Cradled Moon.

Fossombrone, Italy. Photo credits: Oana Maria Cercel.

Saturday, March 29, 2025

Splintered, a haibun by Kenneth Arthur

He now existed as fragments suspended above the barren landscape of after work cocktails and idle chit chat. Where time flowed slowly like ripples in the sand. He felt truly lost wherever people gathered for laughs – the one who never got the joke. More observer than participant, alien spaceship that had slipped its moorings to hover in the distance, he barely cast a shadow on the lives around him. No longer belonged. Unwanted. Unwelcome. He’d rather be home alone, disappeared in a favorite fantasy novel. He had no idea how to put all the fragments together again and sink into the sands of life where he might matter once more, or for the first time. 


blue sky 

in the desert 

the sun's glare

Friday, March 28, 2025

Chen-ou Liu

I seem happy

in this wedding photo

with brown edges ...

on my then-wife's face

a look I never knew

—Chen-ou Liu

Richard West

winter trees

their only leaves

a flock of finches

—Richard West


a raven’s call dissolves in the silence of snow

—Richard West


Malcolm Highfield

stillness

that moment

before you reply

—Malcolm Highfield


unused slippers 

in the hall 

the clock ticking

—Malcolm Highfield


Joanna Ashwell

river tide

the shape of wings

in twilight’s brush

—Joanna Ashwell


Partha Sarkar

sanguine music 

fall of innocent 

starlings 

—Partha Sarkar


Thursday, March 27, 2025

Philip Davison

winter solstice

lifting the centre of the lake

the moon

—Philip Davison

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