Morning of May 12, 2023

 

at least   two years

of my      formal education

spent      watching

a gray     squirrel

going      up and down

a beige   sycamore tree

~Patrick Sweeney

expanding my vocabulary

through osmosis

I nap

while resting my head resting on

a dictionary

~John J. Dunphy

over a calcined stream

a ruined bridge —

nuclear umbrella

~Robert Witmer

a sudden rain

hissing over the desert

snake eggs

~Robert Witmer

egg moon —

a wart on my foot

starts to itch

~Mona Bedi

in the May rains two worms flex their elbows

~Patrick Sweeney

spring wind this wish to be a cloud

~Mona Bedi

the train that left without you separation moon

~Mona Bedi

radioactive waste where the poet ate the flesh of sei whale

~Patrick Sweeney

mice

wheeling halos

gold man sacks

~Robert Witmer

the do re mi

of an orange tree

reggae sundown

~Robert Witmer

the poet's garret

filling with shadows

a fly in a pickle jar

~Robert Witmer

squeezing a tomato he considers a friend

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

 

exploring alternatives to the real world dreams

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

a moth

sees itself

dancing on the wall

she snuffs the candle

and cries

~Robert Witmer

AI

She fingers her phone,

Flummoxed,

App-lessly disconnected,

Phonemes phoning home,

Hopelessly phony,

Pigments

In figments

Of our minds.

~Robert Witmer

Yoga

Your center

a round hole,

square body

jammed in.

~Chad Parenteau

deepening autumn

I rewrite

my death poem

~Mona Bedi

hazy moon

the blank space

on the Mother’s Day card

~Wai Mei Wong