Herb Tate

winter again…

caught between counting

snowflakes

—Herb Tate

Thomas Landgraf

shaker bottle...

another abandoned goal

in the bottom drawer

—Thomas Landgraf

dark night

I'm drunk but not

stepping on her jonquils 

—Thomas Landgraf

CMJ Touchstone Nominations for 2025

Congratulations! 

rescue boat a boy's request for one more trip	Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
deep winter the flashing red lights at her bedside	Richard L. Matta
reeds until they move heron’s legs	Ravi Kiran
cursive writing — grandson’s thoughts fly beyond the margin	Neena Singh
country roads all of us singing of home	Jamie Wimberly
mother’s belongings in boxes gathering clouds	Alvin B. Cruz
a puzzle missing piece childhood	Robert Witmer
cold shower the nettles erect	Tony Williams
flashes of red in the rose bush a touch and go robin	Katie Montagna
far from home the familiar language of a robin	Ravi Kiran
divorce day mold on the bread getting darker	Hifsa Ashraf
the many dialects of silent treatment	Ravi Kiran
jisei book learning to write the last page	Oscar Luparia
harvest time the village waits for grandma’s dinner	Aleksandra Rybczyńska
stout beer not too warm not too cool this autumn night	Bryan Rickert
bruised fruit she says she fell	Joseph P. Wechselberger
another lie told to the wife ice fishing	Mircea Moldovan
washing my hands with French-milled soap after scattering her ashes	John J. Dunphy
Gaza Strip even the sparrows starving	Pitt Büerken
free at last rites	Susan Burch
sudden remembrance of an empty crib gentling rain	John Hawkhead
at both ends of winter burning leaf scent	Bryan Rickert
a year after— my mother's closet just her scent	Nicholas Gentile
winter rain we choose to say remission	Doug Belville
rain bow sun above rain below	Pitt Büerken
softly this conflagration of wings	Stacy R. Nigliazzo
petrichor the room overflowing with his laughter	Mohua Maulik
tangled roots– clinging to the walls of a broken home	Jagajit Salam
spring moon father's laugh some where	Manasa Reddy Chichili

Neena Singh

fading light. . .

the nurse hums 

changing sheets

—Neena Singh

Christmas dinner

your empty chair

warmed by a coat

—Neena Singh

Ash Evan Lippert

thunder 

deep in the roses

a wild scent of rainbows

—Ash Evan Lippert

Sharon Ferrante

painting you in a magenta sky the quiet 

—Sharon Ferrante

Federico C. Peralta

in my little room

devoid of your warm presence,

the fireworks bring me

closer to the sky above

as you drift away, my love

—Federico C. Peralta

summer stars--

   lying on its back

      hermit crab

—Federico C. Peralta

cold night—

  an empty spider web

     holds the moon

—Federico C. Peralta

Bryan Rickert

becoming autumn 

the heron

still blue

—Bryan Rickert

stout beer

  not too warm

    not too cool

      this autumn night

—Bryan Rickert

Samo Kreutz

marian altar ...

the rising shadows

of a wax scent

—Samo Kreutz 

Ephemerae, a haibun by Colleen M. Farrelly

I amble the beach as waves fall and rise and fall again. The wind whips at my down jacket and shifts the sand dunes across a worn pebble path we walked as children. I haven’t been back since her wake but find myself at her favorite dock.

guy rope

her hand steadies

my heartbeat

Jonash Lepcha

winter warmth...

the déjà vu 

of summer's chill

—Jonash Lepcha

Mohua Maulik

sipping chai

i sway to the rhythm

of oldies

the whiplash when you slip

in a let’s break up

—Mohua Maulik

Sheza T

psithurism

the two friends

part ways

—Sheza T

Dust, a haibun by Tim Dwyer

I’ve been thinking about a friend I haven’t seen for forty years. One New Year’s Eve when we were in our twenties, we drank wine, played backgammon and told stories late into the night. She shared one about her Japanese mother at the start of a new year. She was sweeping last year’s dust out the front door, and suddenly froze in place.

stray cat

the green eyes

of grandfather

Alvin B. Cruz

full moon

the last sleeping pill

in the bottle

—Alvin B. Cruz

Stephanie Zepherelli

broken buddha

in the graveyard 

tulips blooming

—Stephanie Zepherelli

Wendy Cobourne

your last words murmuring night rain

—Wendy Cobourne

Steliana Cristina Voicu

Christmas morning—

on the fridge door

my sister's ultrasound

—Steliana Cristina Voicu

dimineaţă de Crăciun -

pe uşa frigiderului

ecografia surorii mele

—Steliana Cristina Voicu

Unheard Story, tanka prose by Bhawana Rathore

It's almost past midnight. With the soft tick-tick of the clock in my room and the faint, distant music from outside, I somehow like this moment. Now that nights have grown colder and quieter, and the breeze is crisp, I can even listen to the tree in our backyard.  And I'm inclined to believe my thoughts are being heard too. 

The rustle of a page turning echoes in the room. I set the book aside to look outside again, to hear the tree. Somehow I remember the books in my wishlist, although many on the bookshelf still sit unread, waiting to be opened. 

Yet I seek a new adventure in this mundane and cold night perhaps the darkness reveals its own story too, and it is for me to find mine. 

soft glow

of the streetlamp

in the misty night. . .

the immersion

in our lost sighs

 

Aleksandra Rybczyńska

 passerby's smile

dark thoughts

fly away

—Aleksandra Rybczyńska

harvest time

the village waits

for grandma's dinner

—Aleksandra Rybczyńska

A Dear Habit of Living, a haibun by Alex Drogin

We get very sunny winters here in Providence, which you were always noticing. I've begun picking up on it too. But the light is thin, empty. It doesn't weigh on your back like the sun in New York; it dances, it sings, it whips with the wind which we had also always seen. When it grows too weak the night settles in. Dark chills slip past my walls and through my bedsheets and, without fail, I think of you, though only because I have no one else to think of. 

on the nightstand

dust

and a box of tissues

Every night is the same; frost seeps in from the windowpane, moonlight thins on the ceiling. Eventually I fall asleep. Last night I met someone in a cramped kitchen with big eyes and pretty lips. She made me think of you - she left, as did everyone else, as did I. In the morning the sun fell lightly across my room, as it always does, bringing little warmth. I've been thinking of you less. I'm sure you have too.

dusk

my broken radiator

hissing affirmations

Marie Derley

ants in the greenhouse 

in the crowded subway

I am the smallest

 

fourmis dans la serre 

dans le métro bondé

je suis la plus petite

—Marie Derley 

*

 

small regrets

a boy throwing pebbles

in the lake

 

petits regrets

un garçon lance des cailloux

dans le lac

—Marie Derley

Luciana Moretto

short days...

running out of

things to say

—Luciana Moretto

Pitt Büerken

such wispy fingers 

my granddaughter 

just born; 

and she really 

looks like me  

—Pitt Büerken

falling darkness... 

left lonely on the playground 

a doll

—Pitt Büerken

Randy Brooks

clear winter night

the train horning its way

through town

—Randy Brooks