shushing myself
a walk through
dry
leaves
John Pappas
Cold Moon Journal
Photo c. Alf B. Meier
Thursday, December 19, 2024
By Jahnavi Gogoi
winter drizzle
i forget my umbrella
in
the train again
Jahnavi Gogoi
footprints in the snow
questioning my
life
choices
Jahnavi Gogoi
Wednesday, December 18, 2024
By Sharon Ferrante
poets say
we all have a voice
on a windless night
my cat’s paw
rings
the chimes
Sharon Ferrante
new moon
I reverse my jacket
to
the dark side
Sharon Ferrante
By Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
cherry
blossoms
a sick man turns back
for one more look
Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
Sunday, December 15, 2024
By Vincenzo Adamo
and on the balconies
snow accumulates—
plastic
flowers
Vincenzo Adamo
my actions
go down in value—
autumn
leaves
Vincenzo Adamo
falling stars—
a pandemic strikes
wishes
Vincenzo Adamo
Saturday, December 14, 2024
By Mark Gilbert
hidden
in the noise a humpback's song
Mark Gilbert
it’s
winter
when the last
tear-shaped pear
hits
the ground
Mark Gilbert
Wednesday, December 11, 2024
By Fatma Zohra Habis
migratory birds
return to their nests
after winter's chill
I set off to find
you
once more
Fatma Zohra Habis
Sunday, December 8, 2024
Our Nominations for The Red Moon Anthology
(December)
fleeting sweetness of the world baklava
Ruth Holzer
(November)
thumb, forefinger
disentangling
the leaves
Jerome Berglund
(October)
eating the last piece
of bread in the world
nuclear toast
Stephen Jarrell Williams
(September)
orange
crush
the long line to buy
MAGA hats
Adele Evershed
(August)
cold tea my life wasted on work
Timothy Daly
(July)
in
the night
croaks from the old pond
all alike
Keith Evetts
(June)
an old man
gazing up to heaven
wondering when
Stephen Jarrell Williams
Major congratulations to these talented poets.
Saturday, December 7, 2024
Wednesday, December 4, 2024
By Thomas Landgraf
outside table...
the seagull waits
for
crumbs
Thomas Landgraf
winter afternoon...
the homeless woman
paints
a cathedral
Thomas Landgraf
By Lorraine Caputo
you & I talk, don’t
talk, secrets held like fire in
our hands, burning to
our souls, red-hot scars searing
deep
into our memories
Lorraine Caputo
By Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont
faded dried roses
she was so cheerful
when
she was alive
Marcellin Dallaire-Beaumont
Monday, December 2, 2024
By Ruth Holzer
out the back door
in the dead of night
they'll roll me
quickly and quietly
so
no one will notice
Ruth Holzer
fleeting
sweetness of the world baklava
Ruth Holzer
an
ant with a message I move out of the way
Ruth Holzer
By Robert Witmer
dark romance
a taste of poetry
on
a bookworm's lips
Robert Witmer
evening
unleavened bread
dipped
in wine
Robert Witmer
By John Masterson
dwarfing my wheelchair
circus elephants parade
through
the parking lot
John Masterson
By Susan Yavaniski
hanging laundry
our discussion
on
speakerphone
Susan Yavaniski
dust-to-dust
his favorite reef
a
skeleton
Susan Yavaniski
voting line
I study the angles
of
a jaw
Susan Yavaniski
day one
a jackhammer
going
at it
Susan Yavaniski
my sweet poem
about a vine gone wild
on the borderline
‘til my thoughts were invaded
by
Putin’s army
Susan Yavaniski
By Mona Bedi
first
snow the shape of her breath
Mona Bedi
meditation
class the weight of my thoughts
Mona Bedi
still
there
on his social media
my friend’s obituary
Mona
Bedi
By C.X. Turner
spilled wine
the ways I learned
not
to speak
C.X. Turner
pumpkin soup
the earthy sweetness
of a stray seed
C.X.
Turner
By Bryan Rickert
every piece
chipped but loved
garage
sale tea set
Bryan Rickert
home alone
my reflection
in
every window
Bryan Rickert
overturned turtle
I, too, am trying
to
set myself right
Bryan Rickert
By Tony Steven Williams
as the day
draws on
clouds thicken
you're clearly
up
to something
Tony Steven Williams
patient eyes
adjust to the dark sky
. . . more stars emerge
Tony Steven Williams
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