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