Xiaoou Chen

 

Edited by Oana Maria Cercel. 

Maria Cristina Pulvirenti

fragrance of a rose -

hours pass

in erosion

—Maria Cristina Pulvirenti

Hynek Koziol

in her window

a reflection of me

three years ago

—Hynek Koziol

lunch break

pollinating the violets

with my nose

—Hynek Koziol

March rain

the bindweed dies

with the tree

—Hynek Koziol

Janet Ruth

 wisps of fog adrift on the river two mergansers

—Janet Ruth

dark skies far across the prairie a ribbon of light

—Janet Ruth

Adrian Bouter

harsh words

the catkins in bloom

nothing touches

—Adrian Bouter

Krzysztof Kokot

under the apple tree –

the spring sun gently

caresses the face

—Krzysztof Kokot

Anne Fox

filling the air

with sky ...

bluebird song

—Anne Fox

Elliot Diamond

sunset

the sentence of day

inches closer

—Elliot Diamond

Deborah A. Bennett

full moon . . . 

in the steeping tea

a single bubble

—Deborah A. Bennett

walking the path

to the berry field at dawn

cuckoo's call

—Deborah A. Bennett

John Hawkhead

later-life issues

I wonder if the nurse

has a boyfriend

—John Hawkhead

another year

snowflakes fall

more quickly

—John Hawkhead

Google Earth

revisiting the places

I’ve never been

—John Hawkhead

lost in our own thoughts

so long since we kissed

with open mouths

—John Hawkhead

child bride

the soft plaintive cries

of a collared dove

—John Hawkhead

Vaishnavi Pusapati

new nest…

mornings begin early

at my window

—Vaishnavi Pusapati

laughing at nothing,

the sitting baby

falls over

—Vaishnavi Pusapati

Nicholas Klacsanzky

second baptism . . .

the magpie’s call

returns to the river

—Nicholas Klacsanzky

Sarah Mahina Calvello

young love

mellowing fast

the floor tangerines 

—Sarah Mahina Calvello

Belinda Behne

along the dark path

 a flash of light

 albino squirrel

—Belinda Behne 

Martina Matijević

shop handbag

caught on its white pearls

echoes of starlight

—Martina Matijević

Helen Sokolsky

dinner talk

candle flames

burn quickly

—Helen Sokolsky

Monarchs, a haibun by AJ Johnson

Returning from the river trailhead in early spring I don’t notice them until they are fluttering all around me like dozens of orange-black leaves blown heavenward. 

clouds part

I chase rainbows

on Rose River

A live reading (Oana Maria Cercel).

Kavita Ratna

kneading dough

mother’s fingerprints

on every roti

—Kavita Ratna

Tuyet Van Do

waxing gibbous moon

in the kitchen

the sound of dripping water

—Tuyet Van Do

Jiel Narvekar

misty light

ceaseless cawing

of a crow at my window

—Jiel Narvekar

Carmela Marino

lunar orbit

a tan line

on my ring finger

—Carmela Marino

Gerald Friedman

March sun

a purple nama seedling

has one tiny flower

—Gerald Friedman 

Susan Lee Roberts

morning sun

in a tiny glass jar

pussy willows spring 

—Susan Lee Roberts

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

Haiga, by Oscar Luparia

 —Oscar Luparia