Morning of October 9, 2022

Rain on the walkway.

Dogs with no

wish for wet.

No sun.

No play.

Dogs on the couch

until dinner.

~Nolcha Fox



gangly spider

climbing the firewood

in for the winter
 

~Ron Scully



wolf spider

in the shower curtain

what does he eat?



~Tom Blessing



weather cock

the last sheep joins

the bandwagon

time to watch

the big leap

off the cliff


~Daya Bhat



gnawing teeth

inside the crawlspace

sleepless

~Eavonka Ettinger



crocodiles—

pretending to be rocks

on river rocks

~Rupa Anand



deer moon

all there ever is

is a lie and a line
 

~Daya Bhat



pair of pigeons

I point the cellphone

to shoot

~Daipayan Nair



clockwork bloodhound follows a simple syrup trail,

through a boy's ribs the November wind blowing
 

~Richard Magahiz



tiny dancer spins on a rhino's horn
 

~Eavonka Ettinger



flea + flea = two
 

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



sand fleas

between the pages

light's tide turns

~Ron Scully



this fleabag or that


~Roberta Beach Jacobson 


Morning of October 4, 2022

daddy long legs

a committee

of movement

~Mark Gilbert



old house –

a pair of crows

on the swing

~Daipayan Nair



monster under the bed her favorite toy


~Eavonka Ettinger



emperor moth I dream with four eyes

~Minal Sarosh



bite of the flea October

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



Transylvania

an exorcist shining

his cross

~Anna Cates



Frankenstein

knew how to

revive the party

~Eavonka Ettinger



I keep lying: yes, I think I can live


yes, I am inspired by heartwarming stories

of people I have never met

and hopefully never will

who have survived

terminal illnesses

that are not mine


yes, I hate death


no, I am not here


no, I am not writing this down

~Miriam Sagan



dashed hopes the end of her ellipses

~Kelly Moyer




beach flea

burrows in the sand

threat of war

~petro c.k.



ticks for lunch

fleas for dessert

possum

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



                                                              
                                                  ~Keith Evetts



Curse

Our family graves are filled

with aunts, uncles, cousins

all struck down young by heart attacks,

that genetic earthquake lurking

in our DNA, waiting to implode.

As candles dim, I tell my husband,

when I go, cram the porch with chili peppers

for how I used to be.

~Pris Campbell



blinding me

the golden tooth

of my neighbor

~Minal Sarosh



bird solo cut short

the tape player

ate my cassette

~petro c.k.

 

 

struck a star

like a piñata

sunburst

~Eavonka Ettinger


 

Afternoon of October 3, 2022

tribal land

a blind elder gleans

the enigma


~Anna Cates



Days Gone by

the senior citizen contemplates

her existence in an aging diner

fork suspended over a wilted

three-dollar side salad – droopy

iceberg lettuce, ragged shredded

cabbage, some slivers of carrots –

all drowning in a cheap dressing

she wonders what happened to her

endive and radicchio, honey mustard

candied pecans, sugared cranberries

~Marsha Warren Mittman

 

 

in the movie    the vegetable man plays himself


~Patrick Sweeney


 

injustice mothers losing sons
 

~Roberta Beach Jacobson


 

racism when do we stop pretending


~Roberta Beach Jacobson

 

 

whitewash of many colours
 

~John Hawkhead



You don’t see me.

My face is scuffed.

Ignored again.

A stray post-it. 

A scribble stuck to the floor.

Trod upon.

Faded ink.

Faded life.


~Nolcha Fox


 

Afternoon of September 29, 2022

double espresso

we trade our faith

for turtlenecks

~Kelly Moyer



My muse

is gone, she left a note

that she went shopping

with the girls.

I hope I didn’t send her

on another bender.

My writing might be much worse

than I think.

~Nolcha Fox



Fourth of July

On this, most patriotic night,

my head is clear,

my vision full

of Roman candles

and crackling rain.

I play Hendrix.

I breathe smoke and gunpowder.

We turn the moon the color of flames.

~Lauren Scharhag



not the clouds

time passing -

the moon

~Chittaluri Satyanarayana



       don’t talk about

until starts to show

       colonists

~Jerome Berglund



Arsenic

For a price,

chef’s secret ingredient

will do away

with anybody.

So scrub the kitchen floor

all you want,

a murder scene

never dies.

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



I found a spaceship

in the toilet,

floating with a deck

of cards.

I laid them all out

on the couch

then dried them with

this poem.

~Nolcha Fox



kismet a galaxy of fruit flies

~Kelly Moyer



trying not to

step on toes

clown shoes

~Thomas Tilton



we're all waiting

wondering when Mother Earth

spanks us

~Stephen Jarrell Williams


Afternoon of September 27, 2022

semaphore signs of little progress

~John Hawkhead



trade winds of small change


~John Hawkhead



can't settle ...

restless leg syndrome

the ants nest in my bed

~Karen Harvey



they are special guests

succulent

right to the bone

~Richard Magahiz



wall poster

a big face

with no manifesto


~Daipayan Nair



carrying signs

we oppose whatever

we oppose

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



dream state of the nation


~John Hawkhead



annual

May Day parade

calicos in tanks

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



erratic path a satellite state

~John Hawkhead


Evening of September 26, 2022

once in a blue mo(o)nster

~Lorelyn De la Cruz Arevalo



walk at dusk

the same stranger

at every turn

~Arvinder Kaur



30 years dead

Still haunting the same places

~Steve Van Allen



frosted pumpkins

an abandoned home groans

with trespassers

~Anna Cates



Edwina
  
Applies

Deathly  

Gaze  

Before  

Eating 

~Richard Magahiz



reaching out

to window ledge

gargoyles

~Roberta Beach Jacobson




poems about war

bleed from my pen

I thought

Vietnam was the only one

to break my heart - silly me

~Pris Campbell



Hallway

I am haunted by hallways. If you were to pop open

my skull, you’d find an endless maze of gray nowhere

corridors. I am inhabited by lobbies and tunnels,

airport terminals and empty shopping malls. It’s a

common fear. We are unsettled by these perpetual threshold

places, where we stand hesitating, never becoming, never arriving,

because there is no thread, no way out of this labyrinth, and at

the center of ourselves is the beast we have to face, or not.

~Lauren Scharhag



       the circles

of condensation

       on underside of glass table

harder to wipe away —

wherefore art thou royal

~Jerome Berglund



The Moon Doesn’t Ask

why I’m here in the halls of midnight.

It recognizes kinfolk, someone who knows

what it’s like to always be on the downward slope

of the teeter-totter. We are both made of other people’s secrets. To soothe others

we had to be this collection of debris,

not born, but bezoars excreted from

unimaginable creatures.

~Lauren Scharhag



A Few Martinis

over drinks

she spills

her drink

over drinks

he spills

state secrets

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



no-tell motel

keeping their secrets

fleas

~Thomas Tilton