I would wake up inside a peony small like an elf and it’s sunday
two pinkish mice
track for mask parcels
summer wind
Isabella Kramer
I would wake up inside a peony small like an elf and it’s sunday
two pinkish mice
track for mask parcels
summer wind
Isabella Kramer
Asleep all day.
Awake all night.
Alive. (In spite of a certain FaceTime tea party.)
out of the frying pan–
no one to bellyache
Helen Buckingham
From the car speaker, a recorded voice of a municipal employee repeats again: “stay at home”… the orwellian visions are overwhelming.
quarantine night
I wake up
into the silence
Andrea Cecon
The rodeo clown’s eleven-gallon hat left in the dust.
zin drawn
from an old oaken barrel
the winemaker snorts
Zane Parks
Sunrise after sunrise, a precious totem illuminated under western skies.
delicate balances
a sense of urgency
in a large space
Gary Hittmeyer
On the road there is only an ageless man with the hands marked by illness. He is sitting on the sidewalk close to the traffic lights.
rain –
the bowl of a beggar
overflows
Antonio Mangiameli
…..remember…..what the dormouse said…..
dawn
life’s
avatar
Helen Buckingham
the tide is ebbing. time for the old sailor to express the transience and emptiness of it all in a single breath. a final, salty breath.
ocean wind –
the wings of an albatross
become a flute
Stephen Toft
stock up now with a small long sleeved white nightie a coil of wire and a liberal amount of tinsel
darkening sky
the way a feather sinks
touches the earth unseen
Diana Webb
Ginkgo trees Pic courtesy: Costfoto / Barcroft Media / Getty