grandmother
chair I overwinter
~Hemapriya Chellappan
with
all my degrees failing the robot test
~Mona Bedi
Christmas carols —
this year's service
mostly
delayed
~Amoolya Kamalnath
gift-wrapped box —
father doesn't bring
what
i want
~Amoolya Kamalnath
having
trouble sleeping on a full moon
~Nani Mariani
travel
moon from here to where
~Hemapriya Chellappan
fur
all hugged off
eyes in the button box, yet
i'll always love
you
~Pat Geyer
thinking
of ku even in the loo
~Sreenath
the
people I don't get cards from anymore
~Patrick Sweeney
yuletide
gathering winter fuel the flames of war
~Keith Evetts
digging
too deep missing the point critics
~A.J. Anwar
zig zagging kite
/
slicing
sky
~Rob
McKinnon
morality
police//cutting hair
~Rob
McKinnon
slim
wrists of
the matterhorn triplets
bathed with dew
~Richard Magahiz
midnight
suddenly awake from a dream where I am dead
~Ram Chandran
bananas so green
even the Grinch
won’t
take ‘em
~Bonnie J Scherer
Christmas
market
the pigeons' frenzy
on the pavement
~Françoise
Maurice
churchyard
the
irreverence
of pigeons
~Keith Evetts
Triolet
Found in John Donne’s “The Flea”
mark but this flea
this flea is you and I
is more than we
mark
but this flea
apt
to kill me
since
thou purpled thy
mark but this flea
this
flea is you and I
~Joshua
St. Claire
Flee
or Flea Bitten
Love
my house usually,
until uninvited pests descend
nest in
wait to bite ankles and cats,
awake at dawn, turn vacuum
on,
spray once more, last time
I hope, but likely not, once fleas
have found their spot, my rug
infested as they say, might be easier
to move away, flea bitten
or
flee
~Julie A. Dickson
recounting
his 17 lives
polydactyl
cat
~Joshua St. Claire
drifting clouds
after all these years
my
father’s handwriting
~John Pappas
eye to eye
we meet
in
silence
~Katherine E Winnick
cinnamon tea
the past comes
to
life
again
~Barbara Anna Gaiardoni
Catharsis
The day you left, I threw up
stardust and wildflowers,
big fat gulf oysters,
zydeco and Chicago blues.
Just when I thought
I was empty,
out came a sprig
of baby’s breath, stilled
on
the journey out to sea.
~Kelly
Moyer
scratched
vinyl a degenerative disc disease
~Kelly
Moyer
buried
in the footnotes a half-remembered smile
~John Pappas
unicorn
hunting a three-way potato
~Kelly Moyer
the
art of loving an oil-based pigment
~Kelly Moyer
now
when she writes a love letter I
~John Pappas
rotten apples
eliciting
an
inspirational quote
~Kelly Moyer
and
everything smells
like
rotting
meat
~Barbara Anna Gaiardoni
the squirrel
playing chicken
on the road
one too many
— times
~Linda
L Ludwig
em dash
the crows fly in
to roost
~John
Pappas
for once
in this poem
a
crow is just a crow
~John Pappas
low-country christmas
the warmth
of
a biscuithead kitten
~Kelly Moyer
night cry
the tendrils of
a
shredded star
~John Pappas
of
myself a sliver of ginger root or moonshadow
~Kelly Moyer
at the base
of the shrine
the
prayer of ants
~John Pappas
blinking so quick
perhaps what’s left of us
of
the insect
~Daniel Birnbaum
breathing
into
her own bubble...
another
orbit
~Kavita Ratna
shadow
move
with the sun
i myself
~Nani Mariani
five thousand mile flight
the goose in me
takes
wing
~Harrison
improvising
expressing his feelings
through
the plectrum
~Mark Gilbert
ache
(intransitive
verb) 1a: to suffer a usually dull persistent pain, the way my teeth ache when you smile sweetly at me, and I know that means you’re
lying. Again. 1b: to become distressed or disturbed (as with anxiety
or regret) because I suspect you slipped and fell into another man’s bed. 1c: to feel compassion for that poor schmuck who doesn’t know
he’s tangled in your web. 2: to experience painful eagerness or
yearning that you’ll prefer the taste of your new love, and suck
the life out of him. Instead of me.
~Nolcha Fox
winter
storm
frozen
solid
with anxiety
~Kimberly Kuchar
there
is too
much dust
to glue myself
together
~Luke Brannon
Captive Elephant
Legs thick as tree trunks on concrete
Wonder how freedom might feel
Gray
beast sways in sorrow
~Julie A. Dickson
uniforms
this prison or that
~Roberta Beach Jacobson
Spitfire
circling my sinews remember the war
~Mark Gilbert
broken
glass
the festive
spirit
of the cat
~Kimberly Kuchar
proud of his scar
he
doesn't like to talk
about it
~Mark Gilbert
another
gray sky
selecting
a funeral outfit
~Kimberly Kuchar
bagpipes
playing
today she meets
her ancestors
~Kimberly Kuchar