By Eugeniusz Zacharski

dead of night

an octopus turns off the valve

on the gas pipeline


Eugeniusz Zacharski

By Fatma Zohra Habis

isolation

alone with

artificial Intelligence

Fatma Zohra Habis

By Marjolein Rotsteeg

under the streetlight

two moths

dance away the night

Marjolein Rotsteeg

holiday abroad

a stray cat looking like mine

wants to make friends

Marjolein Rotsteeg

By Mona Bedi

forest bathing I slowly become a tree

Mona Bedi

blinking cursor —

the things I leave

unsaid

Mona Bedi

By Shawn Blair

paper airplanes

the crease at each end

of her smile

Shawn Blair

By Jennifer Isham

cancer diagnosis

writing now

with my left hand

Jennifer Isham

By Tsanka Shishkova

music

of calm water

moonlight

Tsanka Shishkova

By M. R. Defibaugh

rolling back rights

a little wrath affixes

every clothespin

M. R. Defibaugh

By Helen Ogden

parsing the ballot

I choose choice

amongst the choices

Helen Ogden

By Adrian Bouter

war-zone dawn the out of place pink

Adrian Bouter

By Tony Williams

in pursuit

of a butterfly

my whole life


Tony Williams

thistle

it’s obvious

you don’t want a hug

Tony Williams

By Xiaoou Chen

slow knitter

the boy outgrows his

future sweater

Xiaoou Chen

By Pravat Kumar Padhy

Anthropocene

the hard-edged debate

on plastic rock

Pravat Kumar Padhy

forest poem a child rhymes green and green

Pravat Kumar Padhy

By Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont

do we remember

hot summers and cold winters

from our childhood?

talking about rain or shine

isn’t like it used to be

Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont

By Diane Webster

lake shore

leaves reattach to the aspen

on water

Diane Webster

By C.X. Turner

low tide

      the sandcastles

we leave behind

C.X. Turner

waterfall

dipping a toe

into the unknown

C.X. Turner

By Susan Lee Roberts

chamomile—

waiting for water to boil

I brew haiku


Susan Lee Roberts

summer hike

exploring the vastness

of the map

Susan Lee Roberts

By Sébastien Revon

without my son —

the light of dawn

always somewhere

Sébastien Revon

not the rain

but the lukewarm coffee —

end of summer


Sébastien Revon