Federico C. Peralta

 still noon sky—

   rhythmic tap tap 

      a walking stick

—Federico C. Peralta

in my silent room

devoid of your warm presence

I remember you...

long-stemmed rose in the vase

sharing my deep solitude 

—Federico C. Peralta

Ravi Kiran

all your flaws

should I instead

count sheep

—Ravi Kiran

miles apart

touch your cheek

for me

—Ravi Kiran

Deborah Karl-Brandt

the swallows are back

as they flit through the sky

I think of my father-in-law

his ashen face

his rattling breaths

—Deborah Karl-Brandt

Dagmara Wieczorkowska

catnip scent

one more speck

on the cat’s nose

—Dagmara Wieczorkowska

pale Mercury

on a dawning sky –

a robin's chirp 

—Dagmara Wieczorkowska

Castor and Pollux

between two fingers

light years

—Dagmara Wieczorkowska

Nitu Yumnam

childhood swing

i am still

out of breath

—Nitu Yumnam

Photos by Michael C. Roberts

Michael C. Roberts

 

Doug Sylver

the 4th of July

gazing up at

ripening figs

—Doug Sylver

Jonathan English

midsummer

the shade of

rowan tree flowers

—Jonathan English

John Pappas

bone scan

the mercy of

next year

—John Pappas

Vaishnavi Ramaswamy

sunbeams

upon her face

i see veins

—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy

Françoise Maurice

gone children

the remains

of grilled prawns

—Françoise Maurice

Albert Schlaht

lingering memories

in the attic

old flies

—Albert Schlaht

Haiga, by Lavana Kray

—Text & photo by Lavana Kray.

Oscar Luparia

rising tide

the waves play

with a sand castle

—Oscar Luparia

Joshua Gage

 drum bridge

the plop 

of a penny

—Joshua Gage 

crisp pickles

the purr of the cat

around my ankle

—Joshua Gage 

Katie Montagna

summer scherzo

wild orchids

in the meadow grass

—Katie Montagna

fluttering past

on an upgust of wind

a rose petal

—Katie Montagna

night wind wafting jasmine

through the window

this full moon

—Katie Montagna

Monica Kakkar

grab-and-go . . .

abubble in the meadow

mating bobolink

—Monica Kakkar

Joanna Ashwell

secrets held—

leaning into

the willow

—Joanna Ashwell

 

colouring

the bare trees

purple dusk

—Joanna Ashwell

Zahra Mughis

who remembers

after they wither . . .

azaleas

—Zahra Mughis

Jahnavi Gogoi

peace lilies 

writing her son’s 

obituary 

—Jahnavi Gogoi 

spelling bee—

my name mere syllables 

in a new country 

—Jahnavi Gogoi 

Alvin B. Cruz

lavender fields

the less traveled road

to peace

—Alvin B. Cruz

Daniela Misso

not sure 

whether to stay or go . . .

hay-filled wind

—Daniela Misso

Mohua Maulik

mother of six

resettles between the books

kittens

—Mohua Maulik

Srinivasa Rao Sambangi

monsoon rain

one box ticked

in the farmer's wishlist

—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi

Priority Mail, a haibun by Zachery May

He never remembered the accident. Just the bumps, sirens pulsing out distant windows, a storm of red and white. Strangers worked over his body, rocking with waves. They pulled daggers from his skin, stabbed him with their own. Pressed deep in his chest. Numbness crept up his limbs, enfolded him in an empty hug. In that moment, the EMTs became his best friends. He cast his precious message in a bottle toward the shore, then slipped into the ocean.  

   gasping star

   tell the dark
   I love her