Afternoon of January 19, 2025

 

summer wind

with his last breath

i grow up

~Mona Bedi

pancake batter results may vary

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

her gaze until i am a gossip

~Vijay Prasad

plunge pool — i confess to all my flaws

~Mona Bedi

one cat three too many

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

marmalade in January the illusion of sunshine

~Jennifer Gurney

monolog turns into monostich short attention span

~John H. Dromey

in my city

starting day with the smells

of drunks

~Tejendra Sherchan

urban sky glow

I lose track

of a shooting star

~Mona Bedi

finally

blade of the winter

getting blunt

~Tejendra Sherchan

Bedtime

You are a good dog.

You are a diagonal dog.

Please move over.

~Noah Berlatsky

bubbling

with excitement

lava

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

hourglass —

I let him win

the argument

~Mona Bedi

Afternoon of January 15, 2025

 

 

wolf moon

the politician's

sheepish grin

~Melissa Dennison

Bukowski in space

writes like Bukowski on Earth

ham on rye and sex

~Nicholas De Marino

embracing word salad

she struggles to finish

her poem

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

I love you

 

like the little spider

that you would throw out

 

only to find that

it wove hearts

into its web for you

~Oliver Kleyer

autumn leaves

us in

the dark

~Jerome Berglund

All night

Heartbeats reverberating

Down lonely streets

~Sarah Mahina Calvello

deep dive

bubbles

of sea-ghosts

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

A Sad Dog Story

I like to scritch you,

but I don’t want you to lick me.

 

You like to be scratched

but you want to lick me.

 

Every satisfaction is also an irritation.

Such are dogs and love.

~Noah Berlatsky

mourning the death of live and let live

~dan smith

And there is hope

Dawn with dense fog.

Visibility is zero.

That means there is hope

That means fog will lift soon

That means we will see faces clearly.

~Partha Sarkar

nature

without politics

backyard garden

~Jerome Berglund

 

Afternoon of January 14, 2025

 

yet another failed attempt to reverse-engineer me

~Patrick Sweeney

 murmuration of starlings over a killing in the street

~Patrick Sweeney

on the city bus, constructing vast and intricate biographies

~Patrick Sweeney

'If you're not doing anything ' as a preface

~Patrick Sweeney

 

 

using rubber cement to glue the golden lady back together

~Patrick Sweeney

zoo monkeys

she runs her fingers

through my toupee

~Richard L. Matta

a burbling stream

winds its way through

elephant ears

the way our landline rings

and everyone listens

~Richard L. Matta

handle with care a box of mindworms

~John Hawkhead

meandering still the ghost of a river

~John Hawkhead

lost language droughts since records began

~John Hawkhead

back of the shelf so much expired thyme

~Richard L. Matta

needle dipping the sound of silence

~Richard L. Matta

the only ones

we catch and release

stink bugs

~AJ Johnson

 

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