Manasa Reddy Chichili

fresh grass

making a home

the homeless boy

—Manasa Reddy Chichili

glowing lamp

some where 

daughter's wedding

—Manasa Reddy Chichili

Steliana Cristina Voicu

late snow…

the magnolia keeps its bud

still in the shell

zăpadă târzie…

magnolia ține mugurele

încă în coajă

—Steliana Cristina Voicu 

petal after petal…

my sakurayu reflects

my unfulfilled dreams

petală după petală…

ceaiul de sakura reflectând

visele mele neîmplinite

—Steliana Cristina Voicu

Doug Belleville

assigning hope

to all

dying leaves

—Doug Belleville

Tim Murphy

treadmill

an algorithm pulls me back

to my past

—Tim Murphy

Lucas Weissenborn

hillside villa

the buzzard

higher still

—Lucas Weissenborn

Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

hot buns

seat warmers

in the new car

—Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

Jerome Berglund

over the hill

in bright procession

prayer beads

—Jerome Berglund

Albert Schlaht

waxing moon—

receding deeper into the forest

the night

—Albert Schlaht

Pitt Büerken

morning lake

the swans and I 

sharing problems

—Pitt Büerken

Marie Derley

Valentine's Day

roses sticking out of

the school bags

 

Saint-Valentin

des roses dépassent

des cartables

—Marie Derley

Partha Sarkar

alone under

a tree in rain

nostalgia

—Partha Sarkar

Oscar Luparia

bare trees

still in full bloom

my dreams

—Oscar Luparia

M. R. Pelletier

lighting a fire 

in the dark

morning chill

—M. R. Pelletier

Mark Forrester

mother’s day brunch

splitting the cost

of her scars

—Mark Forrester

Chen-ou Liu

cough on cough ...

yet still

this empty room

—Chen-ou Liu

funeral

against the winter sunset 

the widow’s silhouette

—Chen-ou Liu

Jonathan English

on the metro

how carefully we all

look away

—Jonathan English 

Vaishnavi Ramaswamy

in memory

of my daughter

a field of pink carnations

—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy

Joshua St. Claire

Nessun Dorma

silenced by the din

of snow

—Joshua St. Claire

Diane Webster

frozen pond

buried in snow

the frog’s croak

—Diane Webster

Monica Kakkar

silence within . . .

leaving the valley

withered leaves 

—Monica Kakkar 

last to leave 

my neck of the woods . . . 

out-of-season blooms

—Monica Kakkar