Monday, October 31, 2022


by Patricia Furstenberg

goofy ghostly grin-
still life art in orange
under October moon


by Kimberly Kuchar

Halloween moon
a scarecrow reaches
for trick-or-treaters

Throwback Treat or Treat
To the Children Invited to Build a Border Wall at Trump’s White House Halloween Party, 2019

by Joanne Durham

Dear Children,

in the sugar high of fantasy, 
tigers waving speckled stripes,
peacocks in flannel feathers 
your Mom sewed 
late into the night,
in the whirl of bats 
dancing in eerie light,
they gave you a paper brick
to build a wall. 

I’m sorry, they tricked you.
Long gone all shame, 
they called it a game, 
B is for blame, who can make
the wall high, who 
can block out the sky? 
Etch your name, lend the grace
of your loopy S or sideways d
to a tawdry wall of infamy. 

Lungs breathe, hearts beat,
but growing up means
learning almost everything:  
what’s trust, what’s hate - 
it’s tricky enough with even 
the best of guides. Leap 
for the treat of truth. Be wary
of walls, who they trap inside.

Sunday, October 30, 2022


by Katherine Simmons

coyotes run through
October moon shadows
predawn dreams

Eerie Orange of the Wild
Photography by Morgen John


Saturday, October 29, 2022


by Marcie Wessels/Margaret Walker

fried green tomatoes just enough late summer thyme
corner café blue plate special vegetable platter
magnolia scent lingering over coffee
tourists scurry by another sight to see
bourbon street zydeco two-steppin’ around the homeless
hurricane shelter under the bridge
floodgates the held-back storm urge
fat tuesday mask expansion
new year a new suit that’s a prayer
okra and rice soul food music preservation hall
white page without the black note rhythm out of time

Wednesday, October 26, 2022


by Chen-ou Liu

early leaf drop ...
from one house to another
couch surfing


by Douglas J. Lanzo

floating kelp forest
translucent hues of green
glint in eye of storm

A Norfolk Pond

by Ceri Marriott 

Lost pond, ghost pond,
Old pond, new pond.
Slimy fruited stonewort, buried in the dirt
Extant, just dormant,
Lurking, bursting into life,
Stirred into waking, only a century in the making ...
No brain, yet again
More resilient than man.

Sunday, October 23, 2022

silent prayers

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

 silent prayers
for betrayed autumns
these remaining New England trees
conceal nothing
their projected limbs
climb skies to eat sunlight
only punch air in bitter winds
scheme no species death masks
and utter the soundless Ommmm
that lets go pain
of never again released beauty--
treetops crowned the highest right
between wrong
and we
still glowing coals and embers
of dying lives
their all-seeing leaves
are miniature orange robed Buddhist monks
doused in human gasoline
to set themselves on fire
as flaming ghosts
who chant purple crimson supplications
to feed the earth
as they drip down hillsides

Wednesday, October 19, 2022


by Douglas J. Lanzo

balanced on old shipwreck
reddish egret
fades into rust


by Chen-ou Liu

gray-haired exile
the waves ebb and flow
in a conch shell 

Sunday, October 16, 2022

The Ways of Nature

 by Ceri Marriott
Shrouded in cloud, the trees stand like silent ghosts,
Guardians of this naked land,
And rain falls heavily, persistently
To the ground, soaking through the earth beneath,
Plants and grass sodden to the core.
Elsewhere a mist hovers a few feet above the ground,
A swirling whiteness swathing the early morning
So that trunks seem split in two,
With branches suspended in the air.
A sudden burst of sun diffuses through the mist
In a faint, translucent yellow,
Portent of a finer day to come.
In the hazy sun before the world begins to wake,
A deer ventures from the fields into a meadow overgrown and neglected,
Sheltered by the long grass and the dense, entangled bushes
Around the drying pond.

Wednesday, October 12, 2022


by Tom Lagasse

Parts of stone walls stand
Men’s effort to tame nature
Another god at work

The Mayhem

by Kathryn Holeton

Mayhem filled children
prancing through a field of corn
with the harvest moon.


by Ram Chandran

starlit night
the river flows
towards autumn moon

Sunday, October 9, 2022

When the Stars Come Out a Billion Miles Away

by Arthur Sadrian
It was cool the night I stole away. My naked feet 
    tiptoed over fissured asphalt, buzzing skin pressed 
between stolid cracks like how our living room 
    illuminated the slumped hillside. Here, our house is
ablaze with mercury windows and humming generators and 
    the time that brother slipped and splashed bright red paint 
across the doorstep. Here, the heartbeat is waning, 
    drowned by the gentle rustle of craning pine needles. 
I am guided by the hair upon my legs – 
    guided from uneven tarmac to moonlit grasslands to silted shores – 
guided until stupored vines outline inky carpets. 
    I feel their breathlessness: stiff like the ripple of daylight hours, 
shimmering like the reflection in my pupils,
    whispering as we unite. And now we wait.  
I watch as they float to the surface in pinpricks of effervescence 
    that fizzle with the truth of a billion mile journey.
I follow as they train their glow upwards, pay recognition 
    to forefathers that spit them into existence 
moon, after moon, after moon. 

Wednesday, October 5, 2022


by Tom Lagasse

Birds chatter jazzy lines
The stream gurgles a bass line
I hum along


by Ram Chandran

the songs of rains-
not alone
in this monsoon night

Sunday, October 2, 2022

wooden knots

 by Geoffrey Aitken
news reports
global change
affects people
earlier for children
and adolescents

who we’re warned
may adopt guilt
or tenacity

a reflex response
my own memory
does not recall 
how laces were tied
only of shoes


by James Kangas
Queen Elizabeth (Mountbatten-Windsor) 
ate jam sandwiches at teatime. I need 

to go back to the park where I collected
milkweed seeds and plant them 

for the dwindling numbers of monarchs 
that fly through these parts

so they can have their equivalent of her
jammy snack, her ambrosia, and maybe

come back and turn the sky a brilliant 
orange in the next twenty years.