Cradled Moon.
Wednesday, September 17, 2025
On The Road, a haibun by K. Ramesh
Monday, September 15, 2025
Mircea Moldovan
migrant's dream—
under the leaf pillow
a rusty ring
—Mircea Moldovan
campfire in the diary a blank page
—Mircea Moldovan
John J. Dunphy
time on my hands
I gather up sand from
a broken hourglass
Federico C. Peralta
insomnia—
unfinished haiku
in the head
—Federico C. Peralta
dawn flowers—
the changing scent of
grandpa's tea
—Federico C. Peralta
Joe Wells
eucharist
forcing my confession—
harvest moon
—Joe Wells
toddler's stone
on the pond
the broken sky
—Joe Wells
Adrian Bouter
every thought
softer than the previous one...
dandelion fluff
—Adrian Bouter
radio song tears hide in my hanky
—Adrian Bouter
Sunday, September 14, 2025
Bryan Rickert
berry’s blushing
in the bramble
lover’s moon
—Bryan Rickert
noon heat
minnows rest
in my shadow
—Bryan Rickert
pausing
after my sneeze
the cardinal’s song
—Bryan Rickert
out of the tree line
and over the field
a hawk’s cry
—Bryan Rickert
Alvin B. Cruz
summer’s end
written in the sand:
I was here
—Alvin B. Cruz
abandoned garden
all that remains
a laughing Buddha
—Alvin B. Cruz
making the most of almost winter rose
—Alvin B. Cruz
Tony Williams
hot, humid day…
how can butterflies
be bothered
—Tony Williams
curling up in bed
the cold bits
of me
—Tony Williams
Eugeniusz Zacharski
stork’s arrival
the hotel
returns to life
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
barefoot
on the stubble field –
the scarecrow
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
Mark Hendrickson
food truck
I know you're not good for me
but I still come back
—Mark Hendrickson
cotton candy
stories are better the way
grandma spins them
—Mark Hendrickson
Dicots, a haibun by Alex Drogin
The third time we saw each other the road was cut with tire tracks through the snow. We walked along either side of one, making sure to get our shoes a little wet and our feet a little cold. We would warm up at the party and sweat through our sweaters and by the end of the night the tracks had been blanketed over again. We retraced our steps back to your house, shoes wet, feet cold, warming up inside. You stopped at the hood of a car on the way and doused me with powder: I would have frozen, if the blood hadn't rushed to my cheeks. At your front door you brushed the remaining sleet out of my hair. It didn't snow so gently again all winter.
Wednesday, September 10, 2025
Mark Forrester
a butterfly's
uneven wings
lantana blossom
—Mark Forrester
blue sheen
on the drifting snow
a raven’s shadow
—Mark Forrester
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(Last update, Jan 30, 2026) Email for submissions: journalcoldmoon(at)gmail(dot)com Editors: Timothy Daly, Oana Cercel. ~~~~ You may submi...
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(Last update, Jan 30, 2026) Email for submissions: journalcoldmoon(at)gmail(dot)com Editors: Timothy Daly, Oana Cercel. ~~~~ You may submi...
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Congratulations to these talented Cold Moon Journal poets for their 2024 Touchstone Award nominations: Biswajit Mishra Stacy Taylor ...
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returning to yourself at dawn: where was I going? is it still yesterday? Thomas Klodowsky