No Regrets Journal
No Regrets Winter 2018
No Regrets, a journal of poetry, prose and images about the twists and turns in the search for love, meaning and community. Clayton Medeiros, Editor, Poet, Photographer, claymedeiros@aol.com Neil McKay (Johnny Trash), Webmaster. Submissions are by invitation of the Editor. Epublishing site with all issues of No Regrets Journal http://issuu.com/claymedeiros/docs Facebook page with No Regrets Journal, essays haikus, poems and photographs http://www.facebook.com/NoRegretsJournal 


an unsettled sky raucous whitecaps roil the bay windy northeaster
Blue Banished The word January is chilly This rainy gray morning Meant for flannel pajamas Wool socks quilts Something hot in steaming cups Sky hung damp clouds Cover hills and islands Drained of any color As if the air couldn’t sustain blue Banished to a southern clime
Winter Geese Snow geese angle through the mist Geometry softened by calls and wings Ancient creatures rise from the Salish Sea Grayed islands sloped backs Challenge the ways of human kind
Hearing Life filled with sounds Notes and phrases Morning Noon Night One day follows another Each with its melody Each with its rhythm Once in awhile Stillness


Mind and Matter A turn of mind Sustains romance In spite of an Ever expanding Indifferent universe A turn of mind Dreams dimensions Time’s back and forth Curves and corners Of future history A turn of mind Sees the end in doubt Twisted fabrics Wrapped in one another Endless beginnings A turn of mind Justifies intense query Hope for creation Incented minds Perform the impossible A turn of mind pursues escapades In search of answers Fate faith free choice In this episode of reality


Words Evening slowly edges Shade deepens Nothing more written On today’s pages Perhaps better words Await tomorrow Or the next day The belief that some words Are the things they signify Like earth’s radio waves Passing through Sagittarius To listen to the silence But one day consciousness


Word If in the beginning was the word What is lost when the last Speaker of a language dies What thoughts no longer spoken What truths no longer possible What history no longer claimed What nuance of creation no longer seen What heaven forever hidden


dawn a slow dawn morning a hesitancy of light tulips are coming