An Online Literary Journal for Poetry and Flash

Category: Poetry (Page 8 of 31)

Tanka for the New Year

Poetry by K.L. Johnston

cathedral of pines
capturing
                   light and silence
carpet of needles
shushing our footsteps
                                                 our breath
rising white
                  with songbird wings

 


K.L. Johnston is an award-winning haiku poet and author whose works have appeared in numerous literary journals and magazines. She holds a degree in Literature and Communications from the University of South Carolina and is a retired antiques dealer. You can follow her on Facebook at A Written World.

Some Kinder Resolutions for a Better Year

Poetry by Cecil Morris

Learn from the cat. Settle in sunny spot and stretch
oblivious to obligation or cascading shoulds
or judgmental stares. Let the bones go loose,
all muscles relaxed and negligent.
Turn off notifications and ringers,
all beeps and trills and buzzing vibrations
that call the mind from its rightful work
of undirected cogitation.
Commit to silence for one hour
each morning and each night and, maybe,
each noon, too. Take those quiet hours
to notice the world at its business—
the pale shoot splitting the sunflower seed
to seek the sun, the unhurried humming
of a bee progressing from blossom
to blossom, the tulip’s reverent pose,
the way a bit of dust can levitate
in a slice of light. Do not make haste.
Every moment does not need to yield
a product or an accomplishment.
Laziness is a healthy pleasure
so make of its indulgence an art.
Make of indolence a new hobby.
Linger over a favorite song.
Let it play twice.
Enjoy.


Cecil Morris retired after 37 years of teaching high school English, and now he tries writing himself what he spent so many years teaching others to understand and (he hopes) to enjoy. Poems appear or are forthcoming in Ekphrastic Review, Hole in the Head Review, Rust + Moth, Sugar House Review, Willawaw Journal, and other literary magazines.

Brixen in Winter

Poetry by Jeannette Tien-Wei Law


Frost flakes, Yule tide, blink lights glow

Dove haze, slab streets, wish for snow

Star child, sweep stacks, coal smudge face

Sky blush, Year dawns, white spot doe


Jeannette Tien-Wei Law grew up celebrating the holidays with her family in St. Louis, Missouri. Festive dinners often touted steamed rice and stir-fried broccoli alongside the roasted turkey and traditional trimmings. Jeannette now makes her own stuffing with apricots, wine and Italian sausage as an international educator living in Milan.

Christmas Dessert

Poetry by Inge Sorensen


Black, Blue, Raspberries

Topping Dollop, Fresh Whipped Cream

Festive Pavlova


Inge Sorensen is a poet and short story writer born and raised in California’s Bay Area. Her pieces have been featured in the Viewless Wings Poetry Podcast, Wingless Dreamer, the Humans of the World blog, and Poet’s Choice Autumn Anthology.

Sing a Song of Midnight

Poetry by Bonnie Demerjian

Step through the door into the new-hatched year.
There’s promise of a light ahead,
the balance tipped, the finger points toward spring
but not just yet.

For now, we’re in that spacious room of dark —
no floor, no walls, no roof above.
In amniotic space, we’ll first unfold
then wait to be unsealed.

In this hour the frost world is our home
so sink into its artful wealth.
Fluff your feathers like the roosting hen,
and settle safely in.

Outside the porcupine and deer will roam,
so wary in the light of day,
tonight in silky freedom nose your gate,
befriended by the shade.

Oh birds, the city lights scream certain death,
a warning never known and yet
somber incantation chants a highway for
your journey lit by dark.

Unlatch the door to constellations and
the fickle waltzing moon.
A shooting star may plunge and bring you promise
of a world renewed.

Curtains drawn and door against the night,
turn again to your true love.
The candle of affection brighter for the
season’s windblown gloom.

So welcome Mother Dark, she nourishes,
sustains us with her mystery.
And though our hearts quail with diminished light,
her secrets feed our journey.


Bonnie Demerjian lives in Southeast Alaska and writes from her oceanside home which inspires much of her writing. She is a birder, a gardener and a cellist. Her work has been published in The Bluebird Word, Tidal Echoes, Blue Heron Review, Pure Slush, and Alaska Women Speak, among others.

Blue Snow Globe

Poetry by Jennifer Smith

My winter is ice, but its depth is of my choosing.
Not a sharp, piercing icicle to stab my soul,
but slender glistens of frozen branches on bare trees along our Smoky Mountain trails.

My December ice is not the weak spot on a frozen Tennessee lake.
It is twilight snowflakes with sapphire and silver sparkles,
brushing our faces and street lamps on a Winter Solstice walk downtown.

This seasonal ice is not the danger of a polar path I slip on.
I select shelter in warmth of a southern snow castle,
illuminated in pink pearl tones of protection from darkness and harsh mountain winds.

The blue of the season is not desolate steel grey from a palette of mourning.
My shade is Atlantic Ocean turquoise,
washing ashore your message in a bottle at wintertide on Orange Beach.

Any frost of mid-winter blues is soothed by tunes from a playlist of our Maui shore memories.
My coldest days are layered with island glory,
in songs and swirls of ultramarine and sea, of cobalt and sky.

On a night designed for confetti and celebration, the clock counts down hours, minutes, seconds.
I wrap myself in luxurious, rich velvet of indigo midnight,
and see our friendship amid the stars of a New Year.


Jennifer Smith is a retired speech-language pathologist, residing in Northwest Georgia. She is published in Fictionette and Fifty Word Stories. Jennifer holds an Educational Specialist Degree in Curriculum and Instruction from Lincoln Memorial University and a Creative Writing Certificate from Kennesaw State University.

January 1

Poetry by Alexandra Newton Rios

This is a new year I rise to meet
to run to the sun rising red
amidst eucalyptus and slender-leafed tarcos
running the track of black earth softened
by the rains in a province of deep heat.
I run to the rhythms of a life
found in the doing
the raising of five children
transformed into leading five adults
into their next steps without me.
All is well say the birds as I run
this leaving one place for another
this removing myself suddenly with gratitude
for all that a tree over two hundred and fifty years old,
a mountain and the birds give.
We are rising to meet the new year,
the new day, the new possibility
which is beginning.
Yellow-bellied quetupí  know this every day.


Alexandra Newton Rios is a University of Iowa’s Writers Workshop graduate. Madeleine L’Engle spoke highly of her poems in 1995, and she received poetic praise from W.S. Merwin in 2011. She is a bi-hemispherical mother of five. Read an earlier poem in The Bluebird Word from July 2023.

If Not Glitter, If Not Gold

Poetry by Kersten Christianson

This early Sunday morning
my coffee mug steams.
A miniature Mauna Loa,
it resides within an archipelago

of trunk-top clutter: Solstice gifts,
dog-eared chapbooks, sun-bright
Satsumas. In this indigo light,
I scour Etsy for glitter-crusted

New Year banners, lunar calendars,
their moons of the year stamped
in bright gold, not just on paper,
but parchment. I can’t explain

this fiery December need for
glimmer & glam, twinkle & flash,
but I am ever the believer, searcher
for the harbinger of fortune & joy.


Kersten Christianson is a poet and English teacher from Sitka, Alaska. She is the author of Curating the House of Nostalgia (Sheila-Na-Gig 2020) and Something Yet to Be Named (Kelsay Books, 2017). She serves as poetry editor of Alaska Women Speak. Kersten savors road trips, bookstores, and smooth ink pens.

Christmas 2000

Poetry by Nancy Kay Peterson

I.

A red grapefruit sunrise hugs the horizon
and stark sycamore limbs lance the lunar landscape.
Chimney smoke signals an unreadable message.
Snow creaks in protest at every step.
Cold pierces even the heaviest coats.
It is a handful of days till winter solstice,
then Christmas, then nearly half a year till
the bare branches vanish in greenery, chimneys quiet.

II.

Christmas lights glow like jewels in the dark room
where, Norwegian traditions passed on to me,
an unrelenting weight, will pass to no one.
My Jewish ex-husband tolerated the annual pine invasion.
My Hong Kong husband eschews the antique ornaments
in favor of a minimalist approach — less work.
Scarred globes of my childhood remain boxed
like the Christmas pasts sleeping in my heart.

III.

The few remaining family have happy hour,
call the one uncle left, his days now numbered.
My brother-in-law has brought his mother
from the Aase Haugen Home where an old man
sat in his wheelchair by the door
asking “Can I come, too?” I can’t erase
the thought of one of us there as he is now
waiting for a Christmas that will never come.

The moon’s grin is ever cold, never changing.


Nancy Kay Peterson’s poetry has appeared in The Bluebird Word, Dash Literary Journal, HerWords, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, One Sentence Poems, RavensPerch, Spank the Carp, Steam Ticke, Three Line Poetry and Tipton Poetry Journal. She’s published two chapbooks, “Belated Remembrance” (2010) and “Selling the Family” (2021). For more information, see www.nancykaypeterson.com.

San Marcos Christmas

Poetry by Steve Wilson

No snow for Christmas in Texas, where nevertheless
the inflatable snowman across the street seems jovial

enough. In place of new-fallen snow, we’ve
a freshly mown lawn and, in our front garden,

five yellow flowers confused into blooming
by warm afternoons and clear skies. Still,

the neighbors’ twinkling lights manage to coax us all
toward something approaching goodwill with the world

that’s stubbornly churning along upon its complaints
and recriminations, its internet trolls, its rising rages.

Candles glow in windows here and there. Someone
has tethered a Santa to their chimney; it totters drunkenly

upon the breeze. We’re weary of this weariness, the lot
of us. Bumbling through. Mumbling. Humming

ragged fragments of carols as we worry our way
through the evening’s always breaking news.


Steve Wilson‘s poetry has appeared in journals and anthologies nationwide; as well as in six collections, the most recent entitled Complicity. He lives in San Marcos, TX.

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