there are lakes, rivers, mountains
then there is drought, bush fires, acid rain …
then there are earthquakes, floods
then there is war
there is rubble
an empty house with dilapidated walls
an empty chair where an old man sat and watched his grandson play
an empty playground
an uninhabited earth
then silence
funeral rain —
my foot stuck
in a pothole
Mona Bedi
They were standing in the checkout queue in the supermarket.
– Don’t look now. Kevin is behind us.
– Where?
– At the fruit stall, on his phone, boring some poor sod, no doubt.
– You know, he pinned me to the wall in the café one day. I could feel my blood pressure going up as he talked on and on for a good hour.
– Well, I got my chance to seek revenge. He was sitting in the cafe with a man who is another inveterate talker. As I was passing their table to leave I said loudly, ah, you’ve met your match now! Two great talkers!
– Did you really say that?
– Yes. I could see Kevin bristle, go red in the face. The other man took no offence. He replied in a self-deprecating way, ‘when I told my mother that I got a job as a tour guide, she said, ‘well at least you’ll get paid for talking now.’ Kevin hasn’t come near me since.
all is silent now
lights out, curtains drawn –
but not in dreams
Gerry McDonell
Every sunflower is not a potential sun seeker here. Directionless they look to the west, south and even north when there is a patch of sunlight or just an inkling of a sunray through those passing clouds. Looking at the sky, he grumbles again of infertile clouds not staying to mate on his half acre field
gunshot
a sudden lull
in the egg songs
R. Suresh babu
warm up
angle of isosceles
at my hip
Oh, there I go again, messing up the arms. One going left when it’s supposed to be right. Every. Damn. Time. Lefthander’s curse? Never mind that. Focus on what the instructor said: three dégagés, two piqués, and a plié with port de bras, then forward cambré and back. I can do this. No, really, I can.
first notes
my mind pirouettes
across the floor
Lynn Wohlwend
My mother mends my wounds with a needle as sharp as her tongue. Then smooths her stitches with a gentle touch.
Sitting in his broken chair, my father nods his approval. He lights another cigar.
A sparrow begins to sing a lullaby. The sky darkens. So dark we can’t imagine morning appearing.
As we go to sleep, smoke from the fire curls up the chimney and writes the word, ‘Alas’ in the sky.
the man
no longer a child–
leaves the nest
Lafcadio
Sunset strip more fit for New York, window shopping for a training montage: meat hooks set deeply far as the eye can see stretch out to horizon, vanishing point. Turning flesh, sides of cow dangle, swing, swish, marked down to move — before expiration hits. Five minutes to midnight, Uber a carriage back to pushing broom?
claim you cannot read
anything in dreams,
even writings on the wall
Jerome Berglund
Long story short I can’t play chess because I think a draw is a win. I don’t care that I can’t win, only that you can’t.
c(rook)ed moon dangling gerunds
Susan Burch
This morning I farted in Sensōji. I turned and pointed to an old woman fumbling with prayer beads next to me and saw throughout the temple men and women pointing at a person near to them.
temple bell rumbling in my gut
Bob Lucky
Recently I was sitting on the toilet waiting patiently for nature to takes its course when I realized that I was making hand shadows on the floor. I forgot about nature and studied the brightness and placement of the lights. I recalled that I used to do this as a child. When I abandoned hand shadow puppetry, and for what, I can’t remember. Subsequently, I’ve learned that lighting, properly exploited, can enhance many things.
Bob Lucky
the other bunny 