only after
you switch the light off
in the hall
and the last plane of the night
descends,
can I fall asleep
Ruth Holzer
windstorm
reading a letter
not
meant for me
Ruth Holzer
Cold Moon Journal
Photo c. Alf B. Meier
Sunday, March 3, 2024
Friday, March 1, 2024
By Kelly Moyer
shipwrecked
a gale
of
free-floating grace
Kelly Moyer
pearls
the loneliest bird tethers to the nest
Kelly Moyer
wishing well
a stone
for
every sorrow
Kelly Moyer
By Timothy Daly
early morning
the storm
under
my skull
Timothy Daly
yoga class
trying to balance
commitments
Timothy Daly
the fallen pine
needles stab me
nostalgia
Timothy Daly
By John Pappas
funeral lilies
the young father learns
to
french braid
John Pappas
between
that and this
winter
rain
John Pappas
flood watch
she tells me again
it
is what it is
John Pappas
white
asters stay and wild a while
John Pappas
root rot
another far-off war
on
television
John Pappas
By Robert Witmer
frogspawn
black holes
in
a rippled universe
Robert Witmer
tricycle tracks
all the branches
of
the human tree
Robert Witmer
crime novel
an old parking ticket
marks
the page
Robert Witmer
By Brad Bennett
still
in slippers
spring
morning
Brad Bennett
sunlight
through the skylight
by
way of the moon
Brad Bennett
bird tracks
the call
of
a snowplow
Brad Bennett
Wednesday, February 28, 2024
By Yvona Fast
Empty
birch branches
stand bent, gaunt in bitter cold
Sheets of
ice clinging.
Yvona Fast
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