Cold Moon Journal

Cold Moon Journal
Photo c. Alf B. Meier

Sunday, November 15, 2020

By Taofeek Ayeyemi

forenoon nap . . .

woken by the clinks

of cowbells

 

Taofeek Ayeyemi

By John J. Dunphy

deserted ranch

the corral fence bounded

by a sagebrush


John J. Dunphy

Saturday, November 14, 2020

By Pippa Phillips

The taste of sloe gin

underneath the blackthorn boughs—

a blossom-veiled moon.


Pippa Phillips

By Pat Davis

eyes closed

the water lily

becomes a lotus


Pat Davis

Wednesday, November 11, 2020

By B.A. France

Poppy Seeds



swearing

right hands raised ...

lone veteran salutes



packing bags

   called again

      peace and war



silently walking

arlington cemetery 

— old rose garden


B.A. France

Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Monday, November 9, 2020

By Taofeek Ayeyemi

strumming violin . . .

the garden sweeper

adds to the melody

 

Taofeek Ayeyemi

By Pat Geyer

in a pile

of leaves

sounds of a child's

scattered laughter...

i remember hope


Pat Geyer


Sunday, November 8, 2020

By Peter Jastermsky

senior years a few leaves left to fall


Peter Jastermsky

By B.A. France

warm cigar ash    silent conversation


B.A. France

By Christine L. Villa

bullet train how fast can I forget you 

 

Christine L. Villa

Thursday, November 5, 2020

By Pippa Phillips

Moonlit dewdrop —

the last grain

of rice.

Pippa Phillips

Wednesday, November 4, 2020

By John J. Dunphy

used-book store

its dusty true-crime section

covered with fingerprints


John J. Dunphy

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

By Peter Jastermsky

morning despair a shoelace goes untied 

 

Peter Jastermsky

By Neena Singh

a soft impulse

echoes from the past—

mountain breeze


Neena Singh

Sunday, November 1, 2020

By Roberta Beach Jacobson

I sense

the coin is cursed

(evil witch)

so I pick it up to pocket

being a believer in fairy tales


Roberta Beach Jacobson

Friday, October 30, 2020

By John J. Dunphy

homeless encampment

returning children share

their trick or treat candy


John J. Dunphy

Thursday, October 29, 2020

By Peter Jastermsky

mudflats

the walking stick

deep and still

 

Peter Jastermsky