The Iconoclasm of Artifice

by Edward Cates and Anna Cates To me, ancient ruinsAre always preferableTo stark metropolitan glitz Let me see the placesWhere time has seeped intoLichen-wreathed stoneworkAppreciating nature's revulsionAt the angular excesses of manSet my soul free to danceWhere the wild winds whistleUntamed through empty panesLet my tired heart again savor  The taste of reclamation There is oft more beautyIn where man once wasThan where he yet remainsArtistry in tumbledown ruinsDeciphered by nature’s penTranscribing life onto bricksIn fantastical, kenopsic verseTeach us to love her poetryLet our hearts learn to exult inThe iconoclasm of artifice antique landeroded strand revealingthe cairn . . .poised like…

The Cyclorama  

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio, USA as blood seepsfrom the soldiers’ earshandmade bone dicetumble out of crevicesin the hastily built stone wall After touring the museum, I ride the escalator up and onto the battlefield.  An attendant directs the crowd into the chaos silently motioning us to step in closer, to step down onto the dimly lit viewing platform that encircles Philippoteaux’s, Battle of Gettysburg. I stand, by chance, near an exploding caisson.  Wood bites from a splintered carriage carve jagged cuts deep in my skin; gunpowder dust—brushed hot and thick—swells my lungs. A wild eyed gelding— riderless, powerful legs in…

Turtle Moon

By R. Suresh BabuChikmagalur, Karnataka, India turtle moonan overturned frisbeeon the beach

No Quarter

by Richard GrahnEvanston, Illinois, USA fields of cotton . . .we sing "Amazing Grace"with the larksPine shadows rest on the flowering dogwood. Steadfast, we've marched to this place. The Southern Cross and Old Glory wave—colors of this April day. Soon the sky will turn to smoke and spider lilies will weep. Rows of soldiers stand in the oaks as we kneel near the Poison Spring. A cloud obscures the sun and I hear the battle cry. The air swells thick with blood. Recalling their chains, I pull the trigger. waspsin the beehive—family feud Once, twice, they charge, then scurry back…

Sundown 

By Kala RameshChennai/Pune, India Meanwhile a city wired to the hustle and bustle of aspirations.     Kali temple     a mantra-mumbling priest     cuts the goat's throat Bones Journal: #22, February 2021

The Red Dot

By Kala Ramesh Chennai/Pune, India the red dot on my forehead binds me            to a man who's in his own orbit          parading          the so-called equality          with iron bars concealed …          this urban woman lives          in her dreams —tanka doha (tanka couplet) Kabir, a 15th-century Indian mystic-poet-saint, is famous for his doha. We have longer tanka sequences, but there is something special about a twin tanka which says so much in a short span of 10 lines. 

Tiger Tiger

By Kala RameshChennai/Pune, India tiger tigerdwindling rapidly—my grandchildone day will know youonly from pictures Tanka 2020 (Red Moon Press Anthology)

Early Spring

By Neena SinghChandigarh, India early spring . . .young doves cooamid war sirens Chrysanthemum, issue 30, Spring 2023, 15/4/23

Starless Night

Neena SinghChandigarh, India starless nightthe abused child’sblank lookhaiku Dialogue, facial expressions- sadness 1.11.23

Sturgeon Moon

Neena SinghChandigarh, India sturgeon moon—a tramp rummagesfor his livelihoodHaikuNetra 1.1, 10 September 2023

Vultures

Kala RameshChennai/Pune, India vulturesaround a dead elephant -tusks missing Modern Haiku: issue 52.1, February 2021

Scattered Grains

Sandip ChauhanGreat Falls, Virginia, USA wooden raftspetals drifting aimlesslyin the stream A plea passed along by a friend catches my eye: an urgent request for women's clothing donations for Afghan refugees. I quickly search through my wardrobe, gathering whatever items I can spare. Clothes that have long been neglected suddenly gain new purpose as I carefully fold and bundle them together. Carrying the bundle, I approach the designated drop-off location. I lightly tap on the door and a woman with flour-dusted hands answers with a smile. I hand her the bundle and say, "If you need anything else, don't hesitate…

Quo Vadis

By Rupa AnandNew Delhi, India a dahlia in full bloom lifts its face to the sun Whatever is born, dies. Over the years I’ve buried koels, squirrels, bulbuls and doves. I’ve lost beloved pets and nursed dying ones. I’ve seen friends fall to covid, ill health and disease, relatives with Alzheimer’s, friends with dementia, and batch-mates dead. I’ve struggled with relationships and ended fruitless ones. It’s when Death comes riding close, that we realise our physical mortality. Yet through it all, one thing sustains me, this sense of eternal Existence, of being truly alive through the ages. I’m alive and…

For Breath

I thank you God.  For even one to disadvantage others,please forgive me, God.  With every one I praise you immanent in all creation, God. For all who wish to animate our planet well, i ask your help oh God,And that includes myself. flit of a bird through morning prayers.a sigh of wings  Diana Web - Leatherhead, Surrey, UK

THE LAST OF THE WYANDOTS

By Tish DavisConcord Township, Ohio A local artist sketches him in full Indian headdress.   At the entrance to the trail, two painters read the short biography about Bill Moose before setting up their easels along the north rim.  A viewing platform overlooks the ravine where brown leaves ferment along the bank of a stream.  Glacial erratics are scattered along the bottom— fallen warriors on flat limestone. Indian Run Falls, heard but not seen.  Voices in the abandoned village. I’m a few steps behind carrying my camera.  The sunlight is filtered by Maple, Blue Ash, Shagbark Hickory.  An occasional opening…

That Day

By Reid HepworthSidney, British Columbia, Canada People sometimes mistake innocence with ignorance. It certainly isn’t that way with my brother. Today, my brother got a bee in his bonnet and won’t let it rest. He keeps bringing it up. It doesn’t take long, what with his incessant harping and a healthy dose of reality checking, to motivate me to start listening.  In no time, he has a bunch of us agreeing to give up our afterschool hours and weekends to help him. Armed with clipboards and a handmade petition, we knock on neighbourhood doors, and ask for signatures. Most of…

Black Hole

By Alan PeatBiddulph, Staffordshire, United Kingdom This morning I awoke with an ocean inside me. The faint cries of gulls gave the game away; that, and a gentle lapping at the back of my throat. With every breath, salt air filled the room; shoals of fish swam in my belly; sharks slept; the calls of whales boomed deep within me; kelp waved behind my eyes. All was well until lunch when the cramps began. By evening, I had no choice but to take a taxi to the hospital. The doctors ummed and ahed; the nurses frowned. I guess they’d never…

No Chirps

By Pravat Kumar PadhyIndia no chirpsin barren treesI grievefor the lost treasureof mountain green

truth-be-told

By Roberta Beach JacobsonIndianola, Iowa, USA straying farfrom the truth-be-toldcracks in democracy