Poetry

by Helen Tzagoloff

In the rays of winter sunshine
at four o’clock in the afternoon,
the river is calm, an opal
of greens and blues and reds.
At four fifteen the sky is grey,
the river dark and turbulent.
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by Kippy Stewart
Under moonlights magic
Cricket songs sound long
of summers passing too swiftly,
towards Octobers Fall.
When snowflakes pile in winter,
‘ll dream dreams of summertime
Within the rhythm of Crickets lullaby….

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by Neal Whitman
I lay awake cold.
My left thumb rests on my chin
below chestnut moon.
Neal Whitman is a member of the Yuki Teikei Haiku Society of San Jose and the Haiku Poets of Northern California. Though contemporaries vary the syllable count, he likes to stick to the traditional Japanese 5-7-5 structure.
Kingyo are Japanese words associated with [...]

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by Paul Hostovsky
There’s a poem in Gerald Stern’s mouth.
If you’ve ever gone to see him read
you’ve noticed that thing he does
with his lips, pursing them, flaring them,
wetting them like a pair of water birds
come to drink and mate in the middle
of his face, preening themselves between
the words, making love between the lines.
And between his two [...]

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by Martha Christina
We’re in water
up to our armpits
and I’m afraid
of going under.
But when you
put your hand
on the small
of my back,
what can I do
but float?
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