March sun
a purple nama seedling
has one tiny flower
—Gerald Friedman
Wednesday, April 9, 2025
Sunday, March 30, 2025
Royal Rhodes
each autumn
out-of-state visitors
search along highways
for the most colorful leaves
not the trees I cut down
—Royal Rhodes
along the coast
the maps I follow
show observation posts
where sea lions echo
in open caves
—Royal Rhodes
a dead fawn
sprawled in the garden
until found
while the indoor cat
sat nearby in silence
—Royal Rhodes
hikers ahead
make a trail for me
brushing aside stones
someone threw
safe now in my pocket
—Royal Rhodes
our family dog
a tired german shepherd
comes close
to show me
how to lie down
—Royal Rhodes
Saturday, March 29, 2025
Ravi Kiran
pastel shades
she stopped using
all those words
—Ravi Kiran
the glow rises
in a child’s eyes
sky lantern
—Ravi Kiran
Splintered, a haibun by Kenneth Arthur
He now existed as fragments suspended above the barren landscape of after work cocktails and idle chit chat. Where time flowed slowly like ripples in the sand. He felt truly lost wherever people gathered for laughs – the one who never got the joke. More observer than participant, alien spaceship that had slipped its moorings to hover in the distance, he barely cast a shadow on the lives around him. No longer belonged. Unwanted. Unwelcome. He’d rather be home alone, disappeared in a favorite fantasy novel. He had no idea how to put all the fragments together again and sink into the sands of life where he might matter once more, or for the first time.
blue sky
in the desert
the sun's glare
Friday, March 28, 2025
Chen-ou Liu
I seem happy
in this wedding photo
with brown edges ...
on my then-wife's face
a look I never knew
—Chen-ou Liu
Richard West
winter trees
their only leaves
a flock of finches
—Richard West
a raven’s call dissolves in the silence of snow
—Richard West
Malcolm Highfield
stillness
that moment
before you reply
—Malcolm Highfield
unused slippers
in the hall
the clock ticking
—Malcolm Highfield
Thursday, March 27, 2025
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
Monday, March 24, 2025
Bona M. Santos
placid morning
out of my tea cup rim
a flock of ducks
—Bona M. Santos
breaking dawn
I let go of making sense
of your silence
—Bona M. Santos
Sunday, March 23, 2025
M. R. Pelletier
the sky more blue
did I miss the start
of spring again?
—M. R. Pelletier
the view
from the porch
neighborhood watch
—M. R. Pelletier
Laila Brahmbhatt
a deep breath
my scarf welcomes
spring wind
—Laila Brahmbhatt
taking a nap
with a full stomach, I hear
my neighbor snoring
—Laila Brahmbhatt
New Year’s long gone
fireworks still flickering
inside the house
—Laila Brahmbhatt
Steliana Cristina Voicu
sleeping in the cradle -
the linden tree whispers
in unknown language
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
chestnut blossoms -
the way they fall
on your shoulder
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
iris field…
the wicker basket
gets heavy
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
summer heat
a cobra's hood
over the water tank
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
in a carpet of green red velvet spider lilies
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
pencil flavor nothing to write about
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
funeral procession ...
I step back
into my bed of daisies
and oh, how I mourn
the crushed flowers
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
the ticking clock
stipples the darkness
with its punctuation -
a comma, your back
another fight that we both lost
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
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