Patrick Deeley

 

 

North Mayo Haiku

 

 

Our latest clearing –

Nephin keeping its distance

travels with us still.

 

Wild roses, raindrops;

the stone quarry stands open

to blossom and fall.

 

A ditched toilet bowl,

a streamlet flowing through it

high on Sralagagh.

 

All the sun-shot geese

falling now on Annagh Marsh –

a child’s flamingoes.

 

Fern and celandine,

a mattress printing its own

celandine and fern.

 

A picnic’s leavings

around Rathlacken court tomb,

the bog closes in.

 

 

 

Patrick Deeley is from County Galway.  His poems have been widely published and translated.  Groundswell: New and Selected, is the latest of his six collections with Dedalus Press.  His memoir, The Hurley Maker’s Son, appeared from Transworld in 2016.

 

 

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David He

 

*

the winter sun

warms her bedclothes –

open window

*

rustling leaves

in the bare forest …

unwanted girl

*

snowflakes…

ducklings quack

about the lake

*

a crow’s feather

turned over by the wind

night glow

*

twilight settles

on the frozen river

her departing call

 

 

David He has been working as an advanced English teacher for 35 years in a high school. So far he has had twenty short English stories published in anthologies. In recent years he has had haiku published in magazines like Acorn, The Heron’s Nest, Presence, Rocket bottles, Frogpond, A One Hundred Gouges, Shamrock, First Literary Review-East , Modern Haiku,Frozen Butterfly and some international magazines. He has also had tanka published in Tanka of America,Skylark, Ribbones and Cattails.

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Ann Christine Tabaka

*

critters scurry
preparing for winter
a nut cracks my skull

*

shadows deepen
as autumn nears
time to close the door

*

a rainy day
falls from the sky
barefooting it

 

 

 

Ann Christine Tabaka lives in Delaware.  She is a published poet and artist. Recent credits: Haiku Journal, Failed Haiku, Sonic Boom, The Cicada’s Cry, Brass Bell, The Zen Space, Zoomoozophone Review, Bear Creek, Brevis, Scifaikuest, Blognostics Haiku, Stanzaic Stylings.

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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 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 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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