bathroom floor at night a tear drips from my red nose splat on the cold tile
By Tina D. Lopez7 months ago in Poets
Morning station light A pigeon hops near the rail Coffee spills on stone
By Melissa 7 months ago in Poets
Ice cracks in the glass A lemon slice drifts aside Chair legs scrape the floor
Wind moves the curtain Dust turns slowly in the sun A page flips itself
Train doors slide open Cold air moves along the floor Someone drops a coin
Steam lifts from the cup A spoon taps once on the rim Rain hits the window
old well, no bucket a frog jumps in anyway the sound of water Did you know that Matsuo Bashō (and other masters) didn't have to follow the form of a Haiku at all, it's a Haiku *because* they wrote it.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
opening the flesh suppressed by a tourniquet his eyes rolling back
By Bride of Sound7 months ago in Poets
tidal waves recede obsidian sands reclaim the jagged shoreline
Surrounded by oth- ers. A bee rests for a mo- ment on my thumb. Come.
By Sarah O'Grady7 months ago in Poets
all the birds fall dead a massacre in the wind carcasses fester
We can easily Count seeds in any apple Not apples in seeds
By Margaret Minnicks7 months ago in Poets
