I walk alone in the 9-to-5 crowd through Foley Square, where the courthouses are clustered. I glance at the inscription above the entrance to the New York State Supreme Court building: “The true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government.”

“A feel-good Hallmark quote,” I murmur to myself. Just up the block, in a courtroom on the fifteenth floor of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse, the value of this inscription is about to be put to the test.

Alone in my office cubicle, editing and writing, I’m anxious all morning, as if walking through a maze blindfolded. I know there is a way out, but the twists, turns, and obstacles leave me feeling overwhelmed. All of a sudden, I hear one ring tone after another from other cubicles, then my ring tone comes, sounding loud … and louder. No one says anything until the end of our longest work day ever.

unconditional discharge …
I walk with winter gales
into the gathering dark

sleepless again …
I count Trump’s crimes backwards
into oblivion

Chen-ou Liu

There is a lightness to the wind today. It tips small branches and tilts their leaves. Insects don’t seem troubled by the gentle nudges. They know that somewhere, beyond the off-white miasma of tempered cloud, lies a blue sky.

sun trap –
a butterfly bathing
in warmth and silence

In an act of curiosity, I open windows. Offer the invisible guest a chance to explore my living room. It creeps in, gently lifting a curtain. Yet, once inside its manner changes, from cat to kitten. It races around. Rattles spider’s webs in all the high corners. Drags dust bunnies from beneath heavy armchairs.

dandelion clock
the time it takes to become
another sundial

Once the guest has their bearings, attention turns to the host. It works its way over every exposed surface, gently tweaking each hair it encounters. This close inspection might be an assessment. Or simply an invitation to join it outside.

crossword clue
the tickle of an answer
dancing out of reach

In its wake, an entourage arrives. A neighbour’s house alarm blares. Their small dog has bumped the window, while trying to chase a passing jogger. A bumblebee, the size of a wren, blunders in. Like the neighbour’s dog, they can’t find a way out. Then, a small boy, near breaking point, tips over the edge as their mother fails to concede on a crucial point of universal human rights.

careless gear change –
the learner’s frozen panic
as their engine squeals

Two was company, but now I’ve had enough. I usher the bee back to its point of ingress and firmly seal all windows. The harsh house alarm diminishes. Perhaps a UN representative has been called to mediate on behalf of the child. Their wailing becomes steadily less passionate, before stuttering to a stop.

a shaded body
gently rises and falls
the cat’s silent breath

David J Kelly

Don’t worry. The coffee shop aisle is full of noises sounds and sweet airs of fresh baked buns that give delight and hurt not all the sleek-haired wheelie-luggaged latte- limbered students filled to the brim with excitement for a contest of the dance

polished pavements
a huge low sun
spills out the lights

Diana Webb

When I first saw you, on a crowded suburban street, I stopped and stared. You shone like a polished jewel in that plain setting. It wasn’t passion that moved me. It was deeper. Like the unexpected discovery of an overwhelming peace.

a new notebook
that brief perfection
before my words

It wasn’t long. I went out of my way to see you again. Everything was darker, downbeat after overnight rain. In that gloomy setting you were somehow plainer too – no longer hypnotic – your brilliance tarnished by myriad bruises.

last year’s bestseller
turning dog-eared pages
with less care

Ah, the might, or might not, each passing moment carries. Life intervened and it was some time before our next encounter. Quite by chance. How I wish I’d missed you. Your twisted, broken beauty was almost too much to behold.

this treasured tome
cradled in my hands
its broken spine

David J Kelly

Like a cliff. A clean-cut cross-section through petrified time. The edifice stares blankly back. Time has not been entirely static. Countless ripples wrinkle the weathered skin of this frozen, vertical sea. Raised coastlines ramble, then dip and disappear into the monochrome monolith. For so many others, an unremarkable wall. Yet, for me, a near-constant companion. Without meaning to, I have attained suspended animation. Waiting is no longer a penance, but an act of defiance.

adding one more notch
to the sum of wasted days
my thumbnail stylus

David J Kelly

Between Trafalgar and Waterloo, clouds drift by as the foreground trees stand tall on a slope of the downs with their fans of leaves, all stilled by the brush. On the horizon ridge a single tree and a clump stand out at a distance.

On time’s horizon a woman sits and watches a dance. John Constable seems to stand close by in the wield of his brush around those grey-blue-off-white shifts he favours so much. Unstilled by the freeze of a hogshair tip, the foreground trees at the base of the hill interlink boughs in the sway of Terpsichore’s use of the storm as entre deux guerres continues to moan…

a bird through and through
the frame of the glass
unseen whisper

Diana Webb

Dark dark skies. The presage of deluge. Under the black and white awning all hell breaks loose  A bombardment of fallen diaphanous droplets weighted like stone. Ice cold, they freeze up the spine. The sudden light. The dazzle. Through the still green tree of life the nigh weightless beings touch down on the earth. They shine transparent as windows to leaves which gild the air behind them.

gleam
across arms and seat
the empty chair

Diana Webb

sleepless moon
the dream I wish to see
yet again 

The new generation meds are a class apart. If you are allergic (to people???) you may or may not get relief but surely you will get a delirious sleep.
I am in a palace with kings and queens for company. My English teacher from school is the guest of honour. She wears a tall hat adorned with the Kohinoor. “Wow, that’s something” I say to myself in my dream. I see people from different timelines. My present company head is the doorman. A gilded sword shines on his armour. I chuckle to myself “Serve him right” I say to my present self. My daughter is a princess and I am a mute spectator to all the glory.
As my shitzu plants slurpy kisses on my nose, I tell the guests that I would be back soon.

 night river the moon shivers in the cold

Mona Bedi

This morning’s cold fog straddles my back fields. Like a cautious horseback rider it eases towards the barnyard enshrouding the barn and outbuildings in grey mist. I am doing morning chores: speaking as I am wont to my hens just released from last evenings lockup into the chicken yard. I’ve tossed a small kitchen bucket of scraps from last night’s dinner leftovers. There’s always a mad scramble when I let them out in their rush to snatch up whatever tasty bits. Some hens have stayed in nest boxes, already laying or keeping an egg from the cold. The fog’s now beginning to retreat to the trees lining the creek bisecting the farm. Two young calves slip out of the still fog-shrouded field heading for the barn where I’ve put out a double scoop of grain and screening pellets for them. I’ve also cut the strings on a bale of hay dropping a couple of flakes into their feeder. The rest of the cows are still invisible out in the far field. I turn back toward the house needing a second cup of coffee to ease the rest of the morning fog away.

awaiting
coffee pot
bubbling

Ed Higgins