Cold Moon Journal

Cold Moon Journal
Photo c. Alf B. Meier

Tuesday, November 7, 2023

By Francoise Maurice

white chrysanthemum

carried by the dove

the sad ink

Francoise Maurice


*


black saturday

the massacre of innocents

on the front page

Francoise Maurice

Saturday, November 4, 2023

By Mark Forrester

chipped red paint—

my horseshoe resting on

yours

Mark Forrester

By Mark Gilbert

first raindrops

nothing fancy

just keeping time

Mark Gilbert

By Mark Miller

daybreak

the shimmering masts

of anchored yachts

Mark Miller

Friday, November 3, 2023

By Stephen Jarrell Williams

moonbeam

lighting

my inner thoughts


Stephen Jarrell Williams

By Marjorie Pezzoli

war puzzle peace into pieces

Marjorie Pezzoli


*

 

lead should surround stain glass not children

 

Marjorie Pezzoli

By Anthony Ward

Turning back the clocks

I go back in time

As if it doesn’t exist

Anthony Ward

By Vandana Parashar

election debate

the cat drags a dead mouse

out of the bush

Vandana Parashar


*

 

falling asleep

to the sound of snores

night watchman’s dog

Vandana Parashar

By Amoolya Kamalnath

grey skies

and yet,

a new road

Amoolya Kamalnath

By Mircea Moldovan

I'm a sack of rusty bones, sweet moon

Mircea Moldovan


*


games

between mature people

harvest moon

Mircea Moldovan

By Kerry J Heckman

wet cobblestone street

the open sign

blinks on and off

Kerry J Heckman

By Maria Concetta Conti

her tired face

how many leaves

on the ground

Maria Concetta Conti

By Bonnie J Scherer

paper thin

our penpal friendship

over the years

Bonnie J Scherer


*


crushing grapes —

the stain

of my sin

Bonnie J Scherer

By John Hawkhead

winter funeral

our plumes of breath

drawing veils

John Hawkhead

By Lorelyn De la Cruz Arevalo

2 am

a toddler's fixated gaze

unsmiling

Lorelyn De la Cruz Arevalo

Wednesday, November 1, 2023

By Xiaoou Chen

solar eclipse

splashing black ink

up to the sky

Xiaoou Chen


*

 

inundation

floating markets

in downtown

Xiaoou Chen

Tuesday, October 31, 2023

By Lafcadio

early morning—

she wakes to the sound

of splintering glass

Lafcadio


*

 

resurrecting

buried memories

the past

won't stay hidden even

if the grave is deep

Lafcadio

By Roberta Beach Jacobson

in the ash bucket sprinkles of spider

Roberta Beach Jacobson