Category: WrittenWordWednesday

Earth Colours – a Haibun

slot canyon with moon in a blue sky

It’s not long after dawn on a clear autumn day, chilly, but set to warm up later. We’re at one end of the 2.5-mile-long Grand Wash, Capitol Reef National Park, Utah, a slot canyon on the Waterpocket Fold through white Navajo Sandstone formations and…

becoming more

long exposure of river rapids

what a good thing to be young and to call the creek behind your home ‘brother’ and to be fed by the same mouth and to spend the most fragile summer nights wondering how one becomes mighty and when — if ever — we…

The Quickening of Salmon & Years

close up of water bubbling

From this island                to that isthmus. Here, an egg.                There, a fish. As quick as that. Never mind swimming upstream, breaking       the surface                even momentarily. None of that wild fervor. You will not have cause to travel (the need’s been excised) so loll & fatten,…

At the Coffee Shop

soap bubbles through glass

Outside, a window washer watches me watching him, works a rhythm, window after window, simulating a seamlessness, tipping his squeegee after every-other downward stroke, coercing the water to run like blood from each overlapping pass, though of course he can’t touch my shining smudges,…

The Task Eternal

frozen seed heads in snow drift

“The children need meat, Eli,” said Bess. They had circled the wagons on the east side of the mountain, so they could catch the sun first thing in the morning. The winter had been cruel this year. They had to bury three of their…

askew in vexative disarray

light refracting through water in a hot tub

askew in vexative disarray disqualified from the marching band topsy-turvy trombone drool reveille with ill-fitting trousers reliability depends upon premature remorse a bug in the hand beats a bite on the skin tumbleweed tactility orthogonal the one missing glove made for a cold hand…

Aftermath (Photograph, 1953)

swirled bark from fallen tree

She points past a pile of fallen trees—roots upturned, knowing the grey-clouded sky for the first time. She stands in their midst, the logs lying like a giant’s game of pick-up-sticks. The bank is eroded—smooth, weather beaten. The ground is soggy, and her knee-high…

waiting for spring

sunny morning — my hands feel the warmth in a new bag of compost ©2018 Marina Bellini Maria Bellini discovered late in life the joy of writing haiku. Now she just keeps going.

Golly Wobble Moment

lamb in field

by Brenda Anderson Every year I wait for spring, when the sun’s overhead, the flowers are waist-high and the wind tickles the grass. I don’t know the names of the flowers: they’re like overgrown weeds, tall, spindly, with small nubby yellow heads. There’s a…

Gulf of Finland

Can I use my miles to get more miles? They never expire. Flea market to closet. A calm naked swim in Simhall, then smoke sauna. Have a Lapin Kulta Premium.  Find out who’s where. Angie’s singing. She sways and scat sings, the guitar rolls….

10-bloom gladioli…

abstract of swirled glass vase

10-bloom gladioli — I climb the step-stool for a vase ©2018 john martone john martone is an Independent Publisher of journals/small presses tel-let (1980’s-early 2000’s) and otata (2015-current) as well as the personal imprints dogwood & honeysuckle (through early 2000’s) and samuddo/ocean (current). Books…

fifty years later…

photo of jammed typewriter

fifty years later typewriter still jams there ©2018 john martone john martone is an Independent Publisher of journals/small presses tel-let (1980’s-early 2000’s) and otata (2015-current) as well as the personal imprints dogwood & honeysuckle (through early 2000’s) and samuddo/ocean (current). Books include Ocean Vows,…