Take 5ive Issue One Twenty Twenty One
Craig Lincoln
Fetch
throw me the ball
I will bring it right back
again and again
I never tire of this game
but you always stop throwing
Susan Burch
twirling my finger
around the phone cord
I get tangled
in the fear
that you’ll leave me
the broken zipper
on my coat
now fixed –
how cold it was
without you
baby koala –
my favorite trees
to swing on are gone…
will anything
feel like home again
a layer of clouds
covers the night sky
there are no stars
to wish upon,
no hope you’ll return
burying my toes
under the sand
the relief
of finding my fears
unfounded
Roberta Beach Jacobson
the barkeep
tells me the cocktail
is refreshing
and very seductive
so is her perfume
I ponder
prairie grasses dancing
in the wind
as they mimic the sway
of Iowa's caucuses
as a storm nears
we drink in the deep pinks
of the sunset
our expensive wine bottle
unopened and forgotten
Joy McCall
when it's my time to go
I would rather drift
on pine winds
close to the earth I love
heaven can wait
the wind
blowing the grasses
brings to mind
my daughter's words -
'she who bends will never break'
Pippa Phillips
dusk
on your skin
stars
in the water
we leave our clothes on the shore
Hifsa Ashraf
in search
of knowing
who I am
I follow the snail trail
that ends nowhere
behind the folds
of my blue mask
the streams
of some endless tears
form a delta
interweaving
the strings of silence
with moonlight
until this solitude
becomes a symphony
George Schaefer
SUBLIMINAL PRODDING
Subliminal prodding
That would be really cool
get a few words scattered
about a lonely page
and make it look official
MADMAN CUTS ROPE
Madman
cuts the rope
of his servitude
with tongue sharpened
by machete like wit
Zahra Mughis
COVID isolation
turning off
morning alarm
watching the ants
go to work
briefings
on unfinished work
morning mail
another layer
of peanut butter
letting down
her wavy hair
work from home
networking
with autobots
Monk Gabriel
it waxes and wanes,
my balding memory, yet,
when she’s been on my mind,
I am always reminded
by my wet sleeves
I don’t know which
more breaks my trembling heart,
the passing horrors
of this brutal world . . . or its
brave beauties that yet endure
Lafcadio
finding my voice
in the darkness
of a crowded room
where no one listens
to the sounds of pain
I fell asleep
under the Hazel tree
where I dreamed
of following the river
to where I belong
facing my shadow
in the sunlight--
the queen of wands
holds a sunflower
over the black cat
cat pouncing
on its prey--
old age
begging
for reprieve
she paces
in anger
the lioness
in a cage
too small
Rose Rose
Still Ripening mangoes-
An unforgettable smell of pickles
on grandmother's hand
Besides her cold body
The rawness of her daughter's absence.
At the balcony garden
An eye splits
Into blossom;
Only to know; it too
Goes through a drift.
Michael Morell
zen master
the neighbor’s
barking dog
gives me
my new mantra
grandmother’s
coffin – is this too
a womb
that carries us from
one life to the next?
meditation
no one tells you
it’s not all
about peacefulness –
quivering in silence again
Dave Read
laundry flows over
the top of the basket…
he picks up
his father’s
bad habits
our little black dog
who wanted
his freedom
still runs away
in my dreams
he asks me for help
with his chemistry
homework…
the bonds
between fathers and sons
Shir Haberman
visions of blue jays
and cardinals at the
new bird feeder
but I guess
squirrels must eat too
never too old
to jump,
but maybe
too old
to land
Alvin Cruz
Homecoming
returning
to the attic...
boxes
of memories
now empty
Chrysanthemum
lately everyone
knows someone
dying
I am afraid
to open the door
Exodus
exit doors
man, woman, and child
fleeing their land...
lest they turn to salt
no one looked back
Innocence
from a rooftop
to an empty sky
a child mourns
the last journey
of his kite
In an Ozu Film
like the vase
in a quiet room
or the empty
bottle by the sea
I am alone
Marilyn Humbert
a family of ducks
glide about the pond edge
in sunshine
unaware of our lockdown
and Covid death numbers
the moon
obscured by clouds
I search
night for the familiar
our southern cross
my mobile
pings with a message
from Mum…
I smile, unpredictable
her predictive text
Vandana Parashar
heart heavy
with another loss
back in the house
not leaving me alone
a koel’s song
calla lilies
in a chipped vase
I too
often find myself
in wrong places
I can fly
but like a kite
the world is now
the size and boundaries
of my children
every night a different moon
outside our window
we too know
each other in parts
and not quite the whole
shrinking for him
ever so slowly
he still can’t find
the space
he needs
Xenia Tran
woodland pond
all day its darkness
holds the sun
in her light a siskin's song
flits above the treetops
Voima Oy
Let’s move the boxes
down to the basement
We’ll clean out the attic
open the windows
live among the trees
In the rain,
umbrellas opening
exiting the subway
black flowers
blooming
She wants a butterfly backpack
and masks to match
in the aisle of school supplies
past the pens and notebooks
people in line for vaccines.
hanging out the laundry
sweeping maple seeds
in the soft morning breeze
two cicada shells
clinging to the yard bag
Carole Johnston
the old monk
Ryukan wrote of
the Way
like the Tao of Jesus
in the beginning, a path
in my book
I color green synapses
sparkling words
inside the brains of poets
a crayon called "mystery"
the poet
bruised by words hidden
beneath
a hundred mattresses like
that princess and the pea
in the trash
forgotten words scribbled
on dreams
found in ancient boxes
we prepare to move
old journal
my words so neat
thoughts so
full of adventure
edge of chaos or bliss
B.A. France
"Transliteration"
she opens
his complete works
on the screen
and is lost in the forest
my Titania
"Contacts"
phone buzzing
unsilenced text messages
a long lost friend
who I chose to lose
long ago
"Travelogue"
the crash
of waves against the sand
on YouTube
limes and rum in her glass
on a pandemic beach
Richa Sharma
two dewdrops
until they mingle
i gauge
the unknown ascent
of these weightless years
lonely cuckoo
who do you call
this busy evening
i too wait with
an empty heart
this silvery night
fever runs on like a train …
in the wine of nescience
i give in to wayward time
and my story's whim
Cherry A
after you
walked away
a hint
of your perfume
still lingering
giving away
baby frocks
she bought ...
her last visit
to the gynaecologist
reading
his last letter
I unfold
memories
again
Christina Chin
women
come and go
where they gather water
he sneaks looks
at a forbidden love
affair of the heart
while waiting for him
her thick black hair
now
strands of white
cut chillies
in a tiny saucer
soy sauce
slurping noodles
,,, slurping
Fetch
throw me the ball
I will bring it right back
again and again
I never tire of this game
but you always stop throwing
Susan Burch
twirling my finger
around the phone cord
I get tangled
in the fear
that you’ll leave me
the broken zipper
on my coat
now fixed –
how cold it was
without you
baby koala –
my favorite trees
to swing on are gone…
will anything
feel like home again
a layer of clouds
covers the night sky
there are no stars
to wish upon,
no hope you’ll return
burying my toes
under the sand
the relief
of finding my fears
unfounded
Roberta Beach Jacobson
the barkeep
tells me the cocktail
is refreshing
and very seductive
so is her perfume
I ponder
prairie grasses dancing
in the wind
as they mimic the sway
of Iowa's caucuses
as a storm nears
we drink in the deep pinks
of the sunset
our expensive wine bottle
unopened and forgotten
Joy McCall
when it's my time to go
I would rather drift
on pine winds
close to the earth I love
heaven can wait
the wind
blowing the grasses
brings to mind
my daughter's words -
'she who bends will never break'
Pippa Phillips
dusk
on your skin
stars
in the water
we leave our clothes on the shore
Hifsa Ashraf
in search
of knowing
who I am
I follow the snail trail
that ends nowhere
behind the folds
of my blue mask
the streams
of some endless tears
form a delta
interweaving
the strings of silence
with moonlight
until this solitude
becomes a symphony
George Schaefer
SUBLIMINAL PRODDING
Subliminal prodding
That would be really cool
get a few words scattered
about a lonely page
and make it look official
MADMAN CUTS ROPE
Madman
cuts the rope
of his servitude
with tongue sharpened
by machete like wit
Zahra Mughis
COVID isolation
turning off
morning alarm
watching the ants
go to work
briefings
on unfinished work
morning mail
another layer
of peanut butter
letting down
her wavy hair
work from home
networking
with autobots
Monk Gabriel
it waxes and wanes,
my balding memory, yet,
when she’s been on my mind,
I am always reminded
by my wet sleeves
I don’t know which
more breaks my trembling heart,
the passing horrors
of this brutal world . . . or its
brave beauties that yet endure
Lafcadio
finding my voice
in the darkness
of a crowded room
where no one listens
to the sounds of pain
I fell asleep
under the Hazel tree
where I dreamed
of following the river
to where I belong
facing my shadow
in the sunlight--
the queen of wands
holds a sunflower
over the black cat
cat pouncing
on its prey--
old age
begging
for reprieve
she paces
in anger
the lioness
in a cage
too small
Rose Rose
Still Ripening mangoes-
An unforgettable smell of pickles
on grandmother's hand
Besides her cold body
The rawness of her daughter's absence.
At the balcony garden
An eye splits
Into blossom;
Only to know; it too
Goes through a drift.
Michael Morell
zen master
the neighbor’s
barking dog
gives me
my new mantra
grandmother’s
coffin – is this too
a womb
that carries us from
one life to the next?
meditation
no one tells you
it’s not all
about peacefulness –
quivering in silence again
Dave Read
laundry flows over
the top of the basket…
he picks up
his father’s
bad habits
our little black dog
who wanted
his freedom
still runs away
in my dreams
he asks me for help
with his chemistry
homework…
the bonds
between fathers and sons
Shir Haberman
visions of blue jays
and cardinals at the
new bird feeder
but I guess
squirrels must eat too
never too old
to jump,
but maybe
too old
to land
Alvin Cruz
Homecoming
returning
to the attic...
boxes
of memories
now empty
Chrysanthemum
lately everyone
knows someone
dying
I am afraid
to open the door
Exodus
exit doors
man, woman, and child
fleeing their land...
lest they turn to salt
no one looked back
Innocence
from a rooftop
to an empty sky
a child mourns
the last journey
of his kite
In an Ozu Film
like the vase
in a quiet room
or the empty
bottle by the sea
I am alone
Marilyn Humbert
a family of ducks
glide about the pond edge
in sunshine
unaware of our lockdown
and Covid death numbers
the moon
obscured by clouds
I search
night for the familiar
our southern cross
my mobile
pings with a message
from Mum…
I smile, unpredictable
her predictive text
Vandana Parashar
heart heavy
with another loss
back in the house
not leaving me alone
a koel’s song
calla lilies
in a chipped vase
I too
often find myself
in wrong places
I can fly
but like a kite
the world is now
the size and boundaries
of my children
every night a different moon
outside our window
we too know
each other in parts
and not quite the whole
shrinking for him
ever so slowly
he still can’t find
the space
he needs
Xenia Tran
woodland pond
all day its darkness
holds the sun
in her light a siskin's song
flits above the treetops
Voima Oy
Let’s move the boxes
down to the basement
We’ll clean out the attic
open the windows
live among the trees
In the rain,
umbrellas opening
exiting the subway
black flowers
blooming
She wants a butterfly backpack
and masks to match
in the aisle of school supplies
past the pens and notebooks
people in line for vaccines.
hanging out the laundry
sweeping maple seeds
in the soft morning breeze
two cicada shells
clinging to the yard bag
Carole Johnston
the old monk
Ryukan wrote of
the Way
like the Tao of Jesus
in the beginning, a path
in my book
I color green synapses
sparkling words
inside the brains of poets
a crayon called "mystery"
the poet
bruised by words hidden
beneath
a hundred mattresses like
that princess and the pea
in the trash
forgotten words scribbled
on dreams
found in ancient boxes
we prepare to move
old journal
my words so neat
thoughts so
full of adventure
edge of chaos or bliss
B.A. France
"Transliteration"
she opens
his complete works
on the screen
and is lost in the forest
my Titania
"Contacts"
phone buzzing
unsilenced text messages
a long lost friend
who I chose to lose
long ago
"Travelogue"
the crash
of waves against the sand
on YouTube
limes and rum in her glass
on a pandemic beach
Richa Sharma
two dewdrops
until they mingle
i gauge
the unknown ascent
of these weightless years
lonely cuckoo
who do you call
this busy evening
i too wait with
an empty heart
this silvery night
fever runs on like a train …
in the wine of nescience
i give in to wayward time
and my story's whim
Cherry A
after you
walked away
a hint
of your perfume
still lingering
giving away
baby frocks
she bought ...
her last visit
to the gynaecologist
reading
his last letter
I unfold
memories
again
Christina Chin
women
come and go
where they gather water
he sneaks looks
at a forbidden love
affair of the heart
while waiting for him
her thick black hair
now
strands of white
cut chillies
in a tiny saucer
soy sauce
slurping noodles
,,, slurping
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