last pail of milk
we say goodbye
to our favorite cow
—Aja Rhianna
gentle waves
the calm
before moonlight
—Aja Rhianna
last pail of milk
we say goodbye
to our favorite cow
—Aja Rhianna
gentle waves
the calm
before moonlight
—Aja Rhianna
moonspots...
she keeps all her secrets
to herself
—Nicoletta Ignatti
spring twilight-
telling her
we will no longer be friends
—Nicoletta Ignatti
cat's eyes
the blackbird tunes into
fortissimo
—Deborah Karl-Brandt
worn-out socks
learning how to mend them
into a haiku
—Deborah Karl-Brandt
outdoor nativity scene
one of the Wise Men
facing the wrong way
—John J. Dunphy
his last road trip
my friend arrives
at the cemetery
—John J. Dunphy
licking a stamp
the flavor
of nostalgia
—Oscar Luparia
homemade bread
a handful of sesame seeds
for the sparrows
—Oscar Luparia
Shine on
votives
by the window
early shadow
—Joanna Ashwell
night chrysalis
lost in the snow
forest stars
—Joanna Ashwell
birthday song
a balloon floats
above the moon
—j rap
inside his silence an echo of dad’s
—j rap
descending the peak
by full moon
rock fall
—j rap
Dear contributors and readers of Cold Moon Journal,
I am delighted to be taking over from Robin and writing this first post, and to announce that from hereon, I'll be adding the texts chosen for publication in February (Robin may well continue adding some previously accepted texts due to them getting lost).
I'm joined for my editorial duties by Oana Maria Cercel, who along with being co-editor, will also be responsible for social media promotion of your work. We'll choose two texts each month for the Touchstone Awards, leaving us 6 choices at the end of the year for a bit of wiggle room (we'll submit 30 each year). We'll announce these Touchstone Nominations at the end of each month on Instagram, and on the website at the end of the year. Follow the IG here and Facebook here. If you post your work, please tag the account!
Here's Oana's bio: Oana Maria Cercel is simply a shrewd human being that fears what mankind is capable of, given our inability to accept our fundamental connection to the abundant quality that already exists.
Some of you may have noticed that after our first editorial screening of the texts, where I think a poem could be a better fit through a little tweaking, I will suggest this over e-mail. This means, please send only up to five texts in total, made up of haiku/senryu/tanka/mini-haibun/haiga/photos.
Without further ado, let's read some poetry!
Thank you,
Timothy and Oana
inkblot god
the rotting
leaves
Joshua Eric
Williams
longer
nights
the sleep in these
hooded eyes
Joshua Eric Williams
each
word
after the first
river delta
Joshua Eric
Williams
Urban Harvest
a
potpourri
of fallen leaves
each step
(sw)
strawflowers and dahlias
in the wedding bouquet
(j
rap)
mulching the garden
with leftover hay
sharp
scent of rot
(jr)
soused cranberries
too much
pumpkin spice
(sw)
kitchen step stool
the
fragrance of basil
dangling from twine
(j rap)
moving
the parsley pot inside
before first freeze
(jr)
Scott Wiggerman (sw), j rap and Janet Ruth (jr)
tranquil
lake
a playful wind stirs
ripples in the mind
Manoj
Sharma
early
autumn
caught in a moment
my double shadow
Manoj Sharma
our watches
side by side on the dresser—
the
widening gap
Mohua Maulik
trailing a finger
over the shimmering
still waters
unaware of the storms
that
lurk below your façade
Mohua Maulik
planting
peace lilies in beds
overrun
with the same old
unresolved
grudges
Mohua Maulik
frog pond
the slow drifting
of
my haiku-boat
Chen-ou Liu
she's gone ...
alone, I sleep
with
the dark
Chen-ou Liu
the door
of a foreclosed house
blown open
by a winter gust ...
inside
and out this emptiness
Chen-ou Liu
morning sunshine
a galaxy of stars
across
the snow
Diane Webster
white scarf flung
over the dilapidated fence
surrender
Diane Webster
covered in ice
the statue prays
to
the sun god
Diane Webster
under the bed
a hibernating dust bunny
waiting
for spring
E. C. Traganas
winter sun
shimmering world
in
a crystal snow globe
E. C. Traganas
laundry day
the wicker basket full
of
sleeping cat
Barrie Levine
trimming the grass
near his stone . . .
dad’s
stubble
Barrie Levine