harvest season,
drinking new sake with you;
warm friendship
             - etsuko yanagibori

first breath of winter
only the berries remain
remembering red
              - jadon rempel

first lemon slices
in the glass of iced tea
sour thoughts
              - joanne morcom

saturated drunks
squeeze out of the bars like earth
worms after a rain
              - gord mcrae

if only the birds
could feed us pieces of sky
in return for bread.
           - king pao fu

september sunset —
crabs explore the skeleton
of a humpback whale
           - collin barber

one last tomato
in the bowl
overripe, skin wrinkled
            - angela kublik

in spring, the first smell
of mown grass, strange to think I'll
be it when I'm gone
             - gord mcrae

one color left
in the popsicle box
summer's end
            - collin barber

dark skinned beauty moves
hot vibrating blue rhythm
match tip explodes red
            - thomas trofimuk

a puddle of mud . . .
snowflakes sink
into their reflections
            - collin barber

off the wave, sliding
down the edge of the world;like
seeing you with him
            - unknown

in her cubicle
everything looks real in the
5:40 sunlight
             - gord mcrae

almost spring
a silk of wind
through trees
              - marjorie buettner

neon puddles
in front of the waterfront bar
sound of a blues piano
               - cor van den heuvel

a boring critique
much referencing of foucault
now you're post-modern
               - aaron marko

second birthday —
he blows out all
the dandelion seeds
            - collin barber

she loves you, on her
day off, takes you in her flat
blue single bed bliss
             - thomas trofimuk

summer grasses
all that remain
of the warrior's dreams
               - basho

valentine's night
we break up
the chocolate heart
            - collin barber

funeral lunch
a faint taste of dirt
still on the radish
               - del doughty

cherry blossoms
a taste of the wine
on her lips
            - collin barber

90th birthday
flickering candles
he can't blow out
                - m. harper

evening stillness
a bonfire log slips
into its own ash
            - collin barber

my daughter makes dolls
draws and colours and names them
while bombs in beirut
            - thomas trofimuk

in the emperor's bed,
the smell of burnt mosquitoes,
and erotic whispers
             - kikaku

thrift store
a box of dolls
with tangled hair
             - joanne morcom

morning cup; coffee
she smiles at me sweetly
across the table
             - aaron marko