Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Poets of Bear Creek Haiku: Josh Medsker, O. P. Arora, Bijoy Kumar Dubey, Jules Paige, Ed Markowski, Marc Carver, Judith Partin-Nielsen and Patricia Carragon!

               poet Josh Medsker

Students yelling out, but my focus is outside.                  

Rain wet the headstone of Louis Greenberg, 
and his flowers have lost their petals,


tissuethin oak leaves
make a small meal for the squirrel
across the graveyard


My Valentine                                     
                                                 poet O. P. Arora

                         O God
         Let the Ganges of love
         flow through my veins and arteries
         pure, pious, simple…

         Let me be the fount of love
         hundreds of sprouts
         showering love over everyone…

         Let me be immersed in love
         me be nothing but love
         spread all around the joy of eternal love…


                        Bob Dylan,                  poet Bijoy Kumar Dubey
                        Where do you                                                

                        Lie you
                        Stringing the guitar,
                        Today is Valentine's day,
                        Bob Dylan,
                        Your song
                        The song of life,
                        Your music
                        The music of life,
                        Your rhythm
                        The rhythm of life,
                        Your vibes
                        The vibes of the world?


poet Jules Paige

                    sound bite?

                    two hungry hawk work
                    together to destroy a
                    squirrel's nest; a feast?

                    not on this cold winter’s day,
                    I watched the squirrel go free


                            free*flight*fought*found  - 

                            raven’ mad they said
                            hoarder, holder, mind miser;
                            how little they knew...

                            I clawed my way to the heights -
                            self guided, screamed, I and lived

                            everything can be
                            cyclical - wait for me, do -
                            I will return - glad 


                          'pencil madness'  poet Ed Markowski

poet Marc Carver

                    I looked at the back of the man's head on the plane
                    his daughter kept trying to get his attention
                    but he wouldn't look up from his book
                    or whatever he was doing.

                    I stared into that fat head
                    and told him to spend some time with his daughter.

                    Straight away he started to look and talk to her.
                    If I couldn't do one thing else in my miserable life
                    at least 
                    I did that.

                    poet Judith Partin-Nielsen

                    Poetry Everywhere
                                                 for Courtney Love

                   "I wrote poetry everywhere
                    on the walls, on his shirt
                    I wrote poetry everywhere"                             
                    I couldn't stop                                        
                    at night on the sheets in our bed
                    in my sleep in my dreams
                    I wrote poetry everywhere
                    on my face the war paint
                    (stirring up all kinds of trouble)
                    I wrote poetry on the table cloth
                    in Jax's Fish House
                    a haiku surrounded by wine
                    glasses, white napkins, red brick
                    walls, green fish - tiny dots of
                    blue light hanging from the 
                    ceiling - Nick Forrester eating sushi
                    at the next table
                    I wrote poetry everywhere
                    I wrote poetry in books
                    that didn't belong to me, past due,
                    checked in, checked out,
                    on posters at the coffee 
                    house, poetry notes on golden 
                    peeling bathroom mirrors
                    surprise tanka on the
                    toilet seat
                    I wrote poetry everywhere
                    I wrote poetry on the stairs
                    seven steps to the landing
                    turn left.  Six more to your room.
                    Listening to the blues, Muddy Waters
                    wailing, sitting on the floor
                    eating dates, drinking white wine.
                    I wrote poetry everywhere.
                    You made a pass, I didn't notice
                    better to keep writing poetry
                    Flat on my face, flat on my
                    ass, flat on my back
                    just keep writing 
                    poetry everywhere

poet Patricia Carragon
                                                    past the open doors
                                                  of a stalled train
                                                birdsong enters

children found in ash
can’t see or feel the sunlight
*duas blurred by war

*duas—Arabic: plural for dua, a prayer of supplication

                                                   slender branches
                                                   dress in white petals
                                                   April bouquets

sipping golden milk
turmeric sunshine
on a cold March night

                                                    frozen crocuses
                                                    inside a Brooklyn garden
                                                    March lives in the fridge

Daylight saving time
jet lag in Brooklyn
is no vacation

                                                     behind my shades
                                                     afternoon sun

   loss of flowers
   hang stolen trust
   outside my door

assistant editor Tama:                              
"Frosty, wonderful poets,
fascinating poems!"

assistant editor Frosty:
"Tama, kitties' are purring!"

Another fine post you've
created, noble assistant editors,
with dear friends (Patricia Carragon, for one), and, our beloved Judith-
extra treats for all of us!
(kitties, playing, purring...)

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen

your poetry can be mailed to: 
                        bear creek haiku
                        PO Box 596
                        Longmont, CO
                        USA                (an SASE is appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to (and/or)
If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too (include postal address)

Best to all our creative endeavors!

Saturday, February 10, 2018

our poets-- Deborah H.Doolittle, Teresinka Pereira, Terezinha Maria Moreira, Tseten Madison Sun, t. kilgore splake, Ann Christine Tabaka, Patricia Carragon, and, Pogo!

poet Deborah H. Doolittle
            North Carolina

            Lady Mary Wortley Montagu  Wears a Crown of Mugwort

            Hail, pale flower that adorns the roadside
            hedges, for you are truly fortified
            against all common infirmities
            that bring grander blooms to their knees.
            Take heart in small part that you will play
            in all those ditches as I make my way
            in the world, unfurl your flags of despair,
            uncurl your tufted, leafy parts like hair
            let down at night for a lover's delight:
            I can pick no better token outright
            for a talisman to set my life aright.

      poet Teresinka Pereira
                         Toledo, Ohio


      It is enough
      to have a heart
      that can think better
      than the mind;
      to have eyes
      that can see 
      as a mirror,
      in order to condense          
      the pride of memory,         
      hands to search              poet Terezinha Maria Moreira
      for a face to caress               Uberlándia, Brasil
      with love:
      there is the time             TIME
      which gives us                             
      heaven!                       Cruel, inexorable enemy?
                                        Good generous and even a friend?
                                      Cruel, it destroys illusions.
                                        Good, it softens suffering.

                                      Inexorable, it doesn't stop.
                                        Generous, it resolves resentments.

                                      Enemy, it always marks the physique.
                                         Friend, it renders men wise.

                                      In all, in this life,

      poet Tseten Madison Sun
                          Terre Haute, Indiana

under snow flurries

winter bare tree limbs

point to all beauty

                  sleet pelts the window

                  memories of an old friend

                  and still, the clouds drift

     beard damp with it
     a thick fog shrouds the valley

     walking with ghosts

poet t. kilgore splake   Calumet, Michigan

     overnight dusting
    crisp dry whiteness                     night alone in desert
    quiet winter solitude              watching dark rocks come alive
                                              universe belongs to you

                         don't watch feel
                     denying creative wisdom
                     poet should show not tell

         poet Ann Christine Tabaka                in my window
             Hockessin, Delaware                    a moonless night
                                                        pulls down the shades

    train whistle 
    swallows the quiet                   oak tree
    like unspoken words                long shadow fingers reach out
                                            to shake my hands

                               falls down
                               one drop at a time

 poet Patricia Carragon   Brooklyn, New York

                 past the open door
                 of a stalled train                50 shades of Justice
                 birdsong enters                   give Hell an upgrade
                                                 Karma is the new Trump

                                as i rotate
                                around the sun
                                i will resist

          and! poet Pogo, from the seclusion of the Okefenokee!

atop this windy outcrop                 away to the west
of timeless sentry granite--            the river carries our dreams                  
the climb  not yet
too challenging for this
solo graybeard peak-rat          well who'da guessed--  
                                      didn't know the sixties were
                                      on a möbius loop

assistant editor Tama, stating,
"We even have a favorite
poet from Brasil in this post!"

assistant editor Frosty, replying,
"And we even have a favorite
poet from Terre Haute!"

umm, assistant editors,
you have created another fine post of most special poets!  
And! It's time for our treats!
Frosty: "And be.lly rubs!"

see you in a moment            


ayaz daryl nielsen

your poetry can be mailed to: 
                        bear creek haiku
                        PO Box 596
                        Longmont, CO
                        USA                (an SASE is appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to (and/or)
If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too (include postal address)

Best to all our creative endeavors!

Friday, February 9, 2018

our poets: Jo Balistreri, Bijoy Kumar Dubey, George Held, Patricia Carragon, Kelley Jean White, t. kilgore splake, pl. wick, and Carl Mayfield!

     poet Jo Balistreri   Genesee Depot, Wisconsin

  out of darkness
  the bright foliage
  of snow

             leaving the haiku path a harvest moon

    garden party
    with insects

                         along the path
                         wild gardenias
                         first father-daughter dance

                her bib
                one big cherry...
                baby takes a bite

poet Bijoy Kumar Dubey   
      Bogsharpur, Chandrakona Town, West Bengal, India

      In search of the Greater Self,
      Where have I reached,
      Where have I gone to?
      The Greater Self, the Greater Self,
      In search of the Greater Self,
      Where have I really?

                                         I want to catch, catch the fireflies,
                                         Glowing and glimmering
                                         With the bedazzled, bespangled
                                         Blinking light.

poet George Held
      New York, New York

Winter drought --
who will start the snow?

        The cool sanctuary                          After the hurricane,
      of a cathedral - under                        a sandpiper oblivious
         a weeping branch                            to beach erosion

poet Patricia Carragon                          poet Kelley Jean White 
 Brooklyn, New York                            Laconia, New Hampshire

squinting eyes                                   hoping for a meadow
brownstones behind a window                 I believe I'll stop mowing
optical book shelves                            my lawn

glacial sunshine                                one mandarin duck
Coney Island draped in ice                   alone
fingers feel the chill                           frozen pond 

bomb cyclone                                    unseasonably hot
hits Coney Island                               day--even the butterflies 
snow cone boardwalk                           are listless

ice winds whistle                                icy clouds overhead
cold air vs. radiator                            hawk scream cuts
snow curtains on window                       my silence

    poet t. kilgore splake
      Calumet, Michigan

      overnight dusting

      crisp dry whiteness

      quiet winter solitude

             red tibetan flag                   early morning existentials

           floating on creek currents          24 hour truckstop coffee

            poet's creative bloodline           writing poems on napkins

      thelonius monk                                lost in cold whiteness

      soft jazzy touch                                wind driven snow

      world full of edges                           poet drunk on silence

                                                poet pl. wick
                                  Empire, Colorado

                                  he smiles
                                  a sad distant smile
                                  the breakfast campfire--
                                  how 'bout some coffee
                                  before it's time to go...

                                  while I lift the tin-pot
                                  off vermillion embers
                                  a lone crow soars from
                                  high in a near-by pine--
                                  away towards the west.

                                  only echoing silence...

   poet Carl Mayfield
   Rio Rancho, New Mexico

   Blank Look #972

                                             picking up a trimmed branch
                                             I notice there is a thread
                                                      trailing off into the sky
                                             quickly becoming invisible

                                                      when I feel the tug
                                             a shudder arrives
                                             without a sound
                                             as though being called home
                                             is nothing to fret about

assistant editor Tama:
"Well, Frosty, I guess there's
little more to be said..."
assistant editor Frosty:
"Yes, Tama, our
poets, they've said it all..."

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen