Late Morning
Photograph
it is frozen
in the river
shaking with sleeplessness
we go
into the fire
without reading
the
fine print.
~John Dorsey
anti-Trump rally
OUR ONLY KING
on the signs of protesters
walking with
an Elvis impersonator
~John J. Dunphy
root rot we get what we don’t vote for
~John Hawkhead
smoker’s cough
the darkening signature
of executive orders
~John Hawkhead
We
clarity is and
you know
what everyone
is
I don’t want to know
what anyone is
there but
we are
stuck
with we
~Noah Berlatsky
acres of baruwa a mazeophobia childhood
~Arvinder Kaur
trimming duranta
this unending struggle
with chin hair
~Arvinder Kaur
loneliness --
the distance between
magpies
~Melissa Dennison
on the tarmac a snail
the precariousness
of existence
~Melissa Dennison
well-traveled
the path between
their bedrooms
~Stephanie Zepherelli
morning sunshine
on the church’s windowsill
a praying mantis
~Diane Webster
both children
sit in the red wagon
who will pull?
~Diane Webster
rusty key
till death do us part
still stuck in the lock
~Diane Webster
A
loosened tooth
A
loosened tooth.
A U-turn of a statesman.
~Partha Sarkar
Does
revolution mean victory?
Does
revolution mean victory?
Only an eclipse that comes after a while can answer.
~Partha Sarkar
the deer of Nara
know they will get nothing
from the biscuit sellers
the sellers give to the tourists
the tourists give to the deer
~Marie Derley
les daims de Nara
savent qu’ils n’obtiendront rien
des marchands de biscuits
les marchands donnent aux touristes
et les touristes donnent aux daims
blooming all over
the skeleton of an old car
morning glories
~Tejendra Sherchan
Sitting and sleeping on a middling mattress, sheets tangled round
lone wrinkled legs in a queen-size bed of abdication.
~Chris Callard
Innocence remained in her blue eyes afterwards, somehow.
~Chris Callard
Roiling, aggravated water solidifies the egg.
~Chris Callard
Poor Snoopy, deflated on the lawn, still clutching the Valentine’s heart,
awaiting the box and spot on the shelf for another year without love.
~Chris Callard
Doing your laundry, treasured touch, clothing endorphins attach to my hands.
Will this DNA lodge in me or simply be washed away?
~Chris Callard
War and peace—two words too often reduced to headlines or history lessons.
We invite poetic voices that reflect on war—not just in its physical violence, but in its ideological, emotional, and ecological forms. We are equally interested in poems that explore peace—not as utopia, but as a lived, flawed experience.
Whether you echo the ancient cries of Troy or the soft resilience of post-conflict healing, we are listening.
Bring us elegies and anthems, laments and lullabies. Between the ruin and the raga, there is space for poetry to breathe.
~The Wise Owl / The Daily Verse
Open again for your submissions: Horror Senryu Journal
https://horrorkujournal.blogspot.com/
