John Smith

John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, the son of John Smith, cast a shadow like his fathers, but left it by a drying lake.

no use
discussing sleeplessness
with an acorn

Johannes S. H. Bjerg/editor

John Smith

Riverside Bench

A place to meditate, take stock. A place to gauge how an elusive dream can reach new levels of intensity.

quicksilvered by sun

How long to live in order to attain the full extent of that innate creative flow.

span of an egret’s flight

Within the context of the universe ‘s life, one small planet’s aquamarine hue, viewed from afar, just ripples with the splendid  insignificant.

a space of water

Diana Webb

Riverside Bench

Over Troubled Waters

trolley wheels
beneath me
floating island

gleam in the eye of one nurse to another mask to mask has she heard of haiku and yes I am a grandmother

full grown cygnets
the brown flood waters
white with sunlight

nearly over now a gleam in the eye of one to another above her mask it’s nearly

shaded garden
a patch of sunlight
brightens the fence

and now it’s really over really over do you take sugar and would you prefer…

the bliss
after so many hours
a sip of tea

Diana Webb

Over Troubled Waters

The Other Hand

After writing all morning, I set off to watch the sun hover over the desert. I hike into the mountains and sit against an aspen tree. From above, I see the desert floor spread out, a vast porch leading to a well-lit house beyond the horizon, many of its rooms, though, filled with darkness.

rice paper
raven song from the end
of my brush

Keith Polette

The Other Hand

The Veil

The desert in June. It bedevils me:
an approaching paper cut. A singing stone.
Dry riverbed where quotation marks
lie down to dry. Where I escape.
Hot breeze on the back of my neck,
dogjaw dropping from the sky.
The van of paper cuts heaving.

the hour of slumber
mumbling the nights
of great proportion

Keith Polette

The Veil

3 Gembun

a possum with every purchase

catching the light
the golden seal
on my English degree

Kelly Sauvage/ Agnes Eva Savich

the oak’s creaky voice

thunderclap
not an owl feather
left of fargo

Agnes Eva Savich / Kelly Sauvage

Was that a bird or three chipmunks in a trench coat?

time warp
the gnarled hand
of her rolex

Agnes Eva Savich / Kelly Sauvage

3 Gembun

Song of the Vanara*

While memory still proffers
While faded parchments still offer hints
As old laments still haunt the hallows
Each twilight slowly fading
Hear my song and know
That I am in you

I hid in Himalayan heights
Emerged from the depths
Lingered in jungle shadows
Passed from darkness into light
I am in you

As histories converge
I, too, am part of everything
Not as wild as you thought
Bards wove me into melody
You joined me in cosmic harmony
See me again

I hid in Himalayan heights
Emerged from the depths
Lingered in jungle shadows
Passed from darkness into light
I played my part
I am in you

rawhide silhouette
Sirius burning down
the wolf’s howl

*The “monkey people” of Hindu mythology

Anna Cates

Song of the Vanara*