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The Daily Verse
To make The Wise Owl more dynamic, we have introduced The Daily Verse, a segment where we will upload poetry all days of the week. Just send in a poem to editor@thewiseowl.art
February
Friday, 21st February, 2025
Bottled Love
By Ketaki Mazumdar
Autumn shivers.
I remember Indian Summers and
Grandma preparing jars of mangoe pickles,
raw, firm, drenched with sun,
that I helped pluck.
Mangoes bite sized, doused with home fiery ground masalas.
Shaken firmly,
Mixed with oil...
Spooned into jars...
Many hot noons of watching and waiting and drooling...
On hot roof tops..
Memories,
I carried across oceans,
Across seasons...
Precious stock of
Enticement.
Every bite a delight...
As falling leaves drifted across glazed windows,
As high rises, with powdered snow, stared at me,
The warmth of my grandma's love, Overwhelmed the corners of my heart.
Her hand knitted red and orange cosy scarf,
Her green and red, floating in oil... Mangoe pickle,
My sustenance.
Delighted my Autumn heart!
Thursday, 20th February, 2025
Poems
By Alison Nuorto
Aubade
As he kissed her sleeping form,
His hair fanned her face like a bouquet of feathers.
She awoke to the bitter scent of loss.
Like crushed blooms in Autumn.
White Lines
Let me slip into you.
Into your spaces.
Where our lines blur and meld,
And I can no longer be mapped or traced.
Seawater
I’m a husk;
All lashed kernel and hollowed hubris.
Hewn from the withering vine.
But plunge me in seawater and I’ll shine,
like the newly presented babe; birthed from the core.
Propelled to Galilee,
my shedding will lead to salvage.
Wednesday, 19th February 2025
Lace
By Deborah A Bennett
i am holding the lace
my grandmother tatted
a hundred years ago
i am the keeper of
the yellowed thread
she carried north
from mississippi
running from mississippi
ojibwa for "big river"
for how wide the water was
between containment and freedom
for how wide the world
between horror and beauty
i am touching the lace
my grandmother touched
thinking about what it was
to be starved and sustained
by knots and loops
by curves and stitches
by row on row of
snow-shaped rings
that held all the pieces
together
About the Author
Steliana Cristina Voicu lives in Ploieşti, Romania and loves painting, poetry, Japanese culture, photography and astronomy. Her haiku, tanka, haiga, poetry, short-prose have been published worldwide, including Asahi Haikuist Network, Daily Haiga, The Wise Owl-The Daily Verse, Under the Bashō, Chrysanthemum and others. She is founder and editor of Enchanted Garden Haiku Journal-Romania.
Monday, 17th February, 2025
The Last Time
By Shivshankar Menon
The last time Grandmother addressed
Me was from her favourite
Morning seat by the window, her book
Of devotions open at one
Sunlit page unread. She spoke slowly,
Holding my hand, of the old
Family home, of ancient scandals and
Feuds, squabbles and partitions
While I listened, watching her faraway eyes
And marvelling at the rich flow
Of family lore. Only a year later did that tide
Of nonagenarian reminiscence
Take on new meaning when, coming home
I ran down to her room and
Found her sitting in the same old chair with
The same old book open on her lap.
Now too the pages remained unturned but
Her hands rested on them inert ;
When I approached she looked up slowly
And stared at me blankly
Clearly with no notion of who I was, before
Turning wordlessly away
Friday, 14th February, 2025
Icicles of Yore
By Santosh Bakaya
I glimpse a silver-hued expanse and watch entranced.
Snowflakes dance and prance, exhilarated.Within my heart, a silence resounds, but is soon replaced
by faint stirrings of nostalgia.
My soul is ablaze
in the warmth of those memories buried under frost.No longer do I feel lost as the frost melts,
pelting me with silver pebbles of juvenilia.
“We need to shovel the snow.”
I hear Papa’s baritone and see Mom
standing on the patio with two mugs of kehwa.“First have the kehwa, then shovel it!”
The snowman peers wearing Papa’s glasses.
My kid brother hurls a ball of snow at me.
“Hey, Mister, how dare you throw things at your elder sister? “
I yell a full-throated yell. He goes pell-mell
guffawing a guffaw, laced with frost.
Ice clinks in my glass.
Memory chunks tarry a bit- then pass.
Icicles of various sizes full of pleasant surprises.
Is that my kid bro in boxing gloves turning blue in rage?
The cranky fellow oft displayed his versatility in crazy pranks.
I chuckle at a secret thought.
What if a resurrected Picasso adds my bro’s blue nose
to his repertoire of the Blue Period,
with an added embellishment -a red rose
stuck to the lapel of his hand –me- down black coat,
about which he was always complaining?
While travelling in the train once,
the poor fellow had been mistaken for a ticket collector,
clad in a coat two sizes bigger for his lanky figure!
Thankfully that memory chunk lies buried under frost.
But my soul is ablaze in the warmth of those frosted memories.
About the Author
Santosh Bakaya is an award winning poet, novelist, biographer, TEDx Speaker, acclaimed for poetic biography, Ballad of Bapu, Dr. Santosh Bakaya’ has authored twenty- three books encompassing multiple genres. Reuel International Awardee [Poetry, 2014], Setu International Awardee for ‘stellar contribution to world literature’, 2018 [Pittsburgh, USA], WE EUNICE DE SOUZA [WE Literary Community, 2023], for ‘rich and diverse contribution to Poetry, literature and Learning’, she runs a column, Morning Meanderings [Learning and Creativity. Com]. Her recently published works are What is the Meter of the Dictionary? The Catnaman [With Dr. Sunil Sharma] & For Better or Verse [With Ramendra Kumar and Dr. Ampat Koshy].
Thursday, 13th February, 2025
bags of mulch
stacked around
the house
this grief
still too heavy
to unload
like James Earl Jones
a deep booming voice
in my head says
the sparrows have chosen!
it is your tree they will nest in
through the winter
a tick burrowing
under my skin
a tiny insult
that turns out
was a bullseye
all along
About the Author
Susan Burch began writing tanka poetry in April 2013. Then haiku, senryu, haibun, gembun, tanka prose, sedoka, sedoka prose, and cherita. When she writes, she lets the poem be what wants it to be. All the poems in this book wanted to be cherita, and were kept together on purpose, as a collection. None of them were previously published. Susan was the Vice President of The Tanka Society of America from 2017- 2024. She was also the Editor of Haiku in Action from 2023-2024. Susan resides in Hagerstown, Maryland, USA, with her amazing husband, Sexy Beast, and daughter, British Baby. She enjoys reading, doing puzzles, birding, and watching Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team.
Wednesday, 12th February 2025
Frosted memories
By Tamali Neogi
Depending on the curve of our disposition,
we remember either the saddest or the happiest,
memory of our past,
psychologists say so, but is there any rule, fixed or not?
At times the weird behaviour of memory puzzles a lot,
otherwise who is such a fool to look back,
for the burden of past mistakes and errors is enough
to sink us in the coldest ocean of compunction.
Don't know why on a sunny morning when
angels go swimming on the glassy water of Manas lake,
alluring gateway to heaven,
when my mind, piercing it open,
out of the age old blanket of misery,
just started enjoying the drama of
dream happenings,
when life around seems to be the most beautiful thing,
why then the light falls on the cloudy gemstones,
childhood pain, adolescent aberration, sins of youth?
No. It's not as painful now as before.
Perhaps under pressure they are converted
into agate stones,
and see how it splits,
when the ray of conscious understanding
passes through them,
the seven colours of rainbow,
bring into prominence multiple
subconscious understandings;
inviting changes of perspectives!
Won't shun again, reflections on the past,
for depending on our disposition,
fossil like under the layers of alluvial soils
or gem like in cavities in igneous rocks,
like me, my soft hearted friends,
or the unfeeling demons,
may too discover their frosted memories.
Tuesday, 11th Feb, 2025
frosted windows
every morning star
a reminder of you
a snowdrift morning
we turn inward
finding ourselves
in a world
of glimmering silver
gone but not forgotten
ice spirals folded
into sunrise
About the Author
Joanna Ashwell is a short form poet (from the UK) who writes Haiku, Tanka, Haibun, Cherita and other related forms. She has published four collections of poetry. Between Moonlight a collection of haiku was published by Hub Editions in 2006. Her tanka collection ‘Every Star’ was published by KDP on Amazon in 2023. Her Cherita collection ‘River Lanterns’ was published by 1-2-3 Press on Amazon in 2023. She currently serves on the selection team for the Canadian Tanka Journal GUSTS.
Monday, 10th February, 2025
Live...Pause
By Vidya Hariharan
a lump on my slender neck
ear nose throat ENT
specialist scribbles other
acronyms with a stylus
emanating professional
stance in a white room
with a partition behind
a high faux-leather bed
with wheels on which I
hunch, Rodin! While
the nurse calls out
the next suppliant’s no.
About the Author
Vidya Hariharan lives and works as a lecturer in a suburban college in Mumbai, India. Vidya's poems, haiku, haibun, senryu and prose narratives can be found in Setu, Contemporary Haibun Online, Pan Haiku Review, Under the Basho, Borderless, Poems India, Glomag, among others.
About the Author
Radha Chakravarty is a widely published writer, critic and translator. Subliminal: Poems is her recent collection of poetry. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She contributed to Pandemic: A Worldwide Community Poem (Muse Pie Press, USA), nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2020.
Thursday, 6th February, 2025
pierced heart
on a window pane
dusting day
cradled faith
a prayer awaits
the pole star
Why, child, do you
step into my aura,
only to vanish?
reality
taking shape
in conjured worlds
About the Author
Kavita Ratna is a children's rights activist, poet and a theatre enthusiast. Sea Glass is her anthology of poems published by Red River. Her poems have appeared in The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess within, A little book of serendipity, Muse India, The Wise Owl, Triveni Hakai India, Haiku in Action, the Scarlet Dragonfly, the Cold Moon Journal, Five Fleas Itchy poetry, the Haiku Dialogue, Stardust Haiku, Leaf (Journal of The Daily Haiku), and many others. She was on the Haiku panel at the Glass House Poetry Festival, Bangalore, 2024. She is also a Pushcart Prize nominee, 2024.
Wednesday, 5th February, 2025
Twilight Hours
By Geeta Varma
They stay,
The early ones,
Like old photographs
On a fading wall,
Of-
Sweaters, red and brown
hanging on a clothesline,
waiting for the school bus
in the cold,
sister in a white petticoat
refusing to sit
on a cold metal chair,
a soft white flower falling
and I, picking up
as we, father and I, walk
one dark evening,
waiting for a peacock feather
in my notebook
to germinate,
grandma’s echoing voice
in the old courtyard
of her ancient house,
our running in the rain,
our new-born baby
packed, full of wonder,
ready to be cuddled….
So much, so many
Frozen in time
In the twilight hours
Of my life!
About the Author
Geeta Varma is a poet based in Chennai. She has worked as a teacher and freelance journalist for some time. She has to her credit two books of poems and is a regular contributor to a few online magazines. She lives in Neelankarai with her husband Shreekumar Varma and has two sons, Vinayak married to Yamini, and Karthik.
Tuesday, 4th February, 2025
fallen leaves -
all the words
I didn't say
lockdown -
wall of silence
unveils the stars
cicadas...
the empty shell
of my womb
About the Author
Giuliana Ravaglia was born in the province of Bologna (Italy), is a former primary school teacher and has a great love for poetry, especially haiku. His poems have been published on websites and online magazines: Otata, Troutswirl, ESUJ-H, Asahi Haikuist Network, The Mainichi, Scarlet Dragonfly Journal, Haikuuniverse, Cold Moon Journal, Akita International Haiku Network, The Bamboo Hut, Take 5ive, Haiku Corner, Memoirs of a Geisha, HaikuNetra, Haiku World, Failed Haiku among others. he received Honorable mention in Haiku EuroTop 100.
Monday, 3rd February, 2025
Everlasting Memories
By Sreelekha Chatterjee
Memories hang like verglases
from the rock-solid ceiling of my mind.
With the warmth of my remembrance,
they melt, pouring out, come alive.
Moments turn into memories
I do not know when.
One leads to another,
clustering as though a bunch of grapes
from the soul of my existence,
belonging to a common memoir clade.
Memories frosted for life
bloom as delightful flowers—
imperishable like the fragrance
of my being without which I feel disempowered.
Refreshing as the roseate air of dawn’s
illuminating grace,
anamneses come forth,
seem to ebb and flow—
vanish and reappear.
Reminiscent of the frosted icing on the cake,
I relish them, venerate their lived experiences—
some of memorized tears, others of recollected laughter;
their beauty embraces with passionate wings.
Akin to the snow that amasses—wise and bright—
memories remain sealed,
my heart endowed with gratitude chimes.
About the Author
Sreelekha Chatterjee is a poet from New Delhi, India. Her poems have appeared in Madras Courier, Setu, Raw Lit, Verse-Virtual, The Wise Owl, Pena Literary Magazine, Ghudsavar Literary Magazine, Orenaug Mountain Poetry Journal, Poetry Catalog, Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Creative Flight, Medusa’s Kitchen, Everscribe Magazine, and in the anthologies—Light & Dark (Bitterleaf Books, UK), The Harvest & the Reaping, Winter Glimmerings, and Whose Spirits Touch (Orenaug Mountain Publishing, USA), and Christmas-Winter Anthology Volume 4 (Black Bough Poetry, Wales, UK).
Friday, 31st January, 2025
Patterns
By Avantika Singh
As frosty winds blow,
Icy patterns of frost on windshields grow
From trees to intricate leaves
Beauteous patterns, the ice weaves.
My warm breath I see escape,
In the cold air in a shape
Like a small, puffed-up cloud—
Patterns I see where none did abound.
As frosty winds blow,
The homeless shiver slow
On the roads, they lie
Besides small fires under the open sky.
Sometimes on a gurdwara’s steps
At other times under the flyovers complex
They find shelter from the cold
Bundled under quilts tattered and old.
But the world works in its own fashion,
As unknown hands reach out in compassion
Distributing blankets to the destitute
Covering them with love resolute.
As frosty winds blow
The patterns of compassion show,
Embracing the cold on footpaths and pavements
In steaming cups of tea and other arrangements.
As frosty winds blow,
The dogs lie snuggled low
On small hillocks of dug-out earth
For that warmth is their hearth.
As a compassionate soul passes by
Jackets and food they supply.
In this world, as we pass by
In patterns of compassion, let us tie
About the Author
Avantika Vijay Singh is a communications professional, wearing the hats of a writer, editor, poet, researcher, and amateur photographer. She has authored two solo anthologies, edited three anthologies, and has been published in national and international journals. She received the Nissim International Award Runner Up 2023, WE Gifted Poet 2024, and WE Illumination Award 2024.
Thursday, 30th January, 2025
Frozen Memories
By Fatma Zohra Habis
memories frozen
alone I review
old movie
a cold spark
from frozen distant echoes
I reach for it's warmth
novel on the shelf
time folds its pages~
memories frozen
Thursday, 30th January, 2025
Poems
By Vijay Prasad
winter dusk –
her eyes weep
fog
inside the winter wind my last breath
cold moon –
not a speck
of mind
snowfall . . .
her one-sided
hesitancy
Wednesday, 29th January, 2025
Farewell
By Shivshankar Menon
I will break my ships down now
To pieces of floating driftwood
And cast them out upon the sea to
Journey where they will. For I
Don’t want to point them any longer
To my own purposes, nor chain
Them to indefinite waiting at anchor.
Let them find at last their own
Favoured waves and shape their own
Voyages. Let them follow their
Preferred siren voices and challenge
Shipwreck on rocks of their secret
Desiring. And shorebound I shall perhaps
Watch them for a while, shading my eyes
From sunset-daggered waves and spray
Until sky and sea embrace in darkness
And my ships, whole once more, return
On the green tides of dreams
About the Author
Shivshankar Menon served for many years on the History faculty of St Stephen's College, Delhi. Currently he lives in his hometown Thiruvananthapuram in Kerala and devotes himself to the study of Russian language and literature. His work has appeared in the online journals Muse India, Gulmohur Quarterly, induswomanwriting, and Poems India.
About the Author
Monday, 27th January, 2025
The Frozen Memories
By Toolika Rani
Under the umbrella of time
We feign ourselves protected
From the snowflakes falling around
Our footprints getting buried
In the seamless snow-filled ground,
And forward we march in an arrogant ignorance
Creating a crunching sound,
Until time plays a trick again-
Unearthing the frozen memories
Unleashing astonishing discoveries
Revealing, seventy-five years on,
the enigmatic Mellory
And,
Throwing Irvin’s shoe up right after a century.
Who knows what else the snow covered up!
When it melts, the clock may turn backwards!
About the Author
Squadron Leader (Dr) Toolika Rani is an ex-Indian Air Force Officer, Mountaineer (Everest Climber), International Motivational Speaker (TEDx), Author, Poet, Assistant Professor of History, and was also the G-20 Brand Ambassador of Higher Education Department, U.P. Government (2023). Her books include Beyond That Wall: Redemption on Everest (2021), Sherpas of Solukhumbu: History and Evolution (2023), two collections of Hindi poems titled, Dayron ke Bahar (2023) and Hasratein (2024), two collections of English poems titled, The Song of the Sky (2024) and A Wild Flower (2024). In addition, she has edited an International Anthology of poems on Himalaya, titled, The Mountain was Abuzz, which was displayed at the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival in 2024. She is the co-author of the book, ‘Healing and Growth: Inspiring Stories for Massive Transformation’ published from the USA.
Friday, 24th January, 2025
Anniversary
By Sanjeev Sethi
As you hide in the halo of unsung harmonies,
my tunes wallow in the vernix of unborn lyrics.
How much ever one may circumvent, run on
uncommon routes, marks from memory inter-
crosses like tired stamps or exhausted songs.
When it is too late to remedy or recast, the
answer is acceptance. With tottery stiles, one
bends towards the balustrade. Barreled, everyone
is a dead ringer. Secure in syllogisms, Cassandras
in my canton straggle me as I baste a safeguard.
About the Author
Sanjeev Sethi has authored eight books of poetry. Legato Without a Lisp is his latest (CLASSIX, an imprint of Hawakal, New Delhi, September 2024). His poetry has been published in over thirty-five countries and has appeared in more than 500 journals, anthologies, and online literary venues. He edited Dreich Planet # 1 India, an anthology for Hybriddreich, Scotland, in December 2022. He is the joint winner of the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. Sethi is in the top 10 of the erbacce-prize 2021. He is the recipient of the Ethos Literary Award 2022. In 2023, he won the First Prize in a Poetry Competition by the National Defence Academy, Pune. He was conferred the 2023 Setu Award for Excellence. He lives in Mumbai, India.
Thursday, 23rd January, 2025
Tanka
By Jahnavi Gogoi
misshapen bow
floating in the air like wishes
tufts of cotton rehomed again
in an old razai
my mother’s compromises
foggy morning
grandma’s prayer song
offers a glimmer of solace
the marigolds orbit the quivering
flame of an earthen lamp
old photograph
father in a field of verbena
cradling an infant with my smile
the northern sky witnesses
our final meeting
Poet's Note: The misshapen bow refers to the instrument used by the quilt makers of India.
Razai: A quilt .
About the Author
Wednesday, 22nd January, 2025
Fire and Ice
By Sunil Kaushal
Speaking of bygone eras-
Today, matchbox homes have burnt the fireplace
when North winds tease tinkling icicles off naked branches
when single file footsteps in circles reach homelessness,
diaphanous snowflakes frost
breath in and out of lungs, seeking a roof
warm fingers, toes and a bowl of broth!
When peals of bells slice heavy silence, hibernation stirs,
Santa’s landing on my rooftop, I feel.
When indigo twinkles on blanketed pristine white,
my ancestral home rooms stay warm all night
not as a hangover of the colonial culture or rule
but the hearth being the heart of this home,
fires are lit, wood chips and shavings kindle kindling
logs hiss and sizzle, chimneys smoke
yellow, orange flames lick the flue aglow
tongs and poker standing by ready to stoke.
Young and old gather, beholden togetherness.
Overcoats, mufflers, mittens and caps shrugged off
guffaws and giggles, veins and cheeks aflush
peals and squeals break the night’s gelid hush
everyone baubles the Christmas tree a little. A tall teen
fixes the Star of Bethlehem on the peak.
Good cheer casts a presence, rum and eggnog, add on
peanuts, pistachio shells perk up dancing flames.
Red- green themed cover and candles, buoy
laden tables with our favourite fare
love and laughter ginger the air.
The grandfather clock nudges, time in bed to be tumbling
new logs on dying embers warm the home now slumbering.
Snuggled and hugged cherubic cheeks turn rose gold
cradled in granny’s gossamer shawl’s lacy folds.
Sated and sleepy we’re ready to say goodnight
to the sound of carols “…..all is calm, all is bright!”
About the Author
About the Author
Vijay Prasad is a poet from Patna, India. He is disappointingly interested in life. He has a passion for haiku, language, philosophy, and so on ... He is published in Bones, Under the Basho, tinywords, Failed Haiku, The Mumba Journal, Haiku Dialogue, Prune Juice, among others.
Monday, 20th January, 2025
Calcutta Winters
By Haimanti Dutta Ray
It seems last year, but
Eons of years have lapsed
Since me holding hands with eyes shut
Inside the Zoo; childhood, dashed
Amid pages of an album, suddenly erupt
Woolens, out with mothballs, washed
Worn with love – pristine, not corrupt
Forgotten time that ran and clashed
With the clocks, the hour hands did disrupt.
Movements – seasonal and personal – smashed
The liquid frozen time, that came up – a memory abrupt
Winter outings, in the brilliant sun, abashed
The cozy pictures within phosphorescent memories, cupped
Calcutta winters are solidified warmth, molten n’ cached
We revel in them, until they swirl in our gut.
About the Author
Haimanti Dutta Ray is a Kolkata-based poet whose poetry collection 'Yesterday in Tomorrow' has been released recently.
Friday, 17th January, 2025
Hot coffee with a view of a snow covered parking lot
By Biswajit Mishra
A well-earned latte,
after an unusual walk by snowy streets-
some sidewalks still have uncleared icy patches
but the sunny afternoon
enticed me to come out-
two large dumping of snow
may have brought my bar lower
and another deviation I make
stopping by for a coffee at Starbucks
where a light music is on-
Christmassy ambiance
and I sit with my coffee
looking out at the unused patio
just outside my window
where two chairs sit
on which snow is still hanging on,
a few vehicles are strewn about
with the detached tractor of a semi
in the parking lot beyond
which is fully covered with snow
metamorphosed into a brownish hue
traded on, driven on-
could have been sands
that kids had wrangled on at a beach
giving the lot a forlorn look-
a scene out of an apocalypse movie.
All seemed to be attuned to the pace
of a November afternoon
that I enjoy with a calmness
at the turnstile
where both autumn and winter
face each other in a stand-off, each scheming
to get a jump on the other.
About the Author
Mona Bedi is a medical doctor in Delhi, India. She has been writing poetry since childhood but a few years back she started writing the Japanese form.. haiku. She has authored two poetry books published by the name of 'they you and me' and 'dancing moonlight.' She received the Grand Prize in the 3rd Morioka Haiku Festival, 2021 and four haiku of merit in the World Haiku Review 2021/2022 alongwith an honourable mention at the Japan Fair 2021. Her haiku, tanka haibun and Haiga has been published in various journals of repute like Presence, Modern haiku, Haiku dialogue, Haiku in Action, Triveni haikuKatha, Drifting sands, Failed haiku, Stardust, among others.
Wednesday, 15th January, 2025
Hymn for Fallen Soldiers
By Michael R. Burch
Sound the awesome cannons.
Pin medals to each breast.
Attention, honor guard!
Give them a hero’s rest.
Recite their names to the heavens
Till the stars acknowledge their kin.
Then let the land they defended
Gather them in again.
Poet's Note: When I learned there’s an American military organization, the DPAA (Defense/POW/MIA Accounting Agency) that is still finding and bringing home the bodies of soldiers who died serving their country in World War II, after blubbering like a baby, I managed to eke out this poem.
Tuesday, 14th January, 2025
teardrops
of burning memories
all evaporate
only to return back
as rain-soaked grief
melting snow into blades of grass
frozen differences an adjective of the past
still breathing the scribbles deep beneath the frosty time
tea flowers grandmother’s kyusu brewed with joy
About the Author
Pravat Kumar Padhy is a mainstream poet and a writer of Japanese short forms of poetry (haiku, tanka, haiga, haibun, tanka prose). His poem 'How Beautiful' is included in the undergraduate curriculum at the university level. Pravat’s haiku won The Kloštar Ivanić International Haiku Award, Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Invitational Award, IAFOR Vladimir Devidé Haiku Award, Setouchi Matsuyama Photo Haiku Award and others. His haiku are published in many international journals and anthologies including in Red Moon Anthology. Haiku are featured at 'Haiku Wall', Historic Liberty Theatre Gallery in Bend, Oregon and at Mann Library, Cornell University. USA. His publications can be read at http://pkpadhy.blogspot.com
Monday, 13th January, 2025
Mummified
By Lily Swarn
I let the chill mummify my dreams
With the stubbornness of snow
Hardening into blocks of stony ice
Sabre toothed icicles swoop down
From frozen cliffs of sepia memories
Lampooning slopes of shrouded Dalhousie
Rambler roses died bruised deaths
With whiffs of perfumed nostalgia
Beside carrot nosed comic snowmen
I let the frost gnaw into my innards
With nightmares of wild Yeti forms
Riding Tibetan yaks ,wool blinded
About the Author
Lily Swarn won the Reuel International Prize for Poetry 2016 and was recognised by the World Union of Poetsas Global Poet of Peace and Universal Love. World Institute Of Peace conferred the title of Global Icon of Peace on her in Nigeria. Lily has been awarded the Virtuoso Award by Philosophique Poetica. She has penned several books and her poetry & prose have been featured in many prestigious literary magazines.
Friday, 10th January, 2025
Forgotten
By Nandita Samanta
I have no memories,
I watch myself from behind an amnesiac mirror
in delirium, touch my body gently,
narcissus returns to me.
Then sleep comes, leaving behind
the foreshadow of an exile.
The forgotten frigid passion
cuddles the setting moon.
That night, you wished to touch me-
that was only the caress,
I couldn’t feel anything after that.
About the Author
Nandita Samanta is a poet, short story writer, reviewer, editor, artist, and translator. She freelances as a parenting and relationship advisor and colour therapist. Her writings, published in three of her compilations, many anthologies, webzines, and journals, are highly appreciated and translated into different languages.
Thursday, 9th January, 2025
New Year dawn
brass candlesticks gleam
a friend's memory
lost birdsong…
the wooden birdhouse
fills with frost
draping the warmth
of an old pashmina...
winter loneliness
About the Author
A Touchstone nominee in the Shortlist for Individual Poems in 2021, Neena is a banker turned poet. Her haikai poetry is regularly published in international journals and magazines. She has published two books of poetry—'Whispers of the Soul: the journey within' and 'One Breath Poetry'. She runs a non-profit for quality interventions in the education and health of underprivileged children in Chandigarh. Neena loves to sit in the garden conversing with squirrels and pigeons.
Wednesday, 8th January, 2025
Cold Yearnings
By Sunil Sharma
Earth and sky fused
into
a vertical of
silver, the dominant
colour with varied
shades splashed around,
dark-grey-bluish
patches
animate the void.
Winter is a silent painter of warm colours, grandpa, a devoted farmer
in Ontario, declares over dinner, during a rare family
reunion, as the fire crackles, and a yellow fog once seen
by T. S. Eliot, settles down, along with the alley cat.
Also, a soft-voiced singer, grandma added with a twinkle
in eyes with failing sight: A female singer working the
fields and yards and humming simultaneously; the wind
scatters those
songs
to the world, on an icy breath.
The children played on the soft sheets rolled out over the grassy grounds, doing somersaults, throwing snow at each other playfully in the flurries; the screaming
kids, during the recess, embraced warmly by a grey-bearded old man with cold
fingers and white brows, while the gentle creatures of God hibernated beneath
the solid sheets, warm in burrows.
The white-outs are getting rare now!
Missing, the desolation of stark beauty and romance of the winters!
Grandpa said with the long sigh of a jilted lover.
We, too, miss out the snowy country, kids complained bitterly to the adults busy
with their gadgets; no longer we see the stoic
Snow-men and their happy families, out in the open, welcoming the freezing
rain and ice, with smiles on snub-nosed faces; reassuring presence, for a lonely
commuter, trudging home, after a late shift
in a cavernous warehouse, full of young immigrants, hoping for bright stars, in
the dark
alien skies!
About the Author
Sunil Sharma is a humble word-worshipper: catcher of elusive sounds, meanings and images. He has published 27 creative and critical books-joint and solo. A winner of, among others, the Panorama Golden Globe Award-2023, and, Nissim Award for Excellence-2022 for the novel Minotaur. His poems were included in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, 2015.
Tuesday, 7th January, 2025
Window Sill
Tender flame long waits
on window sill, faint stars fade
as the East lightens
I will puff out the candle flame
and scrape dry wax in the morn
Winter Winds
Kogarashi stirs
Kyoto red leaves shiver
winter winds arise
Kestrel
A wild bird of prey
kestrel hovers overhead
rapacious haiku
About the Author
Victoria Crawford is a poet living in Thailand. She enjoys writing short form poetry, particularly haiku and tanka, about all forms of nature from her pocket-sized garden to hiking in northern Thailand jungles. Her poems have been published in many journals and have followed the natural worlds of all the countries she has lived in.
Monday, 6th January, 2025
Undead
By Radha Chakravarty
drowned moments refuse to die
beneath the frozen surface
of willed forgetting
lies a chill dark lake of guilt
where undead memories lie in wait
at night through sudden cracks
in that smooth, hardened crust
we skim so glibly in the day
dark secrets rise like twisted claws
to clutch our souls
and drag us under
too late
we realize
skating on the thin ice
of falsehood can be
fatal
About the Author
Radha Chakravarty is a widely published writer, critic and translator. Subliminal: Poems is her recent collection of poetry. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She contributed to Pandemic: A Worldwide Community Poem (Muse Pie Press, USA), nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2020.
Friday, 3rd January, 2025
Winter's Apprentice
By Peter A Witt
Her breath etches the crisp morning air,
as she twirls circles on the glassy surface, her eyes
a pair of sleighs tracing whispers of gossamer wings,
promises of winter spun in her gaze.
Frost blooms like cobwebs on her fingertips,
each blink scattering powdery stars,
her lashes weave whispers on the wind,
as she catches the shimmer of drifting flakes,
tongue tasting secrets of the cold.
Beyond the lace of glittering hills,
clouds of laughter ripple across the valley.
She hears the swift, sharp cut of blades,
the wind carrying dreams, currently out-of-reach,
but almost ready to touch.
Gliding, she watches, quiet and still,
ice her canvas, hope her guide that
one day she will become an ice dancer
twirling within winter's crystal arms.
About the Author
Thursday, 2nd January, 2025
one after another
poems nascent in my heart
newly born
a poem leaks out
through the threadbare spot
of my newly healing heart
between the margins
a word here, there
before a patch seals it closed
About the Author
Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she teaches, paints, writes and hikes. Her poetry has appeared internationally in a wide variety of journals, two of her poems have won international contests and one was recently turned into a choral piece for a concert. Jennifer’s first book of poetry, My Eyes Adjusting, has recently been published.
Wednesday, 1st January, 2025
The Evergreens sigh
By Ketaki Mazumdar
Forever love in stars
of a cold winter sky
shimmers of nostalgia wrapped in
frosted memories,
trying to survive
the bleakness of aloneness...
the surround sound of life
is painfully muted...
the quilt we shared
is thin, unfluffed, lacks your fragrance,
lacks the warmth of togetherness...
frosted in hibernation
cocooned in me
are pine aromas...
Xmas cakes, mince pies and freshly baked cookies...and our laughter...
colours of oranges,
red apples,white chrysanthemums and poinsettias...
obsessions we shared,
gift wrapped with red, white and green,
angels, stars, fairy lights, music...
sweetness of soaring carols and church bells...
shimmery silver snow flakes...
laughter and kisses we had shared.
Tuesday, 31st December, 2024
Haiku on Winter's Embrace
By Steliana C Voicu
sandalwood notes -
your arms
my Milky Way
Christmas drink -
marshmallows stars blending
with cream drops
winter solstice -
my blanket, your windowsill
and New York cheesecake
Tuesday, 31st December, 2024
Poems on Winter's Embrace
By Snigdha Agrawal
virginal white outside
snow blushes with moonlight's glow-
throwback to wedding night
flock of cranes take flight
wheelchair-bound
clings to his sweater's warmth
frost-kissed silver gleams...
bare branches hold quiet strength
wisdom's winter blooms
Monday, 30th December, 2024
Microcosms
By Supatra Sen
Another year draws to an end
Another cycle done
An intricate collage of moments and memories
With fragments of my being
Each a story
Microcosm…
.
Buried deep
As seeds beneath the earth
To grow anew each spring
Nurtured by time
And dreams
Sprout to rain and sun
And seek beauty in wilderness
The winding path ahead
Still beckons
And so the yarn spins
The web…
Ever and ever more
Life’s countless cycles
Friday, 27th December, 2024
A Romantic Winter
By Joseph Ogbonna
In my cozy room by the calm, gentle
and romantic feel of the fireplace,
I relish greater warmth with Hanna's
delightful presence in the Advent season.
Together we spent a vacation in my
own winter inn, designed specially
as a magnificent winter palace by both
of our worlds subsumed into one.
Where we had our own seasonal
picturesque warmth from the frozen
salt and solid water that adorn the
wintry landscape for a Yuletide's sleigh
ride.
We lit our candles to extend the limited
daylight, reminiscent of a romantic wintry night.
Our small winter palace rendered the much needed shelter in the ice storms
caused by freezing rain. A little distant from our warm and refreshing fireplace is our lavishly
decorated Christmas cedar, which I had hewn down from the
reindeer's freezing habitation, which had become slightly devoid of
plant life sprouting from wintry plains.
In the warmth of our cottage, we enjoyed a romantically created
heaven of some sort,
where we remained to evade the developing
blizzards that typically characterise the exciting season.
Thursday, 26th December, 2024
new year
checking the calendar
for photos to frame
deepening winter
slowly the street lamp
dying
winter sunshine
home office
in the garden
About the Author
Govind Joshi is a mariner and navigates ships around the world for a living. He lives in Dehradun, India and loves nature, gardening, travel and poetry. His Japanese short form poetry has been published in many fine print and online journals including Frogpond, Presence, cattails, chrysanthemum and The Wise Owl.
Wednesday, 25th December, 2024
Orion
By Belinda Behne
Taking out the trash
on an ink black winter night
I hear the stars
they call my name
Look up! they say Look up!
My dear old friend Orion
from childhood winter nights
waves to me
inviting me
to join him in the dance
I burst out laughing
I drop my trash
what can I say but Yes!
His sparkling belt surrounds me
I fly into his arms
we whirl together
thru the heavens
with a trillion dancing stars.
About the Author
Belinda Behne grew up in the midwest, but she has spent most of her adult life in the vibrant culture of New York City. Her first career, as a teacher of special education, led her to the love of art, literature and theatre. She has pursued her passions of acting, writing poetry and performing professional voice-overs for more than three decades. She currently enjoys living on the edge of a salt marsh, where life continues to inspire her in new ways. Her poetry can be found in LEAF Journal, The Wise Owl, Scarlet Dragonfly, and Cold Moon Journal.
Tuesday, 24th December, 2024
releasing
to heaven -
lanterns on the lake
to wake alive
even in this world -
white chrysanthemums
forgiving the body
its brokenness -
prairie storm at dusk
Monday, 23rd December, 2024
Twilight
By Supatra Sen
Time to return
Walk the mist laden paths
Strewn with leaves of fall
In rich hues…
Precious and priceless
I gather them
My autumn leaves
Till I can hold no more…
I have seen it all
Birth and death
Bonds and freedom
Love and loss
And I wish no more
Time to return
To the hearth
From where I had flown
Long long ago
It was then spring…
Soaring higher and beyond
Dreams and more
Summer….
But now the final destination
Or destiny
The home…the hearth
The warm caress of winter
Journey to the very own
The self…
The soul…
About the Author
Dr. Supatra Sen is an Associate Professor And Head, PG Dept of Botany, Asutosh College,Kolkata. She loves reading and writing poetry in her spare time.
Friday, 2oth December, 2024
Winter's Embrace
By Umayal Subramaniam
In the land where the year is filled with Summer,
The embrace of the winter for a month or two,
Is an oasis in a desert, the traveller resting,
Winter is rejoiced with music at dawn,
A hot filter coffee as the first rays light the morn,
Colourful decorated mandalas at the entrance,
The fresh winter flowers not only adorning temples
But the long braids of womenfolk,
The dew drops shine on the tips of the leaves,
The fragrance in the garden envelope the air,
Festive spirit hangs about, the winter solstice,
Shorter days, colder days and
Still wintery nights,
A beautiful pre dawn before stepping into the day,
Creating balance and stability before the moblity
Keeping the roots intact, let us fly high in the sky.
About the Author
Umayal Subramaniam is a fourth generation educationist and an Early Childhood Educator with nearly two decade of experience and runs a playschool called "Squirrels". She loves seeing the world through little eyes and she looks forward to inspire people and to give back to the society in ways that matter.
About the Author
Giuliana Ravaglia was born in the province of Bologna (Italy), is a former primary school teacher and has a great love for poetry, especially haiku. His poems have been published on websites and online magazines: Otata, Troutswirl, ESUJ-H, Asahi Haikuist Network, The Mainichi, Scarlet Dragonfly Journal, Haikuuniverse, Cold Moon Journal, Akita International Haiku Network, The Bamboo Hut, Take 5ive, Haiku Corner, Memoirs of a Geisha, HaikuNetra, Haiku World, Failed Haiku among others. he received Honorable mention in Haiku EuroTop 100
Wednesday, 18th December, 2024
Whispers of the Frost
By Lalita Vaitheeswaran
The crevices of the heart lay frozen
Waiting for the blooms of spring,
The white dry and cold snow lay scattered
The birds hibernated and folded their wings!
The mountains were barren and far spread
As they lay inviting sleet on their chests
The trees stood tall with intricate lacy branches
With misty twigs and empty nests!
The air was crisp and sharp with a scent of pine
The ponds froze like a beautiful mirror of ice
The icicles shone as the ornament of a bride
Everything stood standstill against the grey skies!
While the blossoms and the blooms wait outside,
Tis time for a pause, to heal and look within,
A silent symphony of quiet beauty, a silver whisper,
The beautiful quietude, a respite from the din!
The white blanket drapes itself around every being,
The frosty scars in the gorges are silently embraced,
Tranquility and calmness sooth chilling hearts
The tumultuous soul now harmony awaits!
About the Author
Dr.Lalita Vaitheeswaran is a gynaecologist by profession and a bilingual writer by passion. She has published 7 books of poetry both in English and Hindi and a book of short stories in English. She has been the editor of 2 anthologies and one novel. She has received a number of awards and accolades for her writing ventures.
Tuesday, 17th December, 2024
chill breath
accosts me suddenly
this shadow
ground frozen
surviving upon remains
starving time
shadow of tassel
resembles bell
soon a new year
About the Author
Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, and Modern Haiku. His first full-length collections of poetry Bathtub Poems and Funny Pages were just released by Setu and Meat For Tea press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Yavanika.
About the Author
Frank William Finney is a poet and retired lecturer from Massachusetts who taught in Thailand for 25 years. A recipient of the Letter Review Prize for Poetry, his work has appeared in numerous international journals and anthologies including Brussels Review, Little Leaf Literary Journal, and Loft Books (UK), Penn Journal of Arts and Sciences, The Wise Owl, and elsewhere.
Friday, 13th December, 2024
A Winter in Madras
By Geetha Ravichandran
Come December, the eponymous flowers
appeared in bushes outside the door,
violet or pink, papery, without fragrance
and unfit for worship.
Our winters did not yield
to lyrical descriptions.
But the house stopped being a furnace
and at dawn the leaves were laden with dew.
Past the early twilight,
distant stars and a swollen moon
filled clear skies, although
it was meant to be the season for rains.
Those imperceptible changes in the weather
registered, even when transitions were seamless.
Music resonated in the air,
a banquet laid out by erudite artists.
In many homes, the tanpura and the veena
would be dusted, displayed
and children made to
recommence music lessons.
The music continues
even now, riding the heat wave,
the acoustics louder by several decibels.
But we no longer see
the stars nor the dew
nor the December flowers.
Poet's Note: The December flower- Barleria cristata or the Phillipine violet was once very common in Madras, blooming in the month of December.
About the Author
Geetha Ravichandran is a retired IRS officer. She writes a monthly column on contemporary issues for The New Indian Express. Her poetry has been published in various journals, anthologised and featured in The Yearbook of Indian Poetry for four successive years. She has published two collections of poems, Arjavam and The Spell of the Rain Tree.
Thursday, 12th December, 2024
the missing nose
of the Sphinx
this desiderium
for places
I’ll never go
things I’ll never see
1,000 calls a day
to the Billy Graham
prayer line
how we all need
something
to believe in
a wild yak
on a high, steep
slope…
how you relish
looking down on me
About the Author
Susan Burch writes Japanese genre poetry (haiku, tanka, haibun, cherita, gembun, senryu, sedoka et al) with elan. When she writes she lets the poem be what it wants to be. Susan was the Vice President of the Tanka Society of America from 2017 to 2024. She was also Editor of Haiku in Action from 2023-24. Susan resides in Hagerstown, Maryland, USA with her husband and daughter. She enjoys reading, doing puzzles and birding.
Wednesday, 11th December, 2024
Winter in Doraville
By Gopal Lahiri
This morning the wind is blowing from the north,
I open and shut the glass doors many times.
The blurred shadow of the maple tree is frozen,
in the hall the prayers that are made remain silent.
Clouds thicken and the snow flurries begin to fall
into the pine top and wood houses below.
Just above the sand at the bottom of the cold water
the fish that loves us, go to sleep.
Through the neighbour’s hedge an awestruck deer
comes out and vanishes again in the forest hill.
It’s freezing. Yet I want to see, to hear, I want
to loosen myself inside this soft fluffy snow world.
And that lonely hummingbird slowly turns itself
before me into an all-white dress, into pure snow.
*Doraville is a suburb in Atlanta, US.
About the Author
Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, writer and translator with 30 books published, including eight solo/jointly edited books. His poetry and prose are published across more than one hundred journals and anthologies globally His poems are translated in 18 languages and published in 16 countries. He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He has received Setu Excellence Award, Pittsburgh, US, in poetry in 2020. He has been conferred First Jayanta Mahapatra National Award on literature in 2024 for his significant contribution in Indian English Writing. His collection of poems ‘Alleys are Filled with Future Alphabets.’ has received Pan Asian Ukiyoto awards.
Monday, 9th December, 2024
Gelidity
By Sanjeev Sethi
Chill drafts itself on the palimpsest of my inurement
in a font I fail to grok. Security in stealth is a muse.
The openness of reckless impulse arrays inner jewels.
It unsettles me. The fallout of finality spins a cyclic
run. As in an alcoholic binge: One more, then another.
Patterns follow the same path. There are winters and
winters. Their unstudied gaze draws me to them, but
ab initio, they offer the frost without remedial feelings.
About the Author
Sanjeev Sethi has authored eight books of poetry. Legato Without a Lisp is his latest (CLASSIX, an imprint of Hawakal, New Delhi, September 2024). His poetry has been published in over thirty-five countries and has appeared in more than 500 journals, anthologies, and online literary venues. He edited Dreich Planet # 1 India, an anthology for Hybriddreich, Scotland, in December 2022. He is the joint winner of the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. Sethi is in the top 10 of the erbacce-prize 2021. He is the recipient of the Ethos Literary Award 2022. In 2023, he won the First Prize in a Poetry Competition by the National Defence Academy, Pune. He was conferred the 2023 Setu Award for Excellence. He lives in Mumbai, India.
About the Author
Geeta Varma is a poet based in Chennai. She has worked as a teacher and freelance journalist for some time. She has to her credit two books of poems and is a regular contributor to a few online magazines. She lives in Neelankarai with her husband Shreekumar Varma and has two sons, Vinayak married to Yamini, and Karthik.
Thursday, 5th December, 2024
head to toe
in woollens…
smothering love
a winter’s tale...
feet no longer twist and shout
at the crossroads
shivering stars
sand stirs
... grain by grain
About the Author
Kavita Ratna is a children's rights activist, poet and a theatre enthusiast. Sea Glass is her anthology of poems published by Red River. Her poems have appeared in The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess within, A little book of serendipity, Muse India, The Wise Owl, Triveni Hakai India, Haiku in Action, the Scarlet Dragonfly, the Cold Moon Journal, Five Fleas Itchy poetry, the Haiku Dialogue, Stardust Haiku, Leaf (Journal of The Daily Haiku), and many others. She was on the Haiku panel at the Glass House Poetry Festival, Bangalore, 2024. She is also a Pushcart Prize nominee, 2024.
Wednesday, 4th December, 2024
A Lonely Day
By Baijnath Gupta
An ancient soul in an ancient saree,
The crumpled one she wore for her wedding,
Was sitting in an aged chair
That was wobbly like her teeth,
Trying to read the letter she was given
On her first anniversary
With her weak eyes, or
Rather feeling each word
With her shaky fingers
Then holding it to her bosom for a while
Giving her man a loving hug
On their anniversary
Tears from her eyes
Wetting his soul
And the letter became a pulp.
About the Author
Dr. Baijnath Gupta is Associate Professor and Head, Department of English, DSN Postgraduate College, Unnao (Affiliated to CSJM University, Kanpur). He has edited an Anthology of Poems and has contributed twenty nine research articles to various National and International journals of repute. He has published several of his poems in different anthologies, journals and magazines. A collection of his poems is under publication.
Tuesday, 3rd December, 2024
footprints in fresh snow
two morning doves
disturb the silence
friends gather
with their lanterns
to warm the frosty night
the tender breath
of the winter moon
leaves love notes
on my window
About the Author
Belinda Behne grew up in the midwest, but she has spent most of her adult life in the vibrant culture of New York City. Her first career, as a teacher of special education, led her to the love of art, literature and theatre. She has pursued her passions of acting, writing poetry and performing professional voice-overs for more than three decades. She currently enjoys living on the edge of a salt marsh, where life continues to inspire her in new ways. Her poetry can be found in LEAF Journal, The Wise Owl, Scarlet Dragonfly, and Cold Moon Journal.
Monday, 2nd December, 2024
On the Wind
By Suzanne Smythe
Sometimes the wind is my Dad
I don’t know why
It is soft on my face
Sometimes cold and stings
I walk
Squinting in the sun
Or downcast under gray skies
A breeze comes up
A fierce gust comes up
And blows the leaves
I’ll notice it and I’ll say,
Hey Dad
Then the wind whispers back
Across my cheek
About the Author
Suzanne Smythe grew up aside the wild Pacific Coast between the Monterey Peninsula and Big Sur, California. She has written stories and poetry to make sense of the world since she could pick up a pencil more than 60 years ago. She lives in Connecticut and is currently working on a novel for young people. Her attention turns to poetry when the world seems to tumble.
Saturday, 30th November, 2024
The Obliterated Past
The old days beckoned, taking my soul to the yore
I had never felt this bliss when I travelled before
The people laughed in merriment, in gay abandon to show,
Just as the autumn leaves which knew how to let go.
Warmth oozed out of hearts, affection and love gushed to run,
Relationships nurtured and cherished with boundaries none
There were open spaces, and the air fragrant with bloom,
Wide pastures and meadows with a lake that deterred gloom!
The leaves flew, racing with the breeze, as they fell one by one
Yet, they felt contented that they made place for someone!
The old rituals and ceremonies were held in colorful splendor,
Rainbows looked spectacular and dew drops a wonder!
There was plenty of time, to cease and pause and take a look,
There was life celebrated in every corner, in every nook.
Everything has changed, just as leaves are grounded to dwell,
Frozen relationships, as the autumn retreats to bid farewell
Lives have changed to become fierce, unmoved and oblivious,
To those brown leaves of fall which lie to be trodden and trampled
About the Author
Dr.Lalita Vaitheeswaran is a gynecologist by profession and a bilingual writer by passion. She has published 7 books of poetry both in English and Hindi and a book of short stories in English. She has been the editor of 2 anthologies which had more than 50 writers. She has been part of many anthologies across the globe and has won many accolades for her writing ventures.
Friday, 29th November, 2024
He was my grandfather
By Matt Bianca
With a sly smile, you used to come looking for me.
I wasn't at your funeral, but I know you couldn't care less, because we're similar, but not the same.
Strong, few feelings, many sensations.
Believe in power? We're not fools.
You used to run in the veggie yard when something went wrong.
Leaping across generations, I find sanctuary in nostalgia's arms.
I watched you in the yard when I was a child.
A spider entered my mouth; I only noticed it by a leg hanging from my lip.
I got worried; you told me, "it's nothing!" I learned the lesson.
From then on, everything that happened to me, it's nothing.
It has its importance. Now you're safe.
About the Author
Matt Bianca, is an Italian professional who has made China his home for over 20 years. Throughout his multifaceted career, he has established himself as a language lecturer, translator, sound artist, writer, and poet. With an international presence, he has successfully published works across various mediums. His diverse talents and extensive experience contribute to a rich and dynamic professional profile.
Thursday, 28th November, 2024
searching its fourth corner an old room
syllable by syllable the end of a presence
winter wind her absence divided by zero
she still floats through my previous sentences
on her secondary skin imprints of who i am not
Wednesday, 27th November, 2024
Charcoal, on slow burn
By Sunil Sharma
In the right-hand corner, few feet away
from the French window, stacks of
old magazines, along with Dostoevsky, Wittgenstein, Ghalib, paper roses
in a broken vase, and
a yellow-faced diary, double-spiral; all items kept together
on
a sighing side table, near the tattered sofa, watched by a grim couple
in a
framed photograph, top corner of the wall
with
the peeling plaster, a plastic
dinosaur.
The wind enters
stealthily
the semi-dark room, a teen
late from a romp, surreptitiously slipping in
a half-snoring home; the flushed wind
kisses the diary, the way a totem is kissed by
an aching heart.
Pages flutter like old desires ignited
on solitary nights laced by rains,
decades
awakened
by those warm lips of the hot wind,
words
escape the gloomy silence
into
the neon-lit sprawl,
where, in another neglected
corner of the roof, sits a maid, eyes moist,
thinking
of
a far-off land, and a husband
who
never returns the frantic calls.
About the Author
Sunil Sharma is a humble word-worshipper: catcher of elusive sounds, meanings and images. Published 27 creative and critical books- joint and solo. A winner of, among others, the Panorama Golden Globe Award-2023, and, Nissim Award for Excellence-2022 for the novel Minotaur. His poems were included in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, 2015.
Tuesday, 26th November, 2024
My Journey
My journey towards the dark east
When I can't even touch the moist
eastern darkness ,
Through the whole night, through the reflected light
I could touch rain .
Last Rays
The day breaks down
To sun and its shadows
My mesmerizing eyelashes
Save you from the fierce elongated sun rays
also the red infra red of the morning sun
Frightened me in the afternoon by
Ultraviolet rays
About the Author
Mandira Ghosh is an eminent author, poet, educator and researcher. She is an outstanding and hard worker who has educated and groomed hundreds of children and received a Senior Fellowship from the Ministry of Culture, Government of India. She is a recipient of Bharat Nirman Award 2020, Dr. Radhakrishnan Award from Asian Academy of Arts and Marwah studios.Plaque of distinction from DELNET, Asian LIterary Societies two consequent awards, Indian women achiever 2020 and Author of the Year Award 2022. She has remained the Guest Editor of the Special Indian Edition of the Seventh Quarry, Swansea Magazine from Wales and also a featured poet in the same magazine.
Monday, 25th November, 2024
Ressurection
By Toolika Rani
As leaf after leaf fall from the trees
Gliding their way into oblivion
In the days slightly grey,
It almost seems like a soft demise-
A noiseless sway-
As if the detachment was but natural
Induced by a mere change of weather!
But the thud on the ground was hard.
And, above on the branch,
It left a scar.
A desolate nakedness
Contrasting with
A floor full of drying manure.
For ages long, the process of forgetting
The trees endured.
Then, blame it on the weather again-
The resurgence of pain,
A tiny, brownish, miniature
Rearing its head from the scarred stain
Refusing to submit
Unable to erase
The memory of the grace
With which its previous form had swayed
In the wind wild, in a storm’s face,
And there again, the trees smile in all their verdant glory
Telling the birds, with a mirthful swerve,
Many a forgotten story!
Of staying alive in deadness,
Of the power of an entrenched memory,
Resurrection! That makes life savoury!
About the Author
Squadron Leader (Dr) Toolika Rani is an ex-Indian Air Force Officer, Mountaineer (Everest Climber), International Motivational Speaker (TEDx), Author, Poet, Assistant Professor of History, and was also the G-20 Brand Ambassador of Higher Education Department, U.P. Government (2023). Her books include Beyond That Wall: Redemption on Everest (2021), Sherpas of Solukhumbu: History and Evolution (2023), two collections of Hindi poems titled, Dayron ke Bahar (2023) and Hasratein (2024), two collections of English poems titled, The Song of the Sky (2024) and A Wild Flower (2024). In addition, she has edited an International Anthology of poems on Himalaya, titled, The Mountain was Abuzz, which was displayed at the Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival in 2024. She is the co-author of the book, ‘Healing and Growth: Inspiring Stories for Massive Transformation’ published from the USA.
Friday, 22nd November, 2024
The pages of my Diary
By Aishwariya Laxmi
Within the old, forgotten pages
Of a yellowed diary
Lies the rose you gave me,
Pressed between the pages
And flattened,
The rose resembles
Ephemeral beauty
It has captured
Another time and place
One that no longer remains.
The seasons came and went
With it, you took your promises
Of forever, looking
For newer pastures
And leaving behind
Old acquaintances
That you probably forgot.
That rose has lost
Its meaning for me
The fragrance long gone
From the pages of my memory
What dawns is a new season
Of life, requiring new skills,
New attitudes, and new beginnings.
About the Author
Aishwariya Laxmi is an Indian writer, editor, blogger, and poet living in suburban Chennai, India. Her poems appear in Spillwords.com, The Drabble, anthologies by Sweetycat Press, Writefluence, Soul Poet Society, ThirdEyeButterflyPress, Indie Blu(e) Publishing, etc. Her bio was featured in 'Who's Who of Emerging Writers 2021' by Sweetycat Press. She was one of the TOP 3 winners of High-5- The Great Poetry Hunt Contest organized by WriteFluence. She has also written flash fiction and essays that have been published in anthologies and are available on Amazon. She holds a master’s degree in communication. She blogs on https://aishwariyalaxmi.com/.
Thursday, 21st November, 2024
letters from home
weathered with years—
each autumn I wonder
if my name still lingers
in the rings of time
lullabies drift
on the wings of dusk—
the last breath of
mother tongue withers
in the chill of harvest
rusted hinges creak
on a half-open gate
watchful crows perch
on bare branches
summoning the night
Wednesday, 20th November, 2024
Reminiscences
By Sanjeev Sethi
During the phase, the paterfamilias
was on his last hurrah, none of his
progeny enlisted as caretakers. His
eyes rolled in rheum. It signaled a
failing mind, a forsaken maestro.
Nobody spotted the grime in his nails.
No one noticed his desire to be doted
on. Post his death, they profited from
his stardom. Prolix meter on public
platforms magnified the mensch.
About the Author
Sanjeev Sethi has authored eight books of poetry. Legato Without a Lisp is his latest (CLASSIX, an imprint of Hawakal, New Delhi, September 2024). His poetry has been published in over thirty-five countries and has appeared in more than 500 journals, anthologies, and online literary venues. He edited Dreich Planet # 1 India, an anthology for Hybriddreich, Scotland, in December 2022. He is the joint winner of the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. Sethi is in the top 10 of the erbacce-prize 2021. He is the recipient of the Ethos Literary Award 2022. In 2023, he won the First Prize in a Poetry Competition by the National Defence Academy, Pune. He was conferred the 2023 Setu Award for Excellence. He lives in Mumbai, India.
Tuesday, 19th November, 2024
starched linen
a soft wrinkled hand
on her lap
flowers trampled
in the gale
the tricolour wrap
fragile
emotional lattice
scaffolding history
About the Author
Kavita Ratna is a children's rights activist, poet and a theatre enthusiast. Sea Glass is her anthology of poems published by Red River. Her poems have appeared in The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess within, A little book of serendipity, Muse India, The Wise Owl, Triveni Hakai India, Haiku in Action, the Scarlet Dragonfly, the Cold Moon Journal, Five Fleas Itchy poetry, the Haiku Dialogue, Stardust Haiku, Leaf (Journal of The Daily Haiku), and many others. She was on the Haiku panel at the Glass House Poetry Festival, Bangalore, 2024. She is also a Pushcart Prize nominee, 2024.
Monday, 18th November, 2024
Forgotten Corners
By Geeta Varma
Ammu. Slightly bent, old,
Exposed her betel-stained teeth
When she smiled,
Was up by five,
Woke all the children,
Calling them affectionately,
‘Kutta’, ‘Kutty’, or ‘Mani’,
Made them brush their teeth,
Bathe, wear proper clothes,
Drink their milk…
(She shouted when they hesitated)
Then she cleaned, washed dishes…
Late afternoon, after lunch,
(Children watched her eat),
She went home.
Children followed her till the gate
When she promised them ‘Muttayi’
On her way back.
They waited near the gate,
Played, keeping an eye on the gate
But she would have entered
Hiding a newspaper wrap
Full of sticky, orange ‘Muttayi’.
Wonder where she is now!
About the Author
Geeta Varma is a poet based in Chennai. She has worked as a teacher and freelance journalist for some time. She has to her credit two books of poems and is a regular contributor to a few online magazines. She lives in Neelankarai with her husband Shreekumar Varma and has two sons, Vinayak married to Yamini, and Karthik.
Friday, 15th November, 2024
Autumnal Remembrances
By Sreelekha Chatterjee
My mind’s haunting eagle hovers over my past,
as I wade through a sea of memories
in the coil and uncoil of autumn days
like treading the withered leaves
into a bed of multihued, carpeted rills
in shades of yellow and brown.
Their crunching, crackling sound stirs
the elapsed corners of my consciousness.
Days of fall pass in a wink of an eye,
hinting at the short attendance of the season
and a year soon to be gone.
Reminiscences of slips and misses overwhelm,
while the triumphs shelter in an egghead’s store.
Like the quiet, mellowed-down autumn sunshine,
the sprightliest recollection glows the mind’s lonely alley,
a vague emotive tone that brightens but doesn’t warm.
Slanting angles of light fashion more past shadows
that whip and clearly define where they touch—
an elegiac lament of the wondrous days,
or regret of times passed looking away.
Underneath the yellowing leaves of a tree,
I espy a tiny, elfin weed with vivid cerise leaves,
a trifle noticed when at rest.
A bolted chapter of my life suddenly unfolds—
like a phantom of a relative, a friend, or a lover—
magnifying an emotion of a departed era.
As the days pale and mingle with nights,
I light lamps at every forsaken corner of my house
so that I can turn moments’ remembered tears
into sparkling jewels of cognizance that will
serve as a passion for the coming year.
About the Author
Sreelekha Chatterjee is a poet from New Delhi, India. Her poems have appeared in Madras Courier, Setu, Raw Lit, The Mini Magazine of Assam, Verse-Virtual, The Wise Owl, Pena Literary Magazine, Ghudsavar Literary Magazine, Orenaug Mountain Poetry Journal, Poetry Catalog, Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Medusa’s Kitchen, and in the anthologies—Light & Dark (Bitterleaf Books, UK), The Harvest & the Reaping, Winter Glimmerings, and Whose Spirits Touch (Orenaug Mountain Publishing, USA), and Christmas-Winter Anthology Volume 4 (Black Bough Poetry, Wales, UK).
THE DAILY VERSE POETS
Click hyperlink to read
Late Summer Storm by Belinda Behne
Haiku on Nostalgia by Marguerite Doyle
A Mom's Note on the Counter by Biswajit Mishra
Poems on Nostalgia by Tuyet van do
When Memories Refuse to Fade Sarojkanta Dash
THE DAILY VERSE POETS
Cedars at Dusk by Belinda Behne
Reflections on August by Sreelekha Chatterjee
Click hyperlink to read
Haiku on Pause & Reflect by Pris Campbell
Pause & reflect by Geeta Varma
THE DAILY VERSE POETS
Click hyperlink to read
Morning Solitude by Peter A Witt
Poems on Solitude by Jennifer Gurney
The Colored Umbrella by Dr Mary Annie
Poems on Solitude by Mona Bedi
Micro-Poems on Solitude by Snigdha Agrawal
Micro-Poems by Barbara Anna Gaioraldi
Riding a Unicorn by Petrouchka Alexieva
Midsummer Magic by Jennifer Gurney
Midsummer Magic by Sasha Clark
Poems on Midsummer magic by Jennifer Gurney
Midsummer Musing by Gopal Lahiri
Week 3, May 2024
On the Face of it by Hester L Furey
I Remember Mart Oliver by Oscar Houck
Final Week, May 2024
Music of the Lake by Peter Witt
How do I feed my marriage by Bruce Whitacre
Burst of Colours by Amrita Mallik
Haiku on Colours by Steliana Voicu
Week 2, May 2024
Haiku: On Transformation by Steliana C Voicu
The Sky Over the Ganga by Satbir Chadha
Life is like a box of chocolates by Petrouchka Alexieva Haiku on Colours by Govind Joshi
Light & Shadow by Carolyn Crossly
Haiku on Light & Shadow by Govind Joshi
Towards Mutualism by James Penha
Haiku by Steliana Cristina Voicu
Haiku by Satyanarayana Chittaluri
More Haiku with Titles by Tomh Bakelas
The Summoning by Kathleen Chamberlin
A Visitor by Kathleen Chamberlin
Haiku with Titles by Tomh Bakelas
The Night Sky by Debra S Mascarenhas
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