A Measure

As an asteroid savages the earth an iceberg savages a ship so out of time which incidentally no longer exists my music excavates last dinosaur last passenger to die I tinker with the notes to harmonise the two therefore I am…

ice cubes
in his tequila sunrise
an upturned hourglass

Diana Webb

A Measure

​​danse macabre

beyond the limits of ​your ​imagination​ (or mine)​, without ​any​ blink of an eye, ​​a​n​ ​unoriginated​ wind is winnowing its harvest.

​you (the reader) will have been reading this ​long ​before I (the writer) ​am​ conceiving any image to embody its crafting

as stick figures
a fine rain trickles along
the woodcut’s grooves

Hansha Teki

​​danse macabre

Lustrate

The eaves-drip dead are tightly-packed, close by the walls of the old parish church. Once, grieving mothers kept a close eye on the heavens; prayed to God for thickening cloud; for rain that might fall on the chantry roof; sanctified rain that would pour from the mouths of chimeras and baptise their newly born dead.

fallen branches
dead man’s fingers *
grasp the light

*Xylaria polymorpha, commonly known as dead man’s fingers, is a type of fungus. It often grows on decaying wood.

Alan Peat

Lustrate

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 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

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*