Afternoon of November 28, 2024

 

 

 

the sound

of November-December

whoosh

~Jennifer Gurney




endless

stratus

clouds

rolling

in

worry

about

my

root

canal

~Joshua St. Claire




fate

of the dandelion

growing out of rocks

~Tejendra Sherchan




high tea

Vivaldi plays through the cracks

in the universe

~Joshua St. Claire




tattered trainers

the secrets

you could tell

~Melissa Dennison




the egg moon

I will boil and share it

with eight billions

~Tejendra Sherchan




not yet returned all the stolen hearts

~Tejendra Sherchan




the smoker moth

~Tejendra Sherchan




Why


why did you choose me, my soul

why did you choose me to live

~Marie Derley




In The Time of Corporate Plague


water and light

now company owned

people figuratively and literally

being daily deboned

murmurs of time

ache to be heard

no calm in the mirrors

all the lines blurred

silent mental erosion

of blind civil obedience

~dan smith




Zombies Flee the Scene

 

hearses!

foiled again!

undead get away

~John H. Dromey




nothingness

the universe

bang

~Jennifer Gurney




big bang —

the hole punch

spills its contents

~Helen Buckingham




Folksong

after Else Lasker-Schüler

 

The wild wind knows

it’s the sky’s favorite child.

Its curls are sun-yellow,

its intentions are mild.

 

Each day is a day.

My parents are gone.

The wind plays on their graves.

It sings them no song.

~Noah Berlatsky




gone gone gone —

the black cat’s shadow

on the grass

~Pris Campbell




the new Oz show

is carried on the backs

of snake oil salesmen

into the While House.

on cue, the audience applauds.

~Pris Campbell




saying her piece

the booyah

across seven seas

~A.J. Anwar



haiku

the extent

of her bio

~A.J. Anwar




childhood Santa photos

I finally find one where

I'm not crying

~John J. Dunphy




luminous glyphs

scrolling down

his firm midsection

~Richard Magahiz




in his later years

Adam's

cider addiction

~Richard Magahiz




herbaceous border

a sign to

curb your dragon

~Richard Magahiz




holes chewed through old holes:    hyperspace worms    

~Richard Magahiz




in 30s gangster movies

nobody practices

personal space

~Patrick Sweeney




he was learning to play what wasn't there

~Patrick Sweeney




yielding to the futility of helping an autumn fly escape

~Patrick Sweeney




resisting the ideological cul de sac

and the personification

of hurricanes

~Patrick Sweeney




Lose the way

to home?

Ask cul-de-sac.

~Partha Sarkar




You mean to tell me this is how you intend spending your time on Earth?

~Patrick Sweeney




best not to mention the extra-dimensional deer paths that run behind the house

~Patrick Sweeney

 


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