Sunday, August 30, 2020

poets!... Brooklyn's Patricia Carragon, Jo Balistreri, Sarah Mahina Calvello, Carl Mayfield, James B Peters, Judith Partin-Nielsen, t kilgore splake, and Antonio Machado!...

     poet Patricia Carragon,
                Brooklyn, New York...

     like the pyramids

                two bodega cats
                relax on top of freezer
                hot day in August

         morning meows
         cat breath meets mine
         time to get up!

                     poet Jo Balistreri, Waukesha, Wisconsin...

             her fingers touch
            mom's bracelet on her wrist...           rapt in rain
            new girl at school                        how good it feels
                                                         without sandals

         Praise this day that beckons
         scoops me into its net                    trellises of trumpet vines
         this spacious silence                      bamboo clacking in the wind
         this joy that is morning                  the thin blue cast 
                                                      of a skimmed mild day

poet Sarah Mahina Calvello, San Francisco, California...

       Outside the window
       The moon conducts a lullaby
       Midnight fudge sundae

                            The edge of something
                            Love leaves a mark
                            On this lazy Sunday

 Chasing dreams
 Flowers rustle crisp and white
 Moonlit rain 

                                 Rose wine
                                 Wrapping wishes away
                                 Thoughtful celebration

   poet Carl Mayfield, Rio Rancho, New Mexico...

         Ike And Copper

          Names meant nothing to the horses.
          They knew how long I would be seated.
          When they looked at me there was
          no distance between us,
          no place to be someone else.

     poet James B Peters, Cottontown, Tennessee...

  The old horse                The quiet 
  Its head hung low            At the end of the day,
  Meets a legless soldier.      When chores are done.
  Together they rise            A gentle breeze
  Above their pain.             Whispering in the sunset.

            The haiku
            In the wind

                       At the porch
                       Last tweets.

     poet Judith Partin-Nielsen, 
                    Longmont, Colorado...

    Weeding my garden

     bending, pulling, sweating
     and remembering. . .
     in the sweltering late 
     afternoon, remembering. . .
     the toil of my ancestors,
     branding cattle, mowing hay,
     tending their phantom gardens
     in the distant Sand Hills
                                                and quite suddenly,
                                                they appear standing tall
                                                among the giant Sun Flowers
                                                looking skyward with
                                                faces kissed by sunlight
                                                and beauty. . .  remembering

                      poet t kilgore splake. Calumet, Michigan...

             touching forest wildflowers             coffee tossed in fire
                gently kissing petals                   words rising in steam
              drowning in sweet nectars               creating new poems

                            poet Antonio Machado...
   To talk with someone,            Form your letters slowly and well:
   ask a question first,              making things well 
   then-- listen.                      is more important than making them.

                           But poetry?
                                        It is pure and intense play,
                       so it is like pure and intense life,
                       so it is like pure and intense fire.
                       You'll see the coal burning.

see you in a moment...

               and, you can mail your poetry to:

                bear creek haiku
                PO Box 596
                Longmont, CO
                (SASE's are appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to and/or 

Last!  If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US,
                                    that's ok, too (again, include postal address)


Thursday, August 27, 2020

poets!... Tomas Tranströmer, Teresinka Pereira, Miriam Sagan, Rachael Ikins, Eva Limbach, Linda Amos, r soos, t kilgore splake, Chris "Cricket" Faiers, and Brooklyn's Patricia Carragon!...

                    poet Tomas Tranströmer...
                             "within us, balanced like a gyroscope, is joy"                                
           poet Teresinka Pereira,
                                Ottawa Hills, Ohio...

               QUENCHLESS FIRE
                 You still make me dream         
                 and walk with stars
                 in paths of a quenchless fire.

                 I know our destiny is still
                 fed by energies that start
                 in our hands and drive for
                 life when they reach our hearts.

                 The fragrance of love
                 becomes music when
                 I open the heaven of my breast
                 to your kisses
                 and my thirst to the odyssey
                 of your skin.
                 Love fills the room where
                 I am queen and woman.

                 I undress myself in the light
                 of my dreams
                 and in remote galaxies
                 we make love majestically
                 between the miracle and
                 the talisman of time.

             Você ainda me faz sonhar
             e caminhar entre estrêlas
             nas rotas de fogo inesperado.
             Sei que nosso destino segue
             alimentado por energias                                            
             que começam nas mãos
             e que se fazem vida
             ao chegar ao coração.

             O perfume de amor
             se faz música no meu seio
             que se abre aos seus beijos.
             Minha sêde de sua pele silenciosa
             enche de desejo a sala
             onde sou rainha e mulher.

             Meu corpo se desnuda
             na pemumbra do abraço
             e nas remotas galáxias
             amamos majestosamente
             entre o milagre e o talismã
             do tempo.
                EL FUEGO INESPERADO
                 Todavía me haces soñar
                 y caminar entre estrellas
                 en rutas de fuego

                 Todavía sé que nuestro destino
                 sigue alimentado por energías
                 que empiezan en las manos
                 y que se hacen vida
                 al llegar al corazón.

                 El perfume de amor
                 se hace música cuando
                 el cielo de mis pechos
                 se abren a tus besos,
                 y la sed que tengo
                 de tu silenciosa piel
                 llena la sala 
                 donde soy reina y mujer.

                 Mi cuerpo se desnuda
                 en la penumbra del abrazo
                 y en las galaxias remotas
                 amamos majestuosamente
                 entre el milagro y
                 el talismán del tiempo.

             poet Mariam Sagan, from her latest poetry collection 
          Poems by Miriam Sagan, Cholla Needles Arts & Literary
                    Library (our dear friend, ed. r soos)...

  eclipse of the moon --          
  so much                     Chaka Kahn --
  left unsaid                  how many decades I've shimmied in pjs!

          the full moon
          rises like a whole note             I'll always want
          on the staff                          turquoise earrings, a bit
          of telephone wires. . .               of sky    
          you burst into song

                 poet Rachael Ikins, Baldwinsville, New York...
        a poetic form named lipogram, which uses only one vowel...


                                     down. So soft
                                     or odd-
                                     Frog song
                                     to pond.  Fog
                                     ghosts, door
                                     to cold. Dog
                                     howls, moon.




                       poet Linda Amos, York, Pennsylvania...

            she was not a person               soulful sanctuary

          who practiced deception             tucked under century trees        

     she could not even keep a secret        breeze gently rocks hammock

                        poet r soos, Joshua Tree, California...

               time                                 poetry

               children quietly                    if you listen close      
               draw picture after picture        you will hear everybody
               in their own language             talking in haiku

                    poet t kilgore splake, Calumet, Michigan...

freedom                                    wilderness silence
escaping cell-phone world               like empty church
idle texting and i-tune songs        
alone in wilderness                        deep holy feeling
beside brautigan creek                
poet's shadow listening
to forest music                                      early morning poet                
soft gentle whispers    
floating downstream                             staring in dark expresso

                                                    seeking the answers of life

                  poet Chris "Cricket" Faiers, Marmora, Ontario...

             I had always thought moonbeams were a twee construction
             for  children's  fiction,  but  last  night  the   moon  was
             shining so brightly beams were coming from it.

                                    cliché full moon
                                northern lights compete
                                    with moonbeams

                   poet Patricia Carragon, Brooklyn, New York...

           summer heat         morning meows           sleeping cat
           tell that to           cat breath meets mine    her calm
           the sleeping cat      time to get up!            before the storm

see you in a moment...

               and, you can mail your poetry to:

                bear creek haiku
                PO Box 596
                Longmont, CO
                (SASE's are appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to and/or 

Last!  If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US,
                                    that's ok, too (again, include postal address)