Afternoon of October 26, 2022

late harvest

plucking resentments

straight from the vine

~Kelly Moyer

dusk shadows —

the lingering taste

of disappointments

~Amoolya Kamalnath

Ode to a Comet

No fixed star in heaven glows so bright.

Ice and dust, dirty snowball tracing elliptical

paths. Slow moving herald of doom or

delight, cloud tails flaring. Hard, crispy outside

and cold, soft inside, like fried iced cream.

Unpredictable as attraction. You hairy star,

you fiery space beast causing meteor showers,

causing trouble, leaving trails of

galactic debris. Strange, lovely sight.

~Beth Sherman


The onshore breeze picked up the ash

& carried it to the mountains.

This new normal

will be the death of us who bleed & consume.

No big thing

children forget how to be silly

we forget the rest.

~Les Wicks

lingering thoughts —

between hair follicles

lice and nits

~Amoolya Kamalnath

early morning

sees a sleepy yawn

and whoosh

walking in

through an open mouth

an itchy mosquito

~Rupa Anand

Freddy Flea

Freddy Flea flounced on fresh fruit

landing face forward on a fork

Somehow he learned to fly away

and the frightened fruit was saved

~Madeleine Vinluan

bad poetry

i return as

a cave fish

~Terri L. French


taking her tisket

to task

~Kelly Moyer

a violin

made of polystyrene,

a flute

made of sugar.

~Richard Magahiz

the lamplight


a covey of moths

within its corona

~Rupa Anand

total eclipse of the moths

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

core values wrapped in rot

~Terri L. French

morning after . . .

the last

of the pork rinds

~Kelly Moyer

After the Storm

The Ferris wheel landed in the ocean like a toy hurled by an angry

god. Now carp glide through the spokes, its cars rocking blindly.

Gawkers still peer at the ruins of mangled houses: splintered

frames, a toilet on its side, someone’s sagging bed frame. Where the bay

ravished the ocean, a carpet of sand. You think I’m exaggerating? Look at

the pictures. I made a scrapbook: Before and after. What doesn’t kill you etcetera 

. . .

When the next hurricane comes, I’ll name it after you. No sea wall will be high

enough to withstand the waves. Try re-building the boardwalk with fake wood.

Try mending my heart with duct tape. At night, wild dune grass rustles and

the moon kisses the highest chair on our wheel.

~Beth Sherman

recognizing that the feet we're given are wrong for the task

~Richard Magahiz

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