By Gerald Friedman

morning glory flowers

die in a day

but those from stems trimmed off

tossed in the shade

last and last.

Gerald Friedman

By Birk Andersson

side by side

the names of the dead

antique bookshop

Birk Andersson

By Naomi G Tangonan

mother’s wheelchair

empty for years now

i still hug her there

Naomi G Tangonan

By Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

scent of pine away from the hustle

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

*

 

until i can no longer mourn this dried up river

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

*

avalanche

when i gaze

into my past

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

*

winter

but i am always

ravenous

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

*

then watch me dissolve into the cosmos

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

By Mona Bedi

winter stars

this wish to return

home
 

Mona Bedi

*

 

back home

I caress a pebble

from the mountain

Mona Bedi

By Mark Scott

winter moon

finding joy in 100

unfinished haiku

Mark Scott

*

 

winter sunrise–

always the crow

never the sparrow

Mark Scott

By Angiola Inglese

moving house–

different and the same

I look at the moon

Angiola Inglese

By John Paul Caponigro

snow drifts

filling my footsteps

the way home is lost

John Paul Caponigro

By Emma Alexander Arthur

snowfall
stones with hats
in the Zen garden

Emma Alexander Arthur

*

 

fifty years on
still the same figure
Christmas Barbie

Emma Alexander Arthur

By Sébastien Revon

Wolf Moon
making friend
with my shadow

Sébastien Revon

*

sparking sun
shadows shorten
on the frosted field

Sébastien Revon

*
 

ancient cemetery
only winter sun
visits the graves

Sébastien Revon

By Agus Maulana Sunjaya

first day of the year

more than I can imagine

robin songs

Agus Maulana Sunjaya

*

 

 

rusty fence

overwhelmed by

poison ivy

the thought of you

lingers

Agus Maulana Sunjaya

 

*

 

a stray cat

on my welcome mat

overcast sky

Agus Maulana Sunjaya

By Andrew Markowski

zen retreat

emptying

my wallet

Andrew Markowski

*

 

 

blank canvas

an artist paints

her nails

Andrew Markowski

 

*

 

improv class

a student makes up an excuse

for being late

Andrew Markowski

By David Cox

green house spider—

the tomato

stalking me

David Cox

By Ram Chandran

night train full moon travels with me intermittently

Ram Chandran

By Kerry J Heckman

campfire

her eyes follow a moth

to the flame

Kerry J Heckman

*

 

 

homecoming

the unbroken sky

of the prairie

Kerry J Heckman

By Françoise Maurice

two grey cranes

in the harvested rice field

december shadows

Françoise Maurice

By Aftab Yusuf Shaikh

dish of moon at night

the trees begin to undress

selfish lover-you!

Aftab Yusuf Shaikh

By Darrell Petska

pine woods meditation

each hushed step

one with the next


Darrell Petska

 

*

 

cut     trim     cut     trim

sleeping farmworkers’ hands

still picking broccoli


Darrell Petska

 

*

 snow flurries

I     just     don’t     know

what to think

Darrell Petska

By James Penha

tiers of brown soil

rice terraces harvested

tears of spent labor

James Penha

By Govind Joshi

rising sun 

the mountains wear 

an orange hue

Govind Joshi 

*

 

summer tour

we shower 

in a waterfall

Govind Joshi

By B. L. Bruce

winter

another hour of dusk

passing slowly

B. L. Bruce

 

*
 

looking north

in the New Year

polestar


B. L. Bruce

 

*

 

midnight

thoughts of you

in the empty hours


B. L. Bruce

By Samo Kreutz

red signal

just enough time to talk

about her illness

Samo Kreutz

By Joanna Ashwell

poinsettia

the statement

of winter

Joanna Ashwell

*

 

thinning leaves

a glimpse into

forest life

Joanna Ashwell

By Jecko Sanjorjo

browned edges

of books unread

her unkempt hair

Jecko Sanjorjo

By Lisa C Reynolds

bucket list

overflowing

with pipe dreams

Lisa C Reynolds

By Douglas J. Lanzo

perfect dahlia

too much beauty

to breathe in


Douglas J. Lanzo

By Jenn Ryan-Jauregui

breaking

the snowflake’s fall

eyelashes

Jenn Ryan-Jauregui

By Louise Hastings

Unravelling

the knitted clouds…

yellow moon

Louise Hastings

By David He

I drop a stone

into the reflection

of moon...

the ripples

of her broken heart

David He

By Alvin B. Cruz

a small box of things

he left behind

I hold on

a little while longer

to what was lost

Alvin B. Cruz