Afternoon of October 28, 2022

the mad hatter sings on the corner to no one

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

fancy kibble courting the mews

 ~Kelly Moyer

 

morning meeting my boss takes a call from his dandelion clock

~Joshua St. Claire

 

wingbeats of startled birds a child’s dream

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

free association fees

~Kelly Moyer

 

Freudian pink slips

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

 

impressions of the mime still in the air red balloons

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

you following the Latin nihilum nihil nil

~Joshua St. Claire

 

flying up the down escalator sparrow

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

the dew's going to do what it do

~Eavonka Ettinger

 

apple juice overflowing the cups of her brassiere

~Kelly Moyer

 

hitting high notes salpinx of bone

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

 

nimbostratus cranial suture

~Joshua St. Claire

 

open mic on the dark side of mars static

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

 

apparently

tenting our home won't

make it a circus

~Eavonka Ettinger

migraine

owning someone

else's teeth

~Mark Gilbert

Afternoon of October 26, 2022

late harvest

plucking resentments

straight from the vine

~Kelly Moyer

dusk shadows —

the lingering taste

of disappointments

~Amoolya Kamalnath

Ode to a Comet

No fixed star in heaven glows so bright.

Ice and dust, dirty snowball tracing elliptical

paths. Slow moving herald of doom or

delight, cloud tails flaring. Hard, crispy outside

and cold, soft inside, like fried iced cream.

Unpredictable as attraction. You hairy star,

you fiery space beast causing meteor showers,

causing trouble, leaving trails of

galactic debris. Strange, lovely sight.

~Beth Sherman

Sputter

The onshore breeze picked up the ash

& carried it to the mountains.

This new normal

will be the death of us who bleed & consume.

No big thing

children forget how to be silly

we forget the rest.

~Les Wicks

lingering thoughts —

between hair follicles

lice and nits

~Amoolya Kamalnath

early morning

sees a sleepy yawn

and whoosh

walking in

through an open mouth

an itchy mosquito

~Rupa Anand

Freddy Flea

Freddy Flea flounced on fresh fruit

landing face forward on a fork

Somehow he learned to fly away

and the frightened fruit was saved

~Madeleine Vinluan

bad poetry

i return as

a cave fish

~Terri L. French

semantics

taking her tisket

to task

~Kelly Moyer

a violin

made of polystyrene,

a flute

made of sugar.

~Richard Magahiz

the lamplight

serenades

a covey of moths

within its corona

~Rupa Anand

total eclipse of the moths

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

core values wrapped in rot

~Terri L. French

morning after . . .

the last

of the pork rinds

~Kelly Moyer

After the Storm

The Ferris wheel landed in the ocean like a toy hurled by an angry

god. Now carp glide through the spokes, its cars rocking blindly.

Gawkers still peer at the ruins of mangled houses: splintered

frames, a toilet on its side, someone’s sagging bed frame. Where the bay

ravished the ocean, a carpet of sand. You think I’m exaggerating? Look at

the pictures. I made a scrapbook: Before and after. What doesn’t kill you etcetera 

. . .

When the next hurricane comes, I’ll name it after you. No sea wall will be high

enough to withstand the waves. Try re-building the boardwalk with fake wood.

Try mending my heart with duct tape. At night, wild dune grass rustles and

the moon kisses the highest chair on our wheel.

~Beth Sherman

recognizing that the feet we're given are wrong for the task

~Richard Magahiz

Afternoon of October 22, 2022

Wherefore Art Thou, Earth?

What is the temperature

of Mercury? What cars do they drive

On Mars? Are they stupider

On Jupiter? More taciturn

Where Saturn turns? More in tune

In the heart of June

With the fourteen moons

Of Neptune? And is Pluto no more

than a dark Venus

in Uranus?


~Robert Witmer

space sickness

my vomit comes over

to say hello


~Mark Gilbert

cascading our way

a swarm of deadheaded

satellites

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

Oh Human Hubris.

You’ve changed the clocks

not the world’s wobble

or rotation,

still you claim this

is daylight saving.

~Allen Ashley

What Rites?


Can the leopard change its spots,

star-lust actors leave lime lights,

flea trails cease, wheals, red like pox,

itches cause less scratchy sites?

Potshots, finger-thumb round blots,

fumble digits so large for mites,

lots of dots evade broad swats -

night clots worse, when frights wait bites.

~Stephen Kingsnorth

Hair Dryer

My ex-girlfriend

never returned

the Conair 1600

hair dryer

she borrowed

the day she

broke up with me.

~Michael Haller

a note on Stupid

you

you

YOU

you

you

thing

you

~Caroline Reid

her red toenails . . .

the polish dries

on his Lamborghini

~Robert Witmer

Bad News

Death is unpleasant,

like the evening news.

Tonight’s top

story: “You’re dead.

Details later.”

~Michael Haller

doomsday

the world ends

with a preposition

~Kelly Moyer

Evening of October 21, 2022

alone at Dad’s grave

by the cemetery wall

six or seven cows

   they watch me write little poems

   but will they keep it secret?

~Sean O’Connor

a ninja

wearing a cowbell

climate change

~Robert Witmer

midmorning

the good wife’s

muffin cups 

~Kelly Moyer

thin men

with frightened hair

cloves

~Robert Witmer

oh God –

do you –

what the –

I don’t –

are we –

would we –

it’s so –

going now –

and he was –

(found poem sourced from Kim Wozencraft, Wanted)

~Caroline Reid

The most beautiful thing about a blistering summer day is a swimming pool.

The most beautiful thing about a swimming pool is goosebumps.

The most beautiful thing about goosebumps is a blistering summer day.

~Nolcha Fox

cockroaches my crush on them

 ~Keith Evetts

self-preservation muting the barrel-aged bluebird

~Kelly Moyer

feet smaller than Buddha’s Grauman prints
 

~Stephen J. DeGuire

just as the sun explodes haiku

~Keith Evetts

moth-eaten poems the missing words

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

sigh a while after the expiration date

~Keith Evetts

Will she

go to church

in that red satin dress,

like her daddy wants?

Or smoke on the corner,

wait for the boys,

like her mommy does?

~Nolcha Fox

Evening of October 19, 2022

 

Not Made in Heaven

Every single town in the world

has at least one woman

I would have married.

But we lived in our town

and I married you.

My Love.

~Vern Fein

                this morning

           walking in the park

                     through

                 a spiderweb

                     my face

          entangled in threads 

~Rupa Anand

skipping school

for lack of sanitary napkin

an african girl-child

left in the dark

period of taboo

~Christina Chin / Uchechukwu Onyedikam

The Better Part

Lazy when cooking, housekeeping,

I’m diligent about writing poems.

Ignoring everything but old age,

I people watch patrons in local restaurants,

eavesdrop hushed conversations,

write poem fragments on scraps of paper.

On a walk from the library I look

for my name on discarded envelopes,

postcards, spray painted graffiti, unpaid bills.

~Frank C. Modica

moønsoon rains

weather i like it

or nut

~Lorelyn De la Cruz Arevalo

signing his death warrant

the clown uses

invisible ink

~Thomas Tilton

cemetery

lying under the wall

the magpie's shadow

~Françoise Maurice

My Wife an Owl

Once a sprite blue bird,

always flying through my thoughts

and desires, in and out,

flapping her wings, singing.

 

But now feathers graying

at our dinner table,

when my lowering voice speaks,

she is an owl, tilting her head

and cupping her ear in my direction.


Not whooo, but why?

~Vern Fein

mathematical perfection

a universe

spun from chewing gum

~Kelly Moyer

at night

they emerge

moonlit clowns

~Thomas Tilton

October moon —

my broomstick comes

out of the closet

~Bonnie J Scherer

Bull in a China Shop

and I am the china.

I know you ground-pawing beef,

always thinking you can win

by throwing your weight around,

snuffling your ugly head back and forth

drooling until you charge,

break innocence into a zillion pieces.

can’t save the precious,

too much ever to sweep up.


I better never let you in.

~Vern Fein

Branded

Lift your legs

the Hoover’s buzzing, carpet drone -

recall the ease, Linoleum -

brushing cushions, clouding dust,

like the Kleenezy man’s about.

Because bare ankles bear the marks,

those jumping critters, flailing bout;

why do they choose her blood, not mine?

Branded now, generic fleas.

~Stephen Kingsnorth

(b)each

(b)itch

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

autumn evening

cat on my lap

fleas in fur

and we all

under quilt

~Mirela Brăilean

moth

emperor

ate his clothes

~petro c.k.