I think in haiku
Not that I’m intending to
Just how my thoughts form

A poem descending
Fully formed and intact
For all to read

Without a pen near
My mind is my haiku scribe
Till one is found

Poetry
In motion
In my mind

I linger with grief
Constant companion, of late
We’re well acquainted

Grief is a rip tide
A tenacious undertow
Then the tide goes out

I miss being one
Half of a couple in love
With being in love

I miss having a
Live-in partner for Scrabble
Or heart-to-heart talks

I miss being part
Of a family under
One roof not two

Christmas memories
Unpacked with each ornament
Hung upon the tree

I have no stocking
To hang by the fireplace
Nor a fireplace

I cannot bear to
Watch one more Hallmark movie
About Christmas joy

More than fifty years
Since this idyllic-summer-
wind-swept day

Time is suspended
I can feel the sandy beach
And hear the seagulls

I have your hands with
Their twisted pointer-fingers
I see you in them

Your taste on my lips
Salty yet sweet with memory
Tears of mourning

I have lost you a
Thousand times over again
Yet you return

Love is favorite jeans
Time worn, mended in places
Easy second skin

Falling asleep to
The sound of company from
The other room

Lavender scented
Bar of soap by the bedside
Gentle nighttime waft

There aren’t enough bells
From here to eternity
To toll for your life

As you lay purring
Loudly, fervently to me
I feel your love-song

Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and hikes. She is a newly published poet. Her first sixteen poems have just been published in late 2022 / early 2023, at age 59. During the pandemic she joined the online poetry community of The Daily Haiku. Poetry has been a lifeline.

The cacophonous alarm clock’s jangling
Announces the commencement of another day
A laborious struggle to toil, to earn, to remunerate
The never-ending bills that seem to perpetually stay

The frenzied morning rush, a hectic pace
As we hasten to get to our station
In the rat race, the interminable chase
For success, for recognition, for a more palatable taste

The quotidian grind, a tedious chore
But we persevere, pushing through the door
For a sense of purpose, a raison d’être
For the dreams that keep us alive, and never let us forget

But sometimes, the struggle takes its toll
Leaving us fatigued, burnt out, and isolated
Yet we continue on, through the highs and lows
For the hope of a better tomorrow, and a chance to evolve

So let us persevere, and find the fortitude
To keep on working, through any duration
For in the end, it’s worth the struggle
To live our lives with purpose, with meaning, with fortitude.

Charles Ho Wang Mak is a PhD Candidate and a Graduate Teaching Assistant at the University of Glasgow. He lives in Glasgow, Scotland, where he starts to admire poetry.

All I can do right now
is feel the softness
of the unfolding sheet,
and breathe the freshness
of its herbal scent.

All I can do is to watch
the plants in the sink
come back to life
as they are drenched with water
from the mineral-rich earth.

All I can do is listen
to the frogs and crickets,
and watch the fireflies
glow yellow, green and orange
around my head.

All I can do is admire
the gracefully twisting bamboo
in the kimono vase,
and know that beauty
surrounds me at all times.

All I can do is pick up
fallen limbs in my yard,
and be grateful
that I can lift them
and carry them to the pile.

All I want to do,
all I wish I had done,
all I fear not ever doing,
imprison me behind
a wall of despair,

and so all I can do is wonder
at the dragonfly on my fence
as it spreads iridescent wings
and, with thousands of lenses,
observes my fear.

Diane Elayne Dees lives in Covington, Louisiana, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans. Though known as a poet, she has also written her share of fiction and creative nonfiction. Diane also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

Let go of sand
and it becomes
so many different things—
grit, floating diamonds,
a damp mass, dust,
a bed of comfort.
A poem is like sand—
let it go.

Diane Elayne Dees lives in Covington, Louisiana, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans. Though known as a poet, she has also written her share of fiction and creative nonfiction. Diane also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.