Cold Moon Journal

Cold Moon Journal
Photo c. Alf B. Meier

Thursday, September 1, 2022

By Daipayan Nair

funeral march—

incense

fills the street


Daipayan Nair


*


morning glory—

she smiles until

she doesn't

Daipayan Nair

By Linda Ludwig

old family album

I breathe deep —

the memories

Linda Ludwig

By Mircea Moldovan

summer dream a beast eats my thoughts

Mircea Moldovan

By David He

cool breeze

on this autumn night

I listen

to the warm whispers

of a love story

David He


*

the fresh smell

of newspaper...

my parents

sip their coffee

without any words

David He

By Joanna Ashwell

lingering

a trace of moon

in my glass

Joanna Ashwell

 

*


tranquillity

breath held

in forest stars


Joanna Ashwell

 

*

 

between seasons

words becoming

hoverflies
 

Joanna Ashwell

By Jerome Berglund

tell me how you see the world ink blot queries

Jerome Berglund


*


doodlebugging soldier of fortune
 

Jerome Berglund

By Stephen Jarrell Williams

sundown

bat flying zig-zags

eating mosquitoes

Stephen Jarrell Williams

 

*


desert nomad

night dancing under the moon

humming old songs


Stephen Jarrell Williams

Wednesday, August 31, 2022

By Keith Evetts

by Keith Evetts

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

By Rp Verlaine

hot cup of tea

has all the answers

in the moonlight

Rp Verlaine

Monday, August 29, 2022

Saturday, August 27, 2022

By Susanna Gilbert

Split like a dagger.

Nature and clouds draw our eyes.

From past to present.

Susanna Gilbert  

                                                             Photo c. Susanna Gilbert

Thursday, August 25, 2022

By Rob McKinnon

floods recede

discarded households

on muddy mounds

Rob McKinnon

By Angiola Inglese

dinner alone .…

counting and recounting

moons and days


Angiola Inglese

Monday, August 22, 2022

By Amoolya Kamalnath

pedaling

the lake boat

fog overtakes


Amoolya Kamalnath

Friday, August 19, 2022

By Roberta Beach Jacobson

birdsong

Buddha can’t stop

laughing

Roberta Beach Jacobson

Tuesday, August 16, 2022

By Theresa A. Cancro

bruises

the color of amethyst

he says he loves me

Theresa A. Cancro

By Susan Burch

a dirt canal

where the river

used to run

how long

did you think

I’d wait for you

Susan Burch