Nakba 2023
By Vidya Premkumar
Wayanad, Kerala, India
nihilism
an ice cream truck
with children’s bodies
Nectar
By Tish Davis
Concord Township, Ohio, USA
The African Violets are about to bloom on the sill next to her bed. She taught me how to split these plants in two and how to stimulate the roots by pouring water into the dish that holds the clay pot. Sometimes when I visit, she cuts a slit in a small square of heavy paper and then inserts a single leaf. She always asks me to add the water to the glass jar.
On this first Mother’s Day without my mom, I try to surprise this other one. After the nurse wheels my friend to the dining room for lunch, I hang a hummingbird feeder in the tree outside her window. It takes a while, but the tiny birds finally arrive. Hovering in place, they sip from small plastic cups.
They can even fly backward . . .
light rain
the cemetery vase
also finds me
Author’s Note: Social isolation is a growing public health concern that affects many older people including residents in Long Term Care facilities. Globally, up to 50% of older persons over 60 years of age are at risk of experiencing social isolation and the potential for accompanying mental health issues. 1
Last month, the White House released its first-ever staffing minimums for nursing homes that receive federal funding. The new staffing rules require each resident to receive at least 3.48 hours of care per day. They also require that care facilities have a registered nurse on site 24/7. This is going to present a challenge for states like Kentucky who’ve faced nursing home staff shortages since the pandemic. 2
1. National Library of Medicine: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8236667
2. Spectrum News: https://spectrumnews1.com/ky/louisville/news/2024/05/07/new-nursing-home-staffing-minimum
The Long Walk
By Vidya-Premkumar
Wayanad, Kerala, India
The Meadow
Editor’s Contribution
By Richard Grahn
Evanston, Illinois, USA
i stand in a blossoming meadow
clover, poppy, and black-eyed Susan
ripples of fragrance soften the breeze
summer’s bouquet
dancing with the clouds
light-years away
from the horrors of war
i’m a simple child chasing butterflies
sun dazzling the world around
comes the buzz of a bee making honey
i’m up to my knees in a field of unknowns
imagination unfettered
but, oh, so ill-equipped
to see beyond the flowers
to see those far-off fields
trampled into blood
to envision men in 3-piece suits
playing chess in marble towers
the scribes rewriting history
bankers funding violence
all i see is violet and green
a ladybug lands on my shoulder
like me, another passerby
young men die and mothers weep
my mind wanders
through knee-deep flora
jungles swallow a generation
what do i know of capitulation?
here in the meadow
of dancing petals
storm clouds roll in
i’m soaked to the roots
under rumbling thunder
firmament and earth
in a torrid embrace
oblivious to the fires of Hell
stoked with lives gone up in smoke
barely aware of my footprints
i stare through the downpour
rivulets coursing over my eyes
i’m in tune with nature’s philosophy
evil obscured behind a veil of rain
a crack in the heavens appears
the tempest subsides
wind whispers to the earth and me
as flowers bow their heads in prayer
here where the sky and meadow meet
clouds wave their flag of peace
a rainbow over blossoms.
Beyond the Threshold
By Jenny Ward Angyal
Gibsonville, North Carolina, USA
the slow beat
of an egret’s wings
white
against dark oaks—
earth’s annunciation
vultures
cradled on the wind
endlessly rocking
the tall pines sing
both lullaby and dirge
the milk-white flesh
of a giant puffball
broken open
under the moon
an old woman’s grief
with this drop
of russet ink
from the acorn cap
I write nothing—
the oak said it better
a rift in the wing
of a wild goose
flying headlong
through gathering dusk
the fate of the earth
~red lights 16:1, January 2020
Limb from Limb
By Jenny Ward Angyal
Gibsonville, North Carolina, USA
morning light
gilding the treetops
as they fall
splinters lodge
in my paperbark heart
the sound
of limbs being broken
as if on a wheel—
bloodless the fallen hollies,
the heart of pine laid bare
the blunt thrust
of a bulldozer,
the shudder
of tissues torn apart—
who cries for the earth me too
a box turtle
crushed by the skidder’s tread
at the edge
of the leftover woods
this barricade of spiders’ silk
plumes of smoke
rise from the clearcut
silvery as ghosts
the sound of wind chimes
before the hurricane
may the words
that tumble from my tongue
be turned to moss—
creep over the wounded land,
bury the cities of men
~Ribbons 15:1, winter 2019
Gone
By Jenny Ward Angyal
Gibsonville, North Carolina, USA
the scream
of a red-tailed hawk
over the wood
where dozers wait—
my silent cry an echo
the giraffe
earns a place
on the Red List—
Gaia’s ghost
haunts my dreams
stacking stones
to build a cairn . . .
balancing
Earth’s bones,
I awaken to vertigo
fifty years
from discovery
to extinction—
a Pagan reed-warbler
sings in my heart
4% survived
the Permian extinction,
giving rise
to all that lives . . .
and to my flightless hope
~Ribbons 13:1, Winter 2017
My Experience with Mental Illness
By Jackie Chou
Pico Rivera, California, USA
Having a mental illness
you’re no fresh-faced
one-time jailee
ready to be released
back to society
Nor are you a teen girl
leaving the mountains
where you were raised
to go to college
get two master’s degrees
and write a book
Having a mental illness
you carry
its invisible bars
on your back
for your entire life
With proper treatment
the gnawing symptoms
are kept at bay
so are the locked wards
and prison doors
Learning
By Sigrid Saradunn
Bar Harbor, Maine, USA
learning
to choose peace
at leadership camp
Irish teens room with
Israelis and Palestinians
A New Bird feeder
By Kathabela Wilson
Pasadena, California, USA
a new bird feeder
to inspire us
bluebirds
cardinals, mourning doves
breaking bread together
Sometimes
By Kathabela Wilson
Pasadena, California, USA
sometimes
sometimes
we don’t know
what we’ve sown
in the minds of infants
the turmoil we can’t control
Planting Seeds
Kathabela Wilson – Pasadena, California, USA (kw)
Jackie Chou – Pico Rivera, California, USA (jc)
Sigrid Saradunn – Bar Harbor, Maine, USA (ss)
a dark side
and a sunlit space
in the minds
of our new generation how
to nourish their best inclinations (kw)
edible seeds
add texture to the flesh
of the dragon fruit
if only he could see
past my spiky exterior (jc)
learning
to choose peace
at leadership camp
Irish teens room with
Israelis and Palestinians (ss)
sometimes
we don’t know
what we’ve sown
in the minds of infants
the turmoil we can’t control (kw)
on the border
I drop seeds
to both sides
sunflowers and poppies
watering them with tears (kw)
leaving the shells
of her sunflower seeds
over the table
what example was mom
planting in me (jc)
Thanksgiving in June
celebrating Seeds of Peace
sharing a common meal
strangers now friends
with similar feelings (ss)
a new birdfeeder
to inspire us
bluebirds
cardinals, mourning doves
breaking bread together (kw)
freighter
to America
they built her a swing
my mother at 16
in love with the new world (kw)
our front lawn
covered with dandelions
in spring
if only my father could see
my blossoming poems (jc)
The Green
By Kathabela Wilson
Pasadena, California, USA
It was a tree, becomes a song, a table, leaf after leaf, opening. We sit around its absence as it floats on memory. Shapeshifter becomes dreamcatcher, an escape hatch, small carved windmills turning very fast. We pull up small stumps polished clean.
congress of earthlings
considering the revival
of green
we fall asleep
in different languages
First Place – Science Fiction Poetry Association’s Dwarf Stars Award, 2018.
First published in the Glass Lyre Press anthology, Carrying the Branch – Poets in Search of Peace.
Feather Dusting
By Tish Davis
Concord Township, Ohio, USA
Fireflies
Light beamers
Never tell
Story-keepers
Youthful frolic
Moon minors
Memory flickers
Old-timers
Keepsake lanterns
Summer stars
Always released
From these glass jars
Night Paddling
By Tish Davis
Concord Township, Ohio, USA
I show my son how to tie up the food pack. “It keeps the bears away.” He carries me through the darkness to the lake’s edge where my husband is waiting with the canoe. The last time I was in the Boundary Waters I was the teenager. Now I must ride in the center of the boat. My doctor advised against this trip and told me not to expect remission from the disease that is consuming my body.
Paddles pull us forward away from the pines and into starlight. Here the moon dissolves into the lake. I take a metal cup out of the pouch and dip it into the water.
planetarium
an operator
freezes the sky
First published in Haibun Today, May 9, 2008
Night Heron
By Theresa A. Cancro
Wilmington, Delaware, USA
small silence –
a night heron ensnared
in fishing wire
First published in Plum Tree Tavern, 2015
Landfill Overflow
By Theresa A. Cancro
Wilmington, Delaware, USA
landfill overflow . . .
a praying mantis
bows its head
A version of this haiku was originally published in The Weekly Avocet, #508, August 28, 2022
Manatee
By Theresa A. Cancro
Wilmington, Delaware, USA
crescent moon –
a scarred manatee
nurses her calf
First published in Every Chicken, Cow, Fish and Frog: Animal Rights Haiku, Robert Epstein and Miriam Wald, editors (Kindle edition), 2017
Hunter Moon
By R. Suresh babu
Chikmagalur, Karnataka, India
hunter moon
a rhino
without his horn
From a Sphere
By Diana Webb
Leatherhead, Surrey, UK
Sylvie is doing her English homework. She skims through ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ by the poet John Keats and reads the final line aloud, ” ‘ Fled is that music – Do I wake or sleep?’ ” She reads it again and again. She loves the poet’s voice and writes a haiku:
echoes
just echoes
notes from a dream
Her mother tells her the writer from the Romantic movement stayed for a few days near their home, just over a hundred years ago. While there, he wrote in a letter that he could take part in the existence of a bird and asserted, ‘nothing startles me beyond the Moment’.
“I’ll never hear that bird for a moment “says her fourteen-year-old daughter. “Our teacher says it may soon be extinct. So perhaps the poet was psychic when he wrote those lines and especially this one, ‘No hungry generations tread thee down'”
She takes a deep breath and writes another haiku.
marching for greed
in dust underfoot
music of stardust