• Fractled

    spring cleaning—
    he finally comes out
    of the closet

    Frogpond #42.1 - 2019

  • Fractled

    traffic lights
    only the echo of sparrows
    heads downtown


    ghost city
    the pace of my stride
    at rush hour


    Easter Day
    the family time spent
    via touchscreen


    spring cleaning
    a worldwide shutdown
    for the earth to heal

  • Francis Masat

    mountain pass —
    the icy sound of wind
    against itself


    crunching to a halt  
    under this cobalt blue sky 
    I can only stare


    cirrus clouds —
    an icy gust lifts a note  
    from my hand


    cemetery —
    the slow halting descent  
    of a snowflake


    standing on thin ice
    bubbles tumble and pause
    below my feet


    Francis Masat is Prof. Emeritus, Rowan Univ., NJ. Over a 1000 of his poems appear in over 100 journals and anthologies. His haiku related books are Awakening in Prairie Light, Kindle/Nook, Lilacs after Winter, MET Press, Threshing, March Street Press, and (co-editor) Among the Lilies, Shadow Poetry.  His poetry books are A Taste of Key West, Pudding House, and Prairie Labyrinth, Nook.

  • Friedenberg, Jay

    after the fight
    a deepening black
    between stars

    Riverside Park
    the constant stream
    of small dogs


    morning hangover
    crumpled party hats
    fill the gutter


    96th Street subway platform –
    someone has stolen
    my spot


    rainy afternoon
    my son plays
    with his imaginary friend

  • Gail Brooks

    the wooden puppet
    stares at me each night
    the pain of the whittling knife
    while recalling the joy of his creation

  • Gallia, Al

    a tumbleweed
    bounces over the fence...
    squealing windmill


    a coyote’s yipping
    echoes in the canyon...
    sage fills the night air


    the old man
    kisses her empty pillow...
    tears add to the stain

  • Gambutti, Mary Ellen

  • Gargiulo, Marita




    w        w







    things better left


  • Gary Hittmeyer

    daylight wanes
    an autumn breeze finds
    the last pine cone


  • Gary Hittmeyer

    hidden rills
    the waterfalls splashing

    cattails Oct 2019


  • Gary Hittmeyer

    lost in the
    late purple day
    lupine valley


    low clouds
    I try to remember
    the mountain top


  • Gary Hittmeyer

    looking for relief
    my thumbprints
    devise an exit strategy


    or full body groomer the relatives of TV stars


    kneeling before idols under the light of lawless suns


    precise contours of metaphors slip away into


  • general relativity

    Some prefer roses, others nettles — just two sides of the same coin. Truth and falsehood are simply shifting states of perspective, dependent on the observer. One's religion or philosophy is as logical or incoherent as the next; call it as you see it. Justice is not only blind, it is senselessly ambivalent. Positive or negative, matter or anti-matter, it's immaterial. And the paths of Right or Wrong are poorly marked; they're indeterminate and inconsequential. In any case, they intertwine along the way and converge at the fuzzy gray horizon of self-doubt.


    north south east or west?
    the compass needle just spins —
    oh, whatever.............

  • Geoff M. Pope

  • Geyer, Pat

    now and then
    thrush raises her head
    winter rain

    closer to the sun
    the sound of dry leaves
    crunches underfoot

    ticks and tocks
    resound through the night
    dawn explodes

  • Geyer, Pat

    the maps of age
    spider veins

    cattails January 2014 Premier Issue

  • Geyer, Pat


  • Gone in the Morning

    in a sea of tattoos—I buy an eighth and slink out

    he explains to hear ad nauseum how i wish i had a stiff drink

    hearing only half of what he mutters, she is splitsville!

    bending cosmos another basketball team checking in

    as she sleeps, a spider spins gossamer across the hoops in her earlobes

    red blanket and cool sheets these bones carry much stress


    I marry the milkmaid for her handiwork—she marries me for the practice

    i fill my mouth with you the shadows now turning

    it's a long walk back from the brothel—I decide to spin the night

    spring thunder his hardon prominent when we speak

    she swears she'd rather choke on a chicken bone

    eating from Hibachi again lobby silence and our breathing

    transfixed by the way she fills out her cashmere—goats will eat anything

    aimless aimless these slate grey walls are depressing

    he propositions me as I swish past the red lights

    another question: you walk away with my smile

    fake smile, false teeth, silicone breasts—my kind of guy

    another noir film my computer reboots


    rainbow flags on his toenails—Rock Hudson in Magnificent Obsession

    today deciding to stay in bed no social media at all

    fourteen galaxies merging in the distant universe we still can't get along

    more messages still watching my movie

    exchanging emails with a new friend bursting with enthusiasm

    not sure if these are haiku bad things done in Nazarene's name

    big hole in my sock I never throw anything away

    shopping at the supermarket i deeply despise daddy

    organic fruits and vegetables taking a bite out of my budget

    early noon: one of those days i don't wanna talk

    Facebook friend—she ups the ante with a Face Time call

    enjoying chocolate another guest slides me his number


    dominatrix goes off script—the many uses of a police baton

    cabin fever: edge of her turquoise bikini

    lipstick in hard to reach places—gone in the morning

    crushed silk curtains practicing 'Autumn Leaves' in silence

    cigarette burns on the hotel room carpet—a broken high heel shoe

    witch of Endor who conjures up dead leaves?

    Michael H. Lester, Los Angeles, California, USA
    Akane, Dallas, Texas, USA

  • Grahn, Richard

    Make that a Double

    Mom had a poodle named Martini. She did love that dog but may have loved the liquid indulgence even more. I mean, she always pampered that mutt but she could also outdrink a fish. The haircuts, ribbons, bows and extra olives certainly made for a colorful childhood no matter how you choose to look at it. Anyway, I’m just sitting here right now, idly sipping a memory of the two of them, enjoying a little hair of the dog and ambivalently wondering if pets are allowed on the furniture in heaven.

    moonrise at sunset…
    shadows of wildflowers
    in his hand

    Contemporary Haibun Online, Volume 14, Number 2, July 2018

  • Grahn, Richard