Contributors:

Francis W. Alexander
Janice M. Bostok
Nathalie Buckland
Andrew Grossman
Jeffrey Harpeng
Mo Irvine
Roger Jones
Peter Macrow
Patricia Prime
Carla Sari
Maureen Sexton
Adelaide B. Shaw
Daniel Wilcox
Rodney A. Williams
Quendryth Young
  

the old woman’s
silver anklet–
new moon
 

sluggish river
the swimmer leaves
a line of splashes

 
breakfast alone—
an ant stranded
in the honey jar

summer dusk
a dragonfly pauses
on the wire fence

iced tea~
wrigglers seethe
in the dog’s bowl

school bus stop
the child carries
a light-sabre

 
            Nathalie Buckland
 

 
In the grocery shop
I stand among people
listen to their words
the news of the day’s events
sharpened by suffering
 
I read a poem
years after it was written
by my son
the paralysing sadness
seems to be part of a dream
 
the leaves
ablaze with light
this summer afternoon
make me think of those days
when we gardened together
 
            Patricia Prime
 
 

Wind & Water — a Sonnet Renga

global warming news ~ the air conditioning hums
galahs on the wire ~ a willy willy whirls a few dry leaves
in my emails I write greetings from the afterlife
dead end county road a pig headed fence post hums

wedding gift towels now rags for mopping up
reading semiotics outside the wind tumbles leaves
Buddha’s birthday cutting flower stalks with a knife
muzak ...clouds in my coffee storm clouds another cup

after the rain ~ bulk chlorinate the pool again
crossing the bridge where the sign hung jetty for sale
Christmas day the ceiling fan blows wrapping away

genealogical research ~ all those who couldn’t spell my name
furry pages of her first books she nuzzles the tale
cat flap open in our kitchen an indignant stray
 
                Jeffrey Harpeng
 

from the big udder
a white flow
to a black calf
        Kenneth Moore
 
 

I don't miss her
but notice she's not there
winter moon

white cup
clean again
green tea
green

roof spouting
sparrow's tail rises
with each chirp

gone from the lawn
all that dandelion gold
day's close
 
 
            Peter Macrow

her graduation –
the strelitzia
stands tall
 
outback sunset—    
embers glowing
under the billy
 
spring –
a roll of toilet paper
and a pup
 
another fall –
the dog licks
her face
 
garage sale –
a Rolls Royce
with a roof rack
 
 
        Maureen Sexton
 
 
 
Captain

On the Greyhound heading to Detroit for Christmas, a young soldier dressed in
green fatigues and shiny black boots chats with a boy.  With his small brown
hands the child shows the man how to use the armrest.  He calls the soldier
a “Captain.” On arrival  the kid says, “Bye, Captain.”  The regular points to
the insignia above his name tag, "I'm not a captain, I'm a private."  The boy
says, "Goodbye, Captain Pirate."
  
crowded bus station
the rat—ta—tat—tat   
of a video game
 
 
            Francis W. Alexander  
 

 
sawhorses
grazing under
the pear tree

footfalls in the dark:
memories
of father

felled gum tree –
sweet smell
of death

 
        Mo Irvine
 
 
 
a flame robin
lands on the spade handle —
daffodils in bud
 
border-town bus stop —
a teenage couple waits
for tomorrow
 
a hailstorm
on the tin roof —
seventies drum solo

             Rodney A. Williams

from a dream
where you’re driving me
to be hanged
I wake still singing
green green grass of home
 
                    Rodney A. Williams
 
 

Men’s Wear
 
 
What began as a small wedding has grown into a Frankenstein movie.  She’s been permed, showered, feted, and framed.  Together we’ve been measured, fitted, photo’d, counseled, cajoled and toasted.
 
A month before the wedding, we visit the men’s apparel shop to rent wedding-day suits. My fiancee goes off to chat with a school chum who works at the store.  I stay to study the apparel designs.
 
 tux-clad mannequins
in a semi-circle --
none has a head
 
 
            Roger Jones

 
trembled, jittering
feather caught to the dust splat
on the Chevy windshield
 
 
horse trailer rattles
by curved eucalyptus leaves
that skit in the gutter
 
 
rain water on oil
red and blue swirls on blacktop--
a peacock's feather
 
 
        Daniel E. Wilcox
 
 
 

first flight
the monk sits
in full lotus

rain-filled sky -
lost in translation
the poet's anguish

pine-scented breeze
rereading his letters
for the last time

frisky colt
a sickle moon trapped
between gumtrees
 
 
        Carla Sari

            swinging party
            alone
            in a secluded corner
            a new kind
            of loneliness

            you still smile
            on the African Violet
            my first gift
            it has lasted many seasons
            like our steady friendship
 
 
                    Carla Sari
 
 

new year’s morning
the birds and I
on the early walk

breakfast –
a feeding lorikeet
upside down

day moon -
the opal belly
of a dead lizard

haircut
on the verandah –
a scavenging wren

glass of wine
lorikeets stagger
from the umbrella tree
           
            Quendryth Young
 
 
 
Approach Haibun

Full moon. Exhausted after a long workday at the Coffee Shop, the three of us plod towards
the parking lot.  As we move to the right of the Hotel Breaker’s front entrance, six men in black
leather jackets form an arc around us. I think about the rumors of Hells Angels storming Cedar
Point Amusement Park, but nothing has happened, yet. We slow down, the half circle constricts,
we stop. One giant of a man with hair flowing down his back and looking like a fanged Viking,
approaches and asks in a raspy voice, “Where’s the party around here?”
 
cotton candy smell                                
a lone seagull strutting down                
the moonlit causeway
 
 
            Francis W. Alexander
 
                          

 
first kiss -
the freshness of his shirt
on this spring night
 
thunder claps -
in the faded red barn
rusted tractors
 
picnic by a brook -
on the road nearby
an idling truck
 
 
A Lake in Autumn
 
lengthening shadows
beneath the lake's surface
slow-moving bass
 
the still, black water —
without a ripple
leaves settle
 
a misted sun
reflected in the lake —
deep the cold
 
 
Siesta in Seville
 
The Giralda tower
shimmering in the heat
empty streets
 
chinks of light
slip through slatted blinds —
a clicking fan
 
sweat beads up —
the slow clip-clop of a horse
comes and goes
 
the wait for dusk —
sliding an ice cube
around my neck
 
            Adelaide B. Shaw
 
 
 
 
on the anniversary
wakefulness
without echo

sand
travels far west
in my socks

 
             Andrew Grossman
 
 

                                  Annual General Meeting
 
 
                         we share a project his wife's decline dominating

   cancer her length of life a preoccupation

  i work alongside him the promise of spring deceiving

   give me a lift tomorrow his crooked grin

  on time waiting in the car nervous he's late again

   the morning after bright and crisp he not so

  unimaginable this life without him or her the status quo

   as we leave she says 'have a nice day'

  he laughs says: 'turn left here and we might have a nice day'

   doing it 'right' the old pangs return

  nine minutes to town nine minutes to the council meeting

   egrets pick over the newly ploughed fields

  close at the table the directors pleased with our work

   lunch sitting at separate tables

  i collect the payroll he volunteers to accompany me

   no unbearable so much time spent with him

  reconvened re-elected for another year flung together

   the meeting light our minds sharp

  the atmosphere electric the meeting closes early

   echoing the words of his report not bad

  his wife collects him i drive home listening to beethoven

   both still on the project committee

  the sunset's red glows softly over our mountain peak

   my mind settles for another season

        Janice M. Bostok