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

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