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COLLABORATIVE POETRY
TASTING PISTACHIO
David Bingham
Chloe Bingham
Glastonbury –
hoping her daughter won’t make
the same mistake
in a field
mournful cows
his diary tells
a different story from the one
they knew
…………………..
tasting pistachio
for the first time
by moonlight
the fledgling barn owl
tests its wings
swirls of wood-smoke
drift through the hedge
………………..
on a bench
with the Racing Post
he lights another fag
collars up, arm in arm, they take
a short cut through the park
the dog pulls
on its lead as they pause
by the kissing gate
……………….
nothing to declare
he waits expectantly at arrivals
in a suburban garden
cherry blossom swirls
around the ‘For Sale’ sign
unforeseen rain
floods the boule court
Started: 18.8.10 Finished: 8.11.10
A COLLECTION OF DAYS
Jean Brasseur
stacey dye
summer
crumbles underfoot
crushed leaves
memories
scatter in the wind
Canada geese
turn south
brisk autumn wind
never changes course
feather grabs my sweater
grandma's quilt
ripples on the line
gunmetal sky
threatens rain
I take cover
tumbleweeds zigzag
across the badlands
wind driven
hawk circles overhead
playing solitaire
missing gate
eroding mortar
the old stone fence
a border
between ages
sunflowers
woven among cornstalks
catch my eye
gilt trim
on burlap sacks
faded barn
white trim peeling
under the gray roof
an owl roosts
patiently waiting
full moon blossoms
through a hazy veil
night birds murmur
their world always
shades of autumn gray
DREAMS OF FLYING
Owen Bullock
André Surridge
this is the day
our lives begin
born again
and again and again
just like the sun
in the perfect city
of my imagination
I open my eyes . . .
everything is
as it should be
raindrops in puddles . . .
the Johnny Cash impersonator
walks a dog . . .
his mother calls out
as we pass her door
another
cold snap on the way . . .
I head
into town to buy
a thicker duvet
light pierces
curtains and glass
day appears
and spreads in circles
like a guardian's influence
stirring tea
something magical
about this
first cup of the day
every day
a distressing call
precipitates a walk -
nothing out there
is agonising, or trying
to defend itself
my footsteps
join the song of the street
riff & rhythm
of an ancient mantra
"this too will pass"
garlic on my fingers
wine on my lips
longings
evaporate with the
juice for the casserole
the body hungers
for so many things . . .
happily
most are never
out of season
Saturday market
a leek and some mandarins
catch my eye -
I won't even mention
all the women
ninety-year-old
on a mobility scooter -
I ask about regrets
her blue-grey eyes squint
"could have taken more risks"
small scars
from the bike crash
when I was thirteen . . .
I remember the rush of air
with such fondness
time seemed
deliciously long back then
& the future
an open highway
lost in the distance
the self
engrossed in work
can finally
have a break
from its incessant selfness
labour of love
in return I receive
nothing
but the satisfaction
of a job well done
the only time
he came to watch me play
he said
"you had the best boot
on that field"
mum said
dad had no heart . . .
I told
school friends he came
from another planet
daffodils
on the bank
and earts *
in the hedgerows
picked for mother, and pies
gran was the one
who taught us about birds
trees and flowers . . .
she kept a finger
on nature's pulse
somehow
I helped the nurse
with granfer's injections -
much later I was given
his unused ledgers for notebooks
the future
unfolds what is hidden
from us . . .
so many stars
waiting for their light
with dusk,
thunder and rain -
loved ones
who are about to leave
still under one roof
she sings
we are not long here . . .
voice and strings
tremble with the echo
of vulnerability
'Tunnel of Love'
yes, it's dark & deep
through caves,
the heart of the mountain
& the jaundiced city
it's hard
to remember
how we got here
as if someone were
stealing our yesterdays
branches are bare
seed heads still falling
the frost
wakes old feelings
cracked ice, shining faces
I hang
my coat of cares
on the hook
of a winter moon . . .
ah, this magic potion, sleep
today
we go to the circus
we couldn't afford
when you were little
and we meet a future wife
so many
of the best things in life
are still free -
this view out over the lake
to a purple mountain
I can see
a bush-clad hill
from my bed
Spring is coming
though a long way off
further still
one cloud framed in blue . . .
a westerly
is bustling the rain -
there will be a frost tonight
camellias in bloom
and scenting the air
pink, purple
all these skies
taking off
contrail
of a jet going
who knows where . . .
I used to dream of flying
oh that joy of weightlessness
I turn
a blank page
and write
in the middle of it
the word 'potential'
imagine
a flock of blackbirds
on a field of snow . . .
up they go and when
they return the word is there
* earts - Cornish wild fruit related to blueberries
Haiga by Yu Chang and John Stevenson
EARTHQUAKE
Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime
the gale has stopped
we talk about the flight
to Norfolk Island
her first overseas trip
each day she counts the sleeps
I can't get it off my mind
I'm still thinking about
the South Island -
the terrible beauty of mountains,
bizarre shapes of rocks and swollen rivers
imagine the quake
two thousand chooks
going berserk
all those smashed eggs
& a yard full of feathers
reconstruction -
music rings around
Cathedral Square
where a crowd gathers in the rain
for the gift of a free concert
another birthday-
he describes the card
he has created
on his computer
to lighten the mood
beyond the window
a final flourish
of storm clouds
above the new spring growth
of oak trees
RAINDROPS
Patricia Prime
Catherine Mair
'Wanderlust' -
after the cloudburst
the backpackers'
clotheslines empty
except for coloured clothes pegs
at the rest home she wakes
reaches out to touch my hair-
on the way home
we watch little diving ducks
ruffle the river
from the bushes
the chatter of boys' voices
as they collect branches
to make catapults
for their war games
the stone seat
is cold through thin cotton
children dig out mortar
and slash at shrubs
with long sticks
gliding beneath
the new metal footbridge
a fallen log -
over the Kamai ranges
weighted clouds
a sudden squall
we stop at the video shop
select four
& a western
'especially for him'
SUMMER
Sharron Reid Crowson
Dawn Reid Ward
sprinkler chittering
arc of rainbow water
heaven for tiny frogs
each sparkling drop a crown
no need for a princess here
dragonfly duo
silhouetted in flight
by summer's sterile sky
everything in pairs today
my shadow walks alone
white cloud pile-up
so much drama
little chance of rain
all the times I've held my tongue
no need for seeding arid ground
cafeteria doors
cold air smacks into the heat
instant fog
without glasses still foggy
blind either way
summer bay
glimpsed between oaks
sunlit scales
hiss of cool relief
deceit shared by tepid shade
bicycles wait
some lean, some stand, some fallen
the sun wheels overhead
glaring down daring us
to take to the road
hummingbirds clash
around the red feeder
jeweled warriors
protecting the empty bottle
as fiercely as the full
cobwebbed corners
sticky threads embrace the broom
hunger left behind
tomorrow another web
soon another broom . . .
Vier-Elemente-Zyklus
Four-Elements-Cycle
Claudia Brefeld (CB)
Heike Gewi (HG)
Walter Mathois (WM)
- Luft/Air Zerteilter Wind – Cleaved wind
- Erde/Earth Tiefe Risse – Deep cracks
- Feuer/Fire Aus der Glut – Out of the embers
- Wasser /Water Zur Quelle – To the spring
Zerteilter Wind
Alpenglühen ...
ein Steinadler zerteilt
den Wind
Pfeifen -
ihr Unterrock flattert
Stau
am Fliederbusch
tief einatmen
Wolken ziehen auf
Salzküsse an der Reling
Kopfschmerzen ...
das Donnerglas
anstarren
Der Laubfrosch erklimmt
den höchsten Zweig - Schweißperlen |
Cleaved wind
Alpenglow ...
an eagle cleaves
the wind
Whistling -
her petticoat flutters
Traffic jam
at the lilac bush
breathing deeply
Gathering clouds
Salt kisses by the ship’s rail
Headache ...
Staring at
the barometer
The tree frog climbs
up the highest twig - sweat beads |
CB: 1, 4 / WM: 2, 5 / HG: 3, 6
Tiefe Risse
Ach, dieser lange
Kieselweg - nach Rotwein
schmeckt er
Ausgestreckt auf dem Felsen
Sommerwärme
Modriger Duft -
der Scheibe entwächst
eine Vase
In meinem Schatten
tiefe Risse - Flussbett
Wüstennacht
ich lausche dem Wandern
der Dünen
Hüttenfeier - Wechselschritt
zwischen dampfenden Fladen |
Deep cracks
Oh, this long
pebble path - it's got a taste
of red wine
Sprawled over the rock
warmth of summer
Musty smell -
growing out of the throw
a vase
In my shadow
deep cracks - river bed
Desert night
I listen to the shifting
of the dunes
Cabin party - crossover steps
between steaming cow pats |
HG: 1, 4 / CB: 2, 5 / WM: 3, 6
Aus der Glut
Gelöscht -
der Feuerschlucker nippt
am Rum
Sie kocht auf kleiner Flamme
Ausgeträumt
Brandrodung
bis zum Horizont
Die Augen tränen
Weihrauchstäbchen -
durch den Nebel schwebt ihr Nabel
Er zieht
Eisen aus der Glut -
ängstliches Wiehern
Eine Tür fällt ins Schloss
schwelender Docht ... |
Out of the embers
Extinguished -
The fire-eater sips
at rum
She's on the simmer
A dream has burst
Slash-and-burn
up to the horizon
Watering eyes
Frankincense sticks -
her navel floats through mist
He pulls
iron out of the embers -
fearful neighing
A door snaps shut
smouldering wick ... |
WM: 1, 4 / HG: 2, 5 / CB: 3, 6
Zur Quelle
Stromschnellen
mein Lachen reißt sich
von mir los
Zur Quelle, zum Enzian
gebeugt
So dürr das Riedgras
Die Kälte des Sees
erreicht mich leicht
Zwischen Schneeflocken
tanzt dein Atem
Rasensprenger -
Pauline schnappt nach dem
Regenbogen
Ein Tautropfen fällt
in die Stille - Morgentee |
To the spring
Rapids
my laughter breaks away
from me
To the spring, to gentian
bowed low
Sedge so dry
The lake’s coldness reaches me
easily
Between snowflakes
your dancing breath
Lawn sprinkler -
Pauline snaps at
the rainbow
A dew drop falls
into the silence - morning tea |
CB: 1, 4 / WM: 2, 5 / HG: 3, 6
DOORS
June Moreau
Giselle Maya
for my shelter
made with branches
of sweet birch and pine
I fashion a door
and a window for the moon
dark crown
of winter mountain
whose hands made
this wooden door
shielding me from frost
Keeping
my tent flap open
so the mountain
may not keep to itself
its many secrets
chickadees
come for seed
I open the door
to see Rabbit pounding rice
in the winter moon
doors, doors
what would life be
without doors
a butterfly opening
and closing its wings
doors separate us
saying goodbye
to you
I wonder when
we will meet again
I come to the door
of my old cabin
in the forest
and I hear
music within
the dark wood
of the door shines,
rubbed and polished
with a brass knob -
it makes me feel at home
the huge barn door
of winter
is closed behind us now
and the bright door
of spring opens
old door
collaged four season panels
no handle
a little bell on a red ribbon
jingles when it¹s pushed open
the moon
just an old knob
on a door
to a room
beyond the stars
might
there be a door
to one’s heart
if so, who in the world
could open it
I opened
the door this morning
the whole sky
came in and fields
of white clover
doors of illusion
I dream that he would come
on a trip with me
a sailing ship criss-crosses
the Mediterranean
he opens the door
and hears
the secret sounds
he left
footsteps ago
the door
to the guest room
glass paneled
with a cicada linen curtain
for guests to dream and rest
on my doorstep
this morning
the tiny paw prints
of a chipmunk
in the snow
chapel door
massive oak wood
hard to open
inside a magical space
for music, paintings and poetry
the name
I was trying to remember
came to me
just as I put my hand
on the doorknob
door to the cellar
painted in apricot
inside
an earth floor with fire wood,
boxes where stray cats shelter
MAKING SOUP
Alex Pieroni
Jane Reichhold
I made miso soup
for the empress of haiku.
will she ask for more?
how to publish
less of more
along the road
the thistle blooms
every year
smooth on my tongue
the first of this harvest
only the best tea
is drunk
from an empty bowl
the moon tonight
a flat curved crescent
soldier on
and sing to the death,
brave October cricket
getting dressed in a fog
to go to another funeral
along this muddy path
one plant remains evergreen
sprigs of wild thyme
shiny white smiles at the reunion
we were that class of 1955
the best ones
are picked in the fall
strawberries
"the most important sex organ is the brain"
today's email from an old lover
at 3 am
the sun shone
from a cold white box
his face aglow with desire
in the light of the fridge
I dreamt of dry toast
and awoke to crumbs in bed
sleepwalking snacking
confused by the time change
habits are now ha-bitch-ual
without thinking
I pluck a cherry blossom
and think of the moon
may all good things
come to the open heart
AS FAR AS THE HORIZON
Ramona Linke
Helga Stania
Mount Schabell
autumn moon looks
through the Martin's hole
harewood throws its leaves
onto the church stairs
a stranger -
horn blowers are practicing
Le Rendez-vous de chasse
as far as the horizon
forests filled with smoke
Java
a bamboo raft
drifting into the sea
light blue the room
it will be a boy
reunion
after many years
remaining silent
at family dinner
serving rumors
dark beer on tap
the evaluation
of the field walking
red poppy interweaves
neighbor's paling fence
escape attempts
in the container
air shortage
to the Klezmer Concert ...
the NAVI: bear sharp left
archery
giving away victory
for a kiss
honeymoon. Above Tokio
the first sky
pale crescent
wolves roam
through frozen lands
pictures of the pavement artist
auctioned for needy children
Roulette.
Homeward bound
microsleep
up to the middle of the pond
brittle ice
from the south
wind carries
the scent of hyacinths
moving on unsteady legs
first Easter lambs
HORIZONTWEIT
Ramona Linke
Helga Stania
Am Schabell …
Der Herbstmond schaut
durchs Martinsloch
Bergahorn wirft sein Laub
auf die Kirchenstufen
setzt sich eine Fremde –
Bläser üben
Le Rendez-vous de chasse
horizontweite Wälder
erfüllt von Rauch
Java
ein Bambusfloß treibt
aufs Meer
hellblau der Raum
Es wird ein Junge
nach vielen Jahren
das Wiedersehen
gemeinsam schweigen
beim Familienessen
Gerüchte servieren
frisch gezapftes Schwarzbier
die Auswertung
der Feldbegehung
klatschmohndurchwebt
Nachbars Staketenzaun
Fluchtversuche
im Container
fehlt es an Luft
zum Klezmer-Konzert …
das Navi: scharf links halten
Bogenschießen
für einen Kuss
den Sieg hingeben
Flitterwochen. Über Tokio
der erste Himmel
blass die Sichel
Wölfe streifen durch
froststarres Land
Bilder des Pflastermalers
versteigert für Kinder in Not
Roulette.
Während der Heimfahrt
Sekundenschlaf
bis zu des Teiches Mitte
brüchiges Eis
von Süden her
Wind trägt
Hyazinthenduft
unterwegs auf wackeligen Beinchen
erste Osterlämmer
gedichtet in e-mail-Korrespondenz vom 22.10. 2010 bis 05.12. 2010
THE MAGICIAN'S HAND
Kala Ramesh
Barbara A Taylor
palace gate
two watchmen crisscross
their shadows
puzzled by alien tracks
in sand dunes
a white rabbit
at the flourish of
the magician's hand
cutting the tarot cards
on the kitchen table
AGAINST THE FLOW
Kala Ramesh
Barbara A Taylor
in the folds of
my mothers sari . . .
memories cocooned
flashes from the lighthouse
stream against the flow
his arms circling mine
we talk of the tomorrows
that are yet to come
a b r a c a d a b r a!
cheeks of full moon at midday
A DRAGONFLY HOVERS
Frank Williams
Doreen King
receding green pond—
a dragonfly hovers
in a shaft of light
when the hot sun sets
mountain ice is candy
dotted here and there
on the pavement
a few copper coins
playing chess
he only takes my pawn
***
by moonlight
a Knight rides swiftly
towards Camelot
greylag geese leave the valley
with unbearable silence
the leaf that dropped
into his gloved hand
is presented to her
their ticket for two
is stamped by the doorman
on its earth mound
a Meercat stands guard
as the group forage
she goes far in shoes
that took me nowhere
after nana’s goodbyes
the whiteness of snow
outside the window
in the sky a full moon,
below the shortest day
monday morning,
while washing smalls
all the greatest hits
from a dear friend
the gift of a rare record
during a sad day
she saw more clouds
than she should have
all through the air show
coloured contrails amaze
***
dad’s old roadmap,
our destination covered
with a splodge of jam
on the lost kitten’s whisker
a touch of dew
damp blossom
covers the garden gnomes
from head to foot
after planting beets
I have to clean my coat
A Summer Nijuin Renku Composed via snail-mail
Started: 01 July 2010 Finished: 09 December 2010
UNRECOGNIZED FRIENDS
Jane Reichhold
Translations by Aya Yuhki
syohgai to wa
kabe de wa nakute
aratanaru
takami ni ayumi
iru tame no doa
obstacles
not seen as walls
but doors
to walk through
to a new height
koutai to wa
sukete hatsukiri
miyuru made
te wo yogoshi tsutsu
mono migaku koto
the setback
something to polish
‘til hands blur
to see more clearly
reflection and transparency
hanten to wa
wasurareshi mono ga
matsute iru
furuki michi yuku
toki atafuru koto
the reversal
grants time to tread
the old path
the forgotten thing
lies in wait for us
shitsubou to wa
yume to gugen no
chikasa shirazu
yuki sugiru koto
deai wo sadamen
disappointment
dream and manifestation
by-pass
not recognizing their kinship
time to set a new date
kanashimi to wa
tachimachi sugiru
tomo ni aru
jikan no nobasu
ai no tonneru
grief
the tunnel of love
lengthened
by our moments together
swift passing days
THE SYMBIOTIC ALPHABET
Werner Reichhold
Jane Reichhold
Accommodating something astronomically. Partly subject to a season. New Year, the word ablaze celebrated in abundance. No, not asking for rain, but yes, from afar gaining acceptance acoustically. If it’s warm it’s sisterly; if it becomes surveyed affliction grows
Balanced sideways two sunny eyes with raised brows browsing the backroads of the future
Centralized, almost an oval including a true way out, socializing. Good morning critical mood, on my own shape’s horizon tiny red hairs learn to be aware of what they first may fear but what turns out to be another desired experience
Decentralized, a tiny snail descends the window glass, feelers fully extended into my room where the storm exists only in my frightened insides
Embossed wallpaper shows gray zones of pulverized skin. Was a body tired of wearing skin that refuses to take on new messages? On its journey through the air, light beams picked it up occasionally. Choosing a flight in silence, it places itself in a position where new shapes are passing by
F! Emphatic- the F-word- from the tongue frustrated fowl-mouthed chicken- the fox in the hen house full of sour grapes- fine wine- its label selling it to the fabulous rich- smiles into giggles
as a Group of five gamblers we share tonight’s full moon equally between us being a dancer, a deep-sea diver, a black smith, a beekeeper and his pregnant woman. To become a community of seven both, the dog and the cat release the pale light and themselves on the roof of our Jeep Cherokee
How half hunched over the scared heart pulls a person as a cart is drawn by the sacred horse. Hurt harmed and then horned – now holy
Immigrating willingly into acreage of question marks building a maze. Now in the sound of words breaking territory, a stringed center in mind
J The powerful letter to introduce a name. The Jews have chosen for their god. Grandmother borrowed it for my father and he for me. So what joins us?
Knee-length shorts for summer and a kinetic ability of mist getting pierced by a flock of blue jays. There must be a gathering elsewhere – bells joining singers
La — fa-la-la-la the letter linked to larynxes to lungs, lunges lower than the libretto lets a libertine Lolita lick her lips while lisping loud her love
Minimizing meteorologically the influence of April rains, the meandering of her mind materializes spring a time moving minuscule muscles unwillingly - offspring in a pickup?
Nursery rhymes with her story. And we do that. Continue our inner dialogues - our scripts - etching them, emb-e-d-d-i-n-g them in kids. Our attitudes — the highest they reach for – until
an Oscillation on the ocean takes on the viewer’s eye. With a more earthly approach and calculated obeisance my son opts to become an optometrist
Please thank you for your consideration to please you. My pleasure makes a plea for the p-ease of appeasement
Queen Elisabeth was quite bogged down in a quagmire of tiny details when she, smirking, lifted her right glove up to a diamond earring and the British took it — believe it or not — for a qualified greeting
the Rolling sound in the back of your throat - the deep thrill of joy that vibrates on the tongue - the verbal signature of Ireland - 3/4 of a cat’s language - the pitched roof with the curved finial
it’s a Sexploitative to do it sequentially. The session goes about sesame oil and with the serenity of sexagenarians, we unequivocally insist to discuss homosexuality, the way it is experienced but rarely reflected spiritually
Two twined, briefly our need forces body to body for the exchange, the seconds which banish aloneness- when we’re children again at home in the moments before our own conception
Ultramarine umbrellas in abundance along the sunny path around the Fuji. This family reunion seems utterly beautiful; none wants to appear unfashionable, let alone undependable
V - a V of geese- a wedge of sky migrating in their wings the lonesome cry of every traveler
Wouldn’t hurt more than usually. In the worst case she was unobtainable, tired of my wordiness, simply ready to drink from her own wishing-well
X - the mark we sign our names by buying a new house, the commitment to each other and windows on an altar of rocks. X the unknown. Tonight we do not know yet, if
Yachting is the goal, we yearningly give the mast a new finish, invite a skipper from the yippee-generation. Doesn’t matter if it’s a youthful mistake or not, it’s what we’re feeling the winds are blowing us to
Zeros, slender circles, stacking up. The pile of round coins, the price of a place. Will it want us? The shape of our planet encloses us empty or rich
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