mark Forrester
hazy half-moon
geese flying north
geese flying south
—Mark Forrester
river ice
drifting downstream
the junco’s song
—Mark Forrester
smell of moss
close to the river
a heron’s cry
—Mark Forrester
protest march
singing and dancing
in the reign
—John Pappas
boulevard blues
the breathy vocals
of a neon glow
—John Pappas
winter grape
a lullaby sung
to herself
—John Pappas
wintersweet
this wish to
bloom again
—John Pappas
summer breeze
a field full of poppies –
walking with Monet
—Aleksandra Rybczyńska
his last road trip
my friend arrives
at the cemetery
—John J. Dunphy
outdoor nativity scene
one of the Wise Men
facing the wrong way
—John J. Dunphy
first storm...
searching for the shirt
he is wearing
—Mohua Maulik
hostel gate—
a gust of wind scatters
the empty nest
—Mohua Maulik
north wind
the banyan tree grows
its own prosthesis
—Mohua Maulik
at the forsaken house
i step on a lizard
the tail
still squirming amidst the ruins
of our chapter
—Mohua Maulik
another lie
told to the wife
ice fishing
—Mircea Moldovan
horror movie
in the popcorn bag
a rat tail
—Mircea Moldovan
autumn
evening
live
feed
from
mars
—Lev Hart
end of autumn
I doubt the movie
will get much better
—Lev Hart
skyful of stars how do i fill my emptiness
—Lev Hart
end of harvest
the gods pack up
and move on
—Lev Hart
Editor's Note: These texts are from the "lost poems" chosen by founding editor, Roberta Beach Jacobson.
Dear readers and contributors of Cold Moon Journal,
We are delighted to inform you that as of this month, CMJ has an Instagram account.
We encourage you to comment with the story behind your published text, and generally support each other and build this lovely community through this platform.
Consider using the hashtag #cmjhaiku to post your work and tag us!
We also have Facebook and BlueSky page that we'll be developing.
Timothy and Oana
in my mind
you shouldn't get married
loud and louder ...
we're like two vacuum cleaners
sucking at each other
—Chen-ou Liu
first cold
my son walks
in my shoes
—Carmela Marino
sunset light
traces of loneliness
on the armchair
—Carmela Marino
a cup of coffee
the warmth left
by his hands
—Carmela Marino
first ball...
they all dance together
with their shadows
foggy morning...
from my old neighborhood
nothing more
—Ana Drobot
the pungent scent
of ground ink—
Minnesota lake
—Dennis Owen Frohlich
tapping maple trees
my novel-writing secret
revealed
—Dennis Owen Frohlich
their protestations
go with them
migrating geese
—Keith Evetts
in the middle
of the long cold night
we cuddle
—Keith Evetts
fog drapes
winter chill
the heart’s quiet ache
a warm, lost blanket
distant summer
—Banasmita Das
spring fly
my sick dog
comes to life
—Vladislav Hristov
rice field
the way she walks
through the silence
quiet morning
a symphony of shoes
squeaking in the snow
—Vladislav Hristov
Editor's Note: This haiga is from the "lost poems" chosen by founding editor, Roberta Beach Jacobson.
—Belinda Behne
Editor's Note: This haiga is from the "lost poems" chosen by founding editor, Roberta Beach Jacobson.
Editor's Note: These are from the "lost poems" chosen by founding editor, Roberta Beach Jacobson.
USB port
always slotting it
the wrong way
—Jay Friedenberg
Rorschach clouds
the disapproving glare
of dad's face
—Jay Friedenberg
after the rain…
a bellflower greeting
the moon
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
peonies in bloom
the one near the yard
no one knows about
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
churchyard
an ancient yew
bent with snow
—Robert Witmer
a marked page
in a library book
dating app
—Robert Witmer
table for two
the melting candle
between us
—Alvin B. Cruz
cherry blossoms
in late spring
the tree i planted
though i will not sit
in its shade
—Alvin B. Cruz
another home
in ruins
winter deepens
—Alvin B. Cruz
the letter
that never reached you
wisteria blossoms
—Alvin B. Cruz
last pail of milk
we say goodbye
to our favorite cow
—Aja Rhianna
gentle waves
the calm
before moonlight
—Aja Rhianna
moonspots...
she keeps all her secrets
to herself
—Nicoletta Ignatti
spring twilight-
telling her
we will no longer be friends
—Nicoletta Ignatti
cat's eyes
the blackbird tunes into
fortissimo
—Deborah Karl-Brandt
worn-out socks
learning how to mend them
into a haiku
—Deborah Karl-Brandt
outdoor nativity scene
one of the Wise Men
facing the wrong way
—John J. Dunphy
his last road trip
my friend arrives
at the cemetery
—John J. Dunphy
licking a stamp
the flavor
of nostalgia
—Oscar Luparia
homemade bread
a handful of sesame seeds
for the sparrows
—Oscar Luparia
Shine on
votives
by the window
early shadow
—Joanna Ashwell
night chrysalis
lost in the snow
forest stars
—Joanna Ashwell
birthday song
a balloon floats
above the moon
—j rap
inside his silence an echo of dad’s
—j rap
descending the peak
by full moon
rock fall
—j rap
Dear contributors and readers of Cold Moon Journal,
I am delighted to be taking over from Robin and writing this first post, and to announce that from hereon, I'll be adding the texts chosen for publication in February (Robin may well continue adding some previously accepted texts due to them getting lost).
I'm joined for my editorial duties by Oana Maria Cercel, who along with being co-editor, will also be responsible for social media promotion of your work. We'll choose two texts each month for the Touchstone Awards, leaving us 6 choices at the end of the year for a bit of wiggle room (we'll submit 30 each year). We'll announce these Touchstone Nominations at the end of each month on Instagram, and on the website at the end of the year. Follow the IG here and Facebook here. If you post your work, please tag the account!
Here's Oana's bio: Oana Maria Cercel is simply a shrewd human being that fears what mankind is capable of, given our inability to accept our fundamental connection to the abundant quality that already exists.
Some of you may have noticed that after our first editorial screening of the texts, where I think a poem could be a better fit through a little tweaking, I will suggest this over e-mail. This means, please send only up to five texts in total, made up of haiku/senryu/tanka/mini-haibun/haiga/photos.
Without further ado, let's read some poetry!
Thank you,
Timothy and Oana
inkblot god
the rotting
leaves
Joshua Eric
Williams
longer
nights
the sleep in these
hooded eyes
Joshua Eric Williams
each
word
after the first
river delta
Joshua Eric
Williams
Urban Harvest
a
potpourri
of fallen leaves
each step
(sw)
strawflowers and dahlias
in the wedding bouquet
(j
rap)
mulching the garden
with leftover hay
sharp
scent of rot
(jr)
soused cranberries
too much
pumpkin spice
(sw)
kitchen step stool
the
fragrance of basil
dangling from twine
(j rap)
moving
the parsley pot inside
before first freeze
(jr)
Scott Wiggerman (sw), j rap and Janet Ruth (jr)
tranquil
lake
a playful wind stirs
ripples in the mind
Manoj
Sharma
early
autumn
caught in a moment
my double shadow
Manoj Sharma
our watches
side by side on the dresser—
the
widening gap
Mohua Maulik
trailing a finger
over the shimmering
still waters
unaware of the storms
that
lurk below your façade
Mohua Maulik
planting
peace lilies in beds
overrun
with the same old
unresolved
grudges
Mohua Maulik
frog pond
the slow drifting
of
my haiku-boat
Chen-ou Liu
she's gone ...
alone, I sleep
with
the dark
Chen-ou Liu
the door
of a foreclosed house
blown open
by a winter gust ...
inside
and out this emptiness
Chen-ou Liu
morning sunshine
a galaxy of stars
across
the snow
Diane Webster
white scarf flung
over the dilapidated fence
surrender
Diane Webster
covered in ice
the statue prays
to
the sun god
Diane Webster
under the bed
a hibernating dust bunny
waiting
for spring
E. C. Traganas
winter sun
shimmering world
in
a crystal snow globe
E. C. Traganas
laundry day
the wicker basket full
of
sleeping cat
Barrie Levine
trimming the grass
near his stone . . .
dad’s
stubble
Barrie Levine
evening fog . . .
someone’s basketball
skips
a beat
Mark Forrester
twilight trail
through snow-capped brambles
a
startled deer
Mark
Forrester
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