Douglas J. Lanzo

vast mountain skies

the hope

in my father's voice

—Douglas J. Lanzo

Hasan Aspahani

lamp light 

shadows running 

across the puddles

—Hasan Aspahani

Ravi Kiran

pastel shades

she stopped using

all those words

—Ravi Kiran

the glow rises

in a child’s eyes

sky lantern

—Ravi Kiran

Splintered, a haibun by Kenneth Arthur

He now existed as fragments suspended above the barren landscape of after work cocktails and idle chit chat. Where time flowed slowly like ripples in the sand. He felt truly lost wherever people gathered for laughs – the one who never got the joke. More observer than participant, alien spaceship that had slipped its moorings to hover in the distance, he barely cast a shadow on the lives around him. No longer belonged. Unwanted. Unwelcome. He’d rather be home alone, disappeared in a favorite fantasy novel. He had no idea how to put all the fragments together again and sink into the sands of life where he might matter once more, or for the first time. 

blue sky 

in the desert 

the sun's glare

Chen-ou Liu

I seem happy

in this wedding photo

with brown edges ...

on my then-wife's face

a look I never knew

—Chen-ou Liu

Richard West

winter trees

their only leaves

a flock of finches

—Richard West

a raven’s call dissolves in the silence of snow

—Richard West

Malcolm Highfield

stillness

that moment

before you reply

—Malcolm Highfield

unused slippers 

in the hall 

the clock ticking

—Malcolm Highfield