rusted bicycles
lean against the empty house
some say is haunted
Secrets
Early twilight. The light in the window is about to come on. What are they having for dinner tonight? Pizza again. She can almost smell it. The kids reach for another slice. Their faces are smeared with ketchup. Dad draws mustaches on them. And on himself. Everyone is laughing. The mother’s seat is empty.
don’t come tonight, Death,
look my bed is too narrow
for the two of us
By Mariola Grabowska
Haiku by Steen W. Rasmussen
fly mops up duckweed
he never saw it coming –
long, fast, and sticky
Haiku by Aeronwy Dafies
tiny spider crawls
down the angle of the walls
hides in the corner
Haiku by Sarah Mahina Calvello
An antique clock sounds
Moon shadows paint quiet floors
Time unwinding on
Haiku by Barrie Levine
granddad’s war letters
it falls to me to gather
scraps of his story
Author of Cotton Moon
Haiku by Patricia Carragon
samurai kittens
turn into ramen noodles –
they are what they eat
Haiku by Bruce Levine
Trees sway in the breeze
Water ripples on the lake
Halcyon evenings
Haiku by Marie Derley
all that remains are
the beautiful memories –
an empty crab shell
Haiku by Barbara Mosbacher Anderson
the brick-lined walkways
between old college buildings
littered with acorns