Luna moth came tonightoutside the window near meso pale in the darkyou have been gone a year nowthe Luna's grace reminds me
Issue 3
41 tanka by 29 poets, from Tanka Journal’s free online edition.
Also in print
Issue 3 in paperback
This issue was printed by Prolific Press. Copies are still available in the bookstore.
Buy the paperbackthe moth nears the flameover and over againignores the dangersome beauty is worth the painsome even worth dying for
breeze rippled riversunlight happily dancingon undulationsa loon chick peacefully sleepson a parent's bobbing back
goldenrod undercanopy of red sumaca wall of colorwith the first snow of winterblossoms will bow to the earth
They never teach lovein a textbook, darling - stoprationalizingthe curves of my silhouetteembracing melancholy
Brown wicker rocking chairSmiling high yellow beautyI am at homeSitting still in the darknessFor the rocking is no more
Rise men, the sun has setand the morrow'll soon barkyour lazy bums from bed.Dark is short. Hark! Hark!The mistress night awaits.
gourmet pizzaat a sidewalk eateryan atheist and a preacherdebate gay dadsfading sunlight
autumn moona stone paththrough the woodsbreaths of windI seek you
new leavesas dawn breaksI followa sparrow to the riverto the sun
clear river waterwhere silver fish swim upstreamhow long have I cravedthe cool taste on my lips- stillyou make me drink from the sea
the long road dividessomeone has taken the signwhich way will lead home?I follow my heart...and trustlonging makes you seem nearer
Autumn's final kiss --warm, spiced cider pressed to lips --steamy memory,like the scent of worn leather,brush of stubble on my cheek.
hearing in my sleepthe rapping rainflowing riverthe sand in the hourglassno longer running
snow gently coversdark towering lofty peakswith a bridal veila softly undulatinggarment of pristine beauty
stillness of the nightdisturbed only by the winda desolate roomI hear you whisper my namebut I cannot answer back
Tap, tap – a branch beatsagainst glass smudged with decay,eerily keepingtime for the hands on the clockthat are no longer ticking.
feathered streak of blueand orange falls from red maple−bird beaks the beetle−the green of grass, the blue/orange−hunger fulfilled in this death
tender warming raysreflect amongst her vestigedim skies clear as dayeclipse my heart shield my soulhours pass and so shall you
closet door ajarpale pink coat swings loose, aloneher sweet life witnessedon wooden hanger. She speaksstill to us. Be strong, my girls
weather beaten signdriven down in dying weedsforsaken headstone...oh nameless, forgotten soulthe Savior knows who you are
Gnashing ice gales cutthrough clothing and into flesh;shadows ate moonlight...I should never have gone there,but the wind's whisper called me.
wintry bare branchesweighed down with crystal icesand chalky white snow;ominous windswept landscapediverting my shielded eyes
Moments that matteryield moments of clarityrevealing all truthreleases shackles of pridefor more moments that matter
The hawk soars above in the blue sky, like my soul,but earthbound I stay, unable to spiral up, weighted by my own choices.
A comet plunges across the gulf of space-time,breathing frost behind; once portent of death and war, now life-bringer, seed-bearer.
Snow retreats arcticHikers slosh through muddy trailsDamp wood campfire burnsApril's not the cruelest monthBut a warm resurrection
The raven, sittingright here outside my windowwhispers poetry -Carrying Poe's legacyon his black-feathered shoulders.
Morning soap bubblesWash away the skin that grewOver yesterdaySilently the smell of youSlips down the drain in white clouds
the skateboard junkiehis final accoutrementsneatly left behindmake-shift depositoryofferings overflowing
Drumming beats wildlyin tune with their heart rhythmbare feet stomping sandscintilla of doubt now gonehigh off her sweet aroma
Ohi'a blossomsvibrant red in the sunrisesandy shores call herpetals gathered from the wildsymbolizing sacredness
In the audienceWe wait there so impatientThunder crashes loudI wish I could return nowTo times of such excitement
Dandelions waitfor her bright and youthful gaze.They call from green sky–Yellow, grounded, propped-up starsin her fist they fall and fade.
The prairie bakes hotWe stand among the brown grassThe house is emptyOur people are buried hereThe time for tears has gone, passed
A golden leaf falls,Flickers from light to shadow.A golden leaf fallsAt the touch of a child's eyesAnd opens them forever.
my grandfather's handsare hard to slip through his sleevesrigid and frail the cicada shell, open, clinging to a tangled yew
kiss me, hold me closewarm me against the winterI remember spring what do red squirrels dream of twitching, trying not to wake
gliding a smooth paththrough these silky, silent leavesthat float on the pond;every wolf seeks a swanto know his murderous self.
Time for a pivotlike a tanka verse mid-airfind that turning placewhere we create a new shapeleave our cocoons in the wind
last night's spaghettialla carbonara pairedguanciale a l'eggperfectly timed melt atopsomething you had to tell me
Issue 3
Poets in this issue
- Bobby Aldridge2
- Kevin Andersen1
- Anna Cates3
- Lorraine Cipriano2
- Deborah Davitt2
- Ana Drobot1
- Mary Crane Fahey1
- Susan Gentry1
- Michael Griffith2
- Joann Grisetti1
- Lianne Kamp2
- Christopher Knodel1
- Lily Li1
- Bill Melton4
- Christa Planko1
- Jackie Maugh Robinson1
- Urszula Robinson1
- Tim Ryerson1
- David Anthony Sam1
- Clarise Samuels2
- Ron Scully1
- Rita Simmonds1
- J.L. Smith1
- Tim Smith1
- Tiffany Taylor1
- Angelina Tolbert1
- Peggy Trojan2
- Robert Walton1
- Jasmine Wardiya1