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/
