with a light heart heart in the balance balance of odds odds and ends ends of the story story concludes in different ways ways of the heart in a fork a fork with two prongs on the end end of one nothing nothing to see see me …
Diana Webb
poem
Black Ice
bullets
ballet
and belita
face a frame
for reflected rain
ballet
and belita
face a frame
for reflected rain
Bob Carlton
White noise
in the quietude
of winter night
there’s no room
between the clock
the heating vents
breathing
and all this
with everything else
turning over and over
in the head
the heart left
standing at the curb
with the wishbone
of winter night
there’s no room
between the clock
the heating vents
breathing
and all this
with everything else
turning over and over
in the head
the heart left
standing at the curb
with the wishbone
Biswajit Mishra
Untitled (nonsense)
nonsense
Keep looking
and tell me
if you can
when you have
found it
that I can
borrow
for as long
as it makes sense
for both
of us
or either
or neither and then
only then it will fit
the bill to win
an access to
our new club
of squared
pegs
Keep looking
and tell me
if you can
when you have
found it
that I can
borrow
for as long
as it makes sense
for both
of us
or either
or neither and then
only then it will fit
the bill to win
an access to
our new club
of squared
pegs
Biswajit Mishra
After Apple-Picking
Robert, I, too,
have plucked a beauty
from the branch
have plucked a beauty
from the branch
before first frost
when elves still dance,
and I have touched
10,000 more,
and so, I guess,
the need for grace
Anna Cates
Fur Baby
He cast a spell on me.
He always was a charmer,
Sanguine, dashing, and debonair.
He always was a charmer,
Sanguine, dashing, and debonair.
With Fifi, Christine, and Bitsy Bits,
He played the game:
Paddywhack, bunny kick, and nip . . .
My little piece of
black velvet magic
like Puss in Boots
foot upon ogre
Anna Cates
Deceitful Meat*
“Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedies.” —Groucho Marx
take care
with how you rub dizzy
silver iridescence
into spurts
of violent smoke
city, sand,
or jungle . . .
genie’s bottle . . .
do not draw too close
to the explosion
*from Proverbs 23:3
Anna Cates
Poem
yellow ants surrender to two halves of sky
Laila Brahmbhatt
Like Rod Serling
A water main bursts & swallows a car. You had to be there. Same with the yeti. You know what I mean.
snOw
snow
NO
LeRoy Gorman
TIME GARDEN
Time’s not sands, it’s gardens.
Not hot and granular and soulless
but sprouting, blooming,
shrinking, reverting to its dormant state.
Not hot and granular and soulless
but sprouting, blooming,
shrinking, reverting to its dormant state.
Time’s not the footprints, so fragile,
they can’t survive the following tide.
It’s the promise even in the dying stem,
the curled up, rotting petals.
Along the beach, kids build castles
no one lives in, adults tan skin that’s soon to fade.
The garden goes about time’s business.
Its roots can’t help themselves.
John Grey
the other bunny 