Autumn Leaves

By Jim Bates We waited off to the side for our order, all three of us quiet, unused to this. Sure, we'd eaten at McDonald's before but not under circumstances like these - me taking Sammy and Elise out after school because I couldn't take them back to what used to be our home. Lynn …

Poems by Gloria Buckley

I AM THE RAIN I am the rain That drips down my palms And nourishes the trees The flower, the dirt I am the mud that soaks up All the water And I am the well And the drink I swallow From the rain that flowed Into the well Which was the water That soaked …

The Untranslatable: Psithurism

This is a series of poems of words that do not directly translate into English. I have tried to capture the essence of the word in a poem. By Thomas Page A smooth zephyr carries the fallen leaves of trees Across the dried concrete littered with autumn Painted shades of orange and yellow On a …

Winter Haiku (305-309)

By Thomas Page   The hues of winter Like a forgotten photo Are rich in mem'ry.   The orang'd leaves, champions of Autumn, remain strong on Hibernating trees.   The frozen pond like The artisan's glass imbued With imperfections.   Time gushes like a Wound while traffic like white blood Cells clot up cars.   …

Haiku 290-299

By Thomas Page 290 Ebullient feelings, Like flambéd meringue, rest upon The base beneath it   291 Leaves hued with yellow Falling gently on parents Playing with their child   292 The cogs work beneath The face of a clock ticking Away on a wall   293 The bird feeder, prey Of those who fear …

Haiku 268-278

By Thomas Page 268 A dying leaf, life In miniature; a mystery Play put on by trees. 269 A wolf howling at The moon is looking for some  Other of its kind. 270 A child will not know The fruits thrown into the trash By his own parents.   271 A caterpillar Wishes to be a …

Song of September

By Ken Allan Dronsfield During the foggy nights of late September.   As the bugs have faded away, the colorful   leaves have once again come out to play.   Laughing and gliding down to the ground,   some spin like helicopters, round and round.   The cat sits watching the tendrils of haze,   …

Burnt Leaves

By Ahmad Al-khatat Sometimes, it’s better to leave the past unsaid to anyone untrusted when the ears hear nothing of delight but about a world that is breaking in pieces of dryness and moisture Little birds of heaven fly above the graveyard of unknown tombs Some of them were actually for friends we met below the …