Steve Black

 

 

*

a life in boxes
the memories her daughters
fought over
priced to clear
in the last hour of the car boot sale

*
this moment of clarity
a dying star
burns itself out
surrenders to the void
behind the gas works
*

since the misunderstanding
in marks and spencers
she takes communion
two bus rides away
where no one knows her name
*

the early light
bleeds out
another documentary
about sharks in big water
and small
*

his mother away
visiting her sister in margate
he introduces me
to his friend
gabriel from rio de janiero

 

 

 

Steve Black: Other recent work maybe found at the likes of Atlas Poetica, Failed Haiku and Skylark Tanka Journal.

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Charles Tarlton

 

 

 

TIME, GENTLEMEN, TIME

CARMODY: We ought not take too long describing the winds or the leaves that
                          dance along them. Ah.
BLIGHT: What the older man knows. That’s my objective. 

Then you tell the truth,
when you shift your focus onto
things that bubble up
from below, stark underneath,
you can’t stop them coming up.

His mouth hangs widely
open, his truths unable
to form themselves
into solid things, they flutter
on the stale wind of his breath.

When time is spent,
and once spent not to be found
again. All the things
I did but can’t remember, how
love slides away like a dream.

 

 

 

 

Charles Tarlton is a retired professor living and writing poetry in Northampton, MA with his wife, Ann Knickerbocker, an abstract painter.

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Deborah P Kolodji

 

 

*
long nights
of political discussions
the sun anyway

*

rocky shore
blunt tentacles of a green surf
anemone

*

spring concert
blossoms blown
from the trumpet tree

*

sheltering roots
of the old oak
box turtle dreams

*

restaurant receipts
the bitterness
of hotel coffee

*

irreconcilable differences
the black hole
between

 

Deborah P Kolodji is the moderator of the Southern California Haiku Study Group and has published over 900 haiku.  Her first full length book of haiku and senryu, highway of sleeping towns, is available from Shabda Press.

 

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Jane McCarthy Wilkinson

 

Your location

Round the corner I hear you
coming I hear you coming
round the corner of the barn
I arrange my arms and legs
I hear around the corner
of the barn the gravel’s tough
back teeth working doggedly
on splintering a bone
I spin up a cloud
of smoke to be within
position myself beneath the salty buttered light
farm manure bellows cold pools like clouds of sound rising slowly as the milky way
we gather like water
and ripple open

 

 

 

 

Jane McCarthy Wilkinson was short listed for Lo and Behold the Poetry School’s micro-commission 2014 and has a response poem to a Shakespeare sonnet in 154 anthology 2016. She lives in London with her family and is a Landscape Architect.

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Craig W. Steele

 

*

unimpressed
by the garden fence
fog

*

howling winds—
politicians promises
blow farther from truth

*

lunch beneath a maple
turkey vultures circle
above                   us!
 

 

 

When not writing poetry, Craig W. Steele is a professor of biology at Edinboro University in northwestern Pennsylvania. His haiku have appeared recently or are forthcoming in Modern Haiku, Asahi Haikuist Network, Akitsu Quarterly, High Coupe and elsewhere.

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David J Kelly

 

 

 

is, was, will be

There was a man who used to stand at that corner in Hyde Park, when the speakers weren’t proselytising. He’d hang around for hours, occasionally clearing his throat. I only heard him speak the once, when he asked me the time.

At school, there was a kid who used to create imaginary friends. He had a collection of matchboxes with random, small animals in them, mostly dead. The tragedy of his situation was completely lost on us … we just thought he knew witchcraft.

There were only apes before people. Their behaviour probably warned of future social conflicts, but no-one was paying attention. We now know they sometimes eat meat, use tools and hunt in groups.

Theoretical physics states, “In the beginning there was nothing”. But from that nothing came everything. When the Big Bang took place, it was the singular, most dramatic liberation of possibilities in the history of time. Perhaps, one day, we’ll learn to cope with such freedom.

there is/was/will be
a place where things
are/were/will be perfect
it can’t/didn’t/won’t
last long
David J Kelly is an ecologist, poet and photographer. He lives and works in Dublin, Ireland and finds both scientific and artistic inspiration in the natural world. His short form poetry has been published widely. Twitter: @motto_sakura

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Mick Kulp

 

 

*

The octopus flashed
Calm blue and brown, teasing me
Like a fan dancer.

*

Pulse pounding, sweating,
I dig in my pocket for
The engagement ring.

*

The ruffian wind
Elbows through dogwoods leaving
Drifts of white petals

*

The singer wails out
Para bailar la bamba
Tequila goes down

 

 

 

 

Mick Kulp is a writer and father of two mostly grown children who have survived his shenanigans through smarts they inherited from their mother.  His nonfiction articles, fictional stories, and poems have appeared  in consumer magazines, newspapers, and literary journals.

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