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The Bamboo Hut Autumn 2015

A Journal of English Language Tanshi

The Bamboo Hut Autumn 2015 Journal of Contemporary Tanshi Š 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this journal may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the publisher.

Editors Note Welcome to the Autumn issue of the Bamboo Hut. This journal began two years ago as project to give voice to contemporary english language tanka and has since expanded in scope to include other short forms of poetry. This journal adopted the term “tanshi” meaning “short poem” as an umbrella to include other short forms such as haiku and haiku like poems, senryu, dodoitsu, ryuka as well as tanka written in other than five lines. Basically any poem from one to six lines in length falls under the category of tanshi. Since its first issue the journal has undergone a few other changes mainly in style and format and no doubt will continue to do so during its existence. In this issue there are poems from regular contributors alongside new poets, at least to this journal. Look out for Liam Wilkinson's ryuka as you read through. May I use this opportunity to thank all contributors for their support, without such support there would be no Bamboo Hut; you keep the walls from falling down. I would love to be able to provide contributors copies as some journals do, however, as this journal is very much a one man venture funds do not allow this. Such is the way for small ventures. That being said I hope you enjoy the many and varied poems that make up this edition of The Bamboo Hut. Steve Wilkinson, editor.

harvest dust turning to pumpkin orange a full moon’s blush the earth is naked now once more the corn is gone Anna Cates these sudden dewdrops on blades of grass ‌ once again my anklet makes sound Archana Kapoor Nagpal

moonlight sings in silent breezes outside here off key wails tick the hours to last call Briony James misty sheets of rain awaken slumbering clouds on my mountain side Bukusai Ashagawa


fragmented sun-birds scratch inside rusted gutters Robyn Cairns you’re drowning in electric depression Midnight Butterfly writes you into a poem hero with peacock blue ink Carole Johnston sleep begins to brush at the edge of my thought: "when it comes to living, dying is the easy part" Chen ou-Liu Lisbon fishermen mend nets in a summer breeze gossamer voices Portuguese fado singer sings of lover lost at sea Clarence Carlson


new moon my skipping stone sinks Dave Read white wine – I miss the south sun Diana Teneva this is priceless‌ a genuine love, generous, unselfish, kind Ed Bremson once twenty-three years ago, I wrote of my own hut, it was a hut of my small mind and yet how vast it was Sanford Goldstein


leaves as she leaves her love Iliyana Stoyanova a wisp of pale pink virga evaporates before reaching earth how quickly self-forgiveness fades Jari Thymian ascending the clouds and the Spring vault of heaven without a stain--keeping the first full moon--repose starts the triune day Jesus Chameleon Enfant Treble for Nova Little baby on your back I'll place my hand on your belly as upon a piano and tap you lightly until you giggle a tune. Julianza Shavin 4

Secret Agents In a dark room a loud jumble of argument. The dust motes jump. Stephen Kaplan new pond on the development frog wanted Karen Harvey constellation the shape of The Ten Thousand Things Kat Lehmann dead leaves carried away by the wheels of a chair... smell of sap of all colors Lavana Kray


For each worry, a standing stone For each stone, a quick mountain wind Many are the reasons I climb The slopes of Weaponness Liam Wilkinson Huge gushes of bloody lava I clutch a migraine Gnats cloud my lungs and eyes the efforts to swat them is too much. Lindsey Little Asylum can you calculate the half life of a mind from the first nervous breakdown Doug Metz the pond makes the ripened wheat burn in flames with the wind rippling my desires Rajandeep Garg


sudden rain clouds the evening ... a divorcee and a late single man shares a small umbrella Ramesh Anand Standing by you .....I'm talking to you..... The light of summer in school makes me see the illusions‌‌ Rika Inami chatter on the wire a cat feeding from my bird table Steve Black Silent clink of the metal box I lock my memories away for another life Saf Patel


then it's me and the dog and the moon for a while and I'm fine, this lie I tell the world Scott Abeles if only the pain would subside— nothing really recovers when storms come there’s no near or far Sergio Ortiz piggyback ride I wonder if this too is déjà ku Shloka Shankar red wine and hard cheese a costume, pen and paper my needs are few most everything else is excess baggage Stephen Galiani


scavenging in the "nuisance ground" black bears catching the scent of me catching the sight of them note: "nuisance ground" is a term used for a rubbish dump near a small town Debbie Strange figuring out how to be happy I file for divorce the last marriage of your pen to my papers Susan Burch on the table a half empty cup of coffee cools the loneliness of the branch line Tim Gardiner


a brown tweed suitcase record player, turntable and needle, packs pressed and wrinkled memories at thirty three, forty five, seventy eight rpm Tom Russell silence rings shrill bells my heart like taut skin resounds whispers break as waves Tony Schers new love stories written on the Golden Sands... in all the directions women and men's footprints toward nowhere Vasile Moldovan beggar moon holding on to a bowl of prayers Willie Bongcaron


white pines on some days empty skies shed no color on the waters Anna Cates a fallen leaf on its own reflection ... now and then still in my thoughts I think of him Archana Kapoor Nagpal a familiar strain wobbles between uncertain notes how does anyone mangle the Cure? Briony James by candellight through a bedroom window a pear blossoms Bukusai Ashagawa


shifting light-measuring the day in stillness Robyn Cairns Midnight Butterfly cruising in her flame green car picking up angels and poets in the dark - their thumbs out on the open road I hitch along for the ride Carole Johnston love affair: the rest of the world waits in the dark and we entwine our bodies, half awake, half forgetful ‌ Chen ou-Liu Orient Express bound from Paris to Munich spies lurking about if you tell me a secret I shall tell you one of mine Clarence Carlson


morning dew the jogger's face glistens with sweat Dave Read my tea with unknown taste‌ maple syrup Diana Teneva the older we grow the more we know how precious every love has been Ed Bremson The bamboo hut reminds me of an important Jewish holiday for the harvest meals were eaten outside in a wooden structure for a week Sanford Goldstein


through the open window a single cloud lost in my thoughts Iliyana Stoyanova turkey vultures ride desert air currents at sunrise the skeleton of a dead saguaro and I stand with raised arms Jari Thymian path of golden truths, lead us by a bowed will to an awesome plan penned in ink of goodness with stout and symbolic hands Jesus Chameleon nature captured in seventeen syllables ~ frog optional Karen Harvey


Home Planet Collage of yellow bush against brown branches, lingering leaves, and just beyond, the red of something dying faster than the self the mountains, blue Buddhas among choirs of clouds. Julianza Shavin Snow Skirmishing around events, he avoids an adventure. Snow becomes blameless, while she reigns. Stephen Kaplan The Crescent Moon begins her story again‌ open parentheses Kat Lehmann dusty attic the label of a wedding dress wedging the trunk lid ajar Lavana Kray 15

I lay my ear on the mountain To hear its deep and ancient drone And I tell the tangled grasses I, too, sing in this key Liam Wilkinson Tiny rivulets of the iris Canyons to get lost in I travel wonderstruck And willfully drown. Lindsey Little Ashes haven't disappeared far enough quite yet i still see myself in the ashes of bridges burned Doug Metz the hilltop darkens into quietness throughout the night the Buddha moon stayed behind the clouds Ramesh Anand


In distress, distress After worrying about burdens over days and nights I've settled down here ...where I should be... Rika Inami anniversary fresh flowers mark the spot on the only road out of this place Steve Black The siren of a police car I long for the child in me to chase a butterfly Saf Patel his hair in a saltwater slick-back ambling in Jesus sandals to the cult of alright Scott Abeles


our voices didn’t matter we spoke from within… letting loose the balloons Sergio Ortiz aqua marine nail colour the closest i’ll get to the ocean Shloka Shankar exorcising devils giving up ghosts clearing the past seems simple my greater challenge finding spirit’s presence Stephen Galiani


painting my body with woad I succumb to the strange allure of melancholia Debbie Strange

finding a jar of broken glass and water under our porch I look around who cast this spell to break us up? Susan Burch courting butterflies spiralling higher their affair so much simpler than ours Tim Gardiner garbage truck highway toward the land filled with trash trees grabbing plastic sacks, branches scavenging through them before letting them fly Tom Russell 19

the bamboo hut creaks cutting up the summer breeze on sharp split edges Tony Schers daily watching at the haven gate a skylark but on the earth we hear hardly only the echo of its song Vasile Moldovan shades of autumn I dream I were a bird Willie Bongcaron At midday.... It's raining down... Wet Hydrangeas with drops putting on them... Do they mirror my passions....? Rika Inami


at church with no one else around talking to myself Steve Black He corrects my Urdu diction I lie awake reading too much from his lines Saf Patel it was a winter of frozen pens now the birds write your name across the sky Scott Abeles one way to leave my lover waiting... large iridescent wings explore the landscape Sergio Ortiz


a toppled bowl of potpourri... the stale fragrance of everything that's wrong in my world Shloka Shankar body relaxed, mind races mind restful, body restless my dichotomy of night sleep beckons then hides Stephen Galiani wrecking balls expose long-held secrets underneath these crumbling facades we are masterpieces Debbie Strange ice fishing with grandpa grandma’s picture Susan Burch


running children debate the correct way to pronounce arthropod the unseen grasshopper left speechless Tim Gardiner magpie flaps to glide lands at a scampering run bounces to a halt Tony Schers a fire pearl without and within our souls... the old cactus after a long waiting just blossoms anew Vasile Moldovan evening glow... the still sea fishing for the moon Willie Bongcaron


I limit myself to Japanese huts these days small multiple places for eating Japanese food Sanford Goldstein page after page burning the book with her eyes Braille letters Iliyana Stoyanova jasmine snow drop tea at Seven Cups Tea House I hear myself swallow I miss your thunder Jari Thymian deep red clouds form before the tempest that floods the lowlands, forcing mutual trust before the lull Jesus Chameleon


Beggars Ride Had I only been a writer from birth, he sighed, so I'd have time to read everything before I die not comprehending the world needed those years to inscribe his life so that he might begin. Julianza Shavin Work Old brick, blood red, dusty, like a long day's work. Stephen Kaplan jazz night at the grill bar... voice over easy Karen Harvey inside I know I once was a sun hot flashes Kat Lehmann 25

the chrysanthemums cling on to each other under the snow duvet... wrapped in your scarf I take my coffee Lavana Kray Often, I'm unsure how I came To stand up here on Weaponness My memory holds no steep climb My boots are whistle-clean Liam Wilkinson Contracted lung Dirt in my pores I will give and give and then break My salt swims in a hungry ocean. Lindsey Little Poets Garden a poets garden above the city tumult heaven's rusted tracks Doug Metz


the old oak is dead at last the sound of hollow wind now it is gone Anna Cates swaying on its own tune the temple bells … at every tinkle chanting ‘om’ Archana Kapoor Nagpal the line of thigh the curves of hips I pant two thousand crunches are my chisel Briony James rapids washing over me swaying trees Bukusai Ashagawa


my last weekend with Holly she sat by the van sniffing spring while I paddled my kayak into nowhere Robyn Cairns Midnight Butterfly silver moon fritillary following her bliss savior in the summer dark of our collective minds a seer beyond the myth Carole Johnston iron horse 514 shines on rusty dead-end track black and silver paint her silhouetted body glowed in the evening moonlight Clarence Carlson spring concert the trumpet lilies pianissimo Dave Read


Going silently without any illusions, My eyes are caught the first blooming sunflower of this summer....... Rika Inami irregular hours irregular heartbeats the bats in the attic the landlord says he can do nothing about Steve Black beneath the lights of a penny arcade promising absolution you bow down to me like a pinball messiah Scott Abeles a darkness seeps through my veins unaccompanied in this needy hour my words flutter like candles Sergio Ortiz


exchange student I barter grammar for love Shloka Shankar sudden murder another noisy show nature’s perfect alert crows telling me be present Stephen Galiani Irish dancers their lightning steps flash emerald-bright phosphorescent waves thunder at my feet Debbie Strange chronic illness I need a break from myself Susan Burch


the inquisitive buff-tailed bumblebee still needs the bluebell even if the dictionary doesn’t anymore Tim Gardiner rain drop falls to earth bounces whole on the puddle avoids its own splash its mass and velocity strong as its surface tension Tony Schers woman looking in the lake mirrora white lotus is opening its flower just toward her heart Vasile Moldovan late autumn the old vines' final breath Willie Bongcaron


At eighty nine I am headed for an eternal hut My ashes to be in a special box that will be sent to my daughter Sanford Goldstein canyon dusk I long to stop my travels here to learn each stone’s shape and story always something missed Jari Thymian bowls a ringing, sound salvation's call stilled for moments remembering oneness--ethereal voices heal, giving solace to the soul Jesus Chameleon love for the world for nature for life‌ love for the time we have to love Ed Bremson


daybreak‌ too many questions in your look Diana Teneva like a monk I wander in the land of promise ... strapped to my back the weight of memories Chen ou-Liu dusty attic in boxed memories a plastic doll dirtied with love and play in times forgotten Anna Cates still lying on my piano these red roses ‌ again reminds me of his farewell note Archana Kapoor Nagpal


May sun drops behind a cool horizon shy and blushing at our night plans Briony James on Saturday's sidewalk two lovers kiss-their baby wedged between them a warm bundle of love Robyn Cairns on the corner midnight butterfly jack his sign says “homeless and hungry “ I give him a handful of stars Carole Johnston the winter night descending on me layer by layer the fog of pain wraps me and swallows my mind Chen ou-Liu


your hand touched my leg I looked to see who's watching shyness overcame me I was tongue-tied by her beauty gibberish became my words Clarence Carlson deeper than the stream the tree's reflection Dave Read spring cleaning the windowpanes and I crunching Diana Teneva Yesterday, in Japan was the holiday for limited old-timers gathered at a large hotel, the hall was immense, yet hut-like all were fed, all were entertained Sanford Goldstein


planet earth compared to a giant superstar shrinks to a speck of dust my small details become smaller Jari Thymian with hair like honey but I could not have known her finding myself lost--saving flowers for another in love with bleakness inside Jesus Chameleon Shoot the Messenger There are children cut down in life on the way to a water fountain or to take a paper to a teacher, or to catch a ball or scratch a nose with a stubby hand that will never grow into a gun. Julianza Shavin the shriek of gulls outside the closed window eating my sandwich Karen Harvey


first blueberry my mind writes a familiar poem Kat Lehmann a cruise ship hulked out of the fog the chestnut seller trying to talk posh Lavana Kray A great iron cloud clads the sun A soft curtain of rain descends A silver light sweeps the shadows From the floor of my mind Liam Wilkinson Rosh Hanikra a dark consciousness poetry forming within longing for daylight Doug Metz


The below two pieces are for Noh, title ‘The Feather Mantle―Hagoromo, Noh is one of the Japanese traditional play. Ⅰ Because ‘The Feather Mantle “ is the heavenly maiden’s dance, it’s said it should be danced heavily Slo…w…ly……Slo…w…ly….. When will she move to… next…..? Ⅱ Celestial Time is different from Terrestrial Time… Many years have passed in this world…after knowing it, It might be danced…… Rika Inami sad syndrome the plastic sun isn't working Steve Black


inside this blistering wind there's a soft spot where I pose a Buddha in the garden Scott Abeles emptying a third lid of vinegar onto my noodles... I taste a mouthful of your lies Shloka Shankar a washboard road woven between fallow fields leads me backward to a past so much smaller than I had remembered Debbie Strange using concealer to cover my bruises mom’s solution Susan Burch


solitary mining bees darting in and out of the crumbling cliff my trust in her eroded further still Tim Gardiner red and golden hues start to pervade the woodlands darkening shadows accentuating high light all now show their autumn moods Tony Schers poinsettias... radiant petals wrestle a green sun Willie Bongcaron after love somewhere between the bathroom and her side of the bed talk turns to death Steve Black


Tramp bohemian soul lost among the celluloid empty is the grave Doug Metz I boil a pan of potatoes I dress a plate with fresh green leaves And sit down to a simple meal Of hushed tastes and silence Liam Wilkinson postal card for my birthday reminds me of your plastic words... Lavana Kray if I could live in a moment orange sun sinking Kat Lehmann


cold spring I started to like milk punch Diana Teneva swimming through the river fog the river Dave Read birds gather on wires before parting to fly south my phone does not ring grandpa's John Deere stands idle over stubbles of cut wheat Clarence Carlson tree shadows on the backyard ice rink I am enclosed by thoughts of my ex and walls of silence Chen ou-Liu


shape shifting with Midnight Butterfly right now I can feel the wings itching to pierce through my skin Carole Johnston city skyline-sound buffered by clouds Robyn Cairns strolls give us space to see details how much more if we were snails? Briony James spring deception in bracts of dogwood such a look alike Queen Anne's lace and poison hemlock Anna Cates


discarded among disused railway tracks and derelict buildings the scant remains of our fragile love Tim Gardiner opening my eyes to your lies – speculum Susan Burch On the Strand our beach wedding ribbons of dreams fluttering from the old boat's mast the singing sands on a wind-strummed beach you murmur my name wet beach towels we dance a fandango in the hot breeze Debbie Strange


I scrape stardust from the night barefoot for a guy like me any day's the Fourth of July Scott Abeles new hair cut my grandmother's eyes greet me in the mirror some days I find myself not always as I was Anna Cates past the door frame I tilt my head angling for a better view of the future Briony James once at midnight I saw some moths careening kamikaze at the light trailing tails of fire like dragon breath obsessed I could not move my eyes Carole Johnston


a game show blaring on TV ... the old man in the wheelchair with his German shepherd Chen ou-Liu old Basque sheepherders drank homemade wine from botas face and shirt were stained she appeared on my terrace wearing a red negligee Clarence Carlson at the summit the depth of my breath Dave Read the things I know without looking moonshadows Kat Lehmann


summer fun a thorn strumms my hair Lavana Kray Stare into dark green leaf tunnels And you'll see the light lines of rain What poems these spring days scribble! What songs the hollows sing! Liam Wilkinson driver’s test failed again in his smart car Susan Burch the frantic bee searches for fresh air a window’s captive too many dark days in solitary confinement Tim Gardiner


nostalgia a pain that can't be silenced by silence on this snowy night the voice in my head louder Chen ou-Liu older now than his father river birch Dave Read the day clings to the Earth like atmosphere I wait for a night that goes all the way up Kat Lehmann Birds plunge from trees in leaf To my yard for scattered seeds This afternoon I'll let poems Simply fall out of my head Liam Wilkinson


in hanging mist the skylark sings above the deserted fell her cold call leaves me speechless Tim Gardiner speed limit I can't catch the setting sun Dave Read hands on head a measured space for my universe to exist Kat Lehmann a duckling crosses the road last as usual mother always knows best Tim Gardiner


storm clouds the black tip of a seagull's wing Dave Read wolf moon the growl of a muscle car long after dark Dave Read



Michele L Harvey Michele L. Harvey is a professional landscape painter living in New York. Her year is divided between rural central NY and New York City, providing a lively contrast. Her poetry has kindly and widely been accepted by most of the current short form poetry publications and she has won numerous national and international Japanese short form poetry contests, both in haiku and tanka. While introduced to Japanese poetry in grade school, she didn’t attempt to write her own until 2005 when she discovered the contemporary poetry scene online.You may view both her paintings and examples of her poetry online at

paint blistered by seasons in the sun how much of me still exists in your shadow childhood and the grass so green the sky so blue when forever and always meant just that again, I avoid what I want to say vultures circle the thermals over our heads


he asks me what tattoo would I want his sleeves rolled so as to see where the sun has left its mark

elder brother who would be king I do not tell him the moat of his sandcastle has sprung a leak in love he calls to me through moonlight I wander the hungry rooms of my dreams self adhesive on the envelope’s edge as if my words had some life of their own and sought to make their escape how is it we can measure love‌ the bouquet placed on the nearest grave much larger than my own


caught between your advanced cancer and oncoming spring I opt for tulips of a hot-blooded red glossy ads in a ladies magazine I wonder if polish on my finger tips would make me less uncertain thunderclouds swell to the brink of spilling rain... for now, we both avoid any more talk of divorce love should be like cherry petals in the wind heedless, with never a thought about tomorrow my friend’s son lost to drug-ridden alleys I find him angelic and unscathed wandering, in her eyes


when did they appear these spots that come with age on the horizon a scattered flock of bay ducks become dust motes in the sky

choosing a name worthy of a queen the tiny kitten who appeared on my doorstep has come to rule my heart



breath it is no good pretending I won't die even the tree where I carved my name uprooted, has fallen in dark space the stars will die even the one we wished on its light will go out the butterfly with frail wings and few days the sun's life is long yet both will die I know of only one thing that lives on love, of the good and honest kind think on this when you are missing my familiar voice the words, the sounds all silent then


love, or god perhaps the same thing remains breathe it in, deep I am somewhere in there. Joy McCall


Autumn Tide

by Andrew Howe & Marilyn Humbert

her scent caught by the wind we run chasing dreams while paper dolls dance ah a white painted face peeps around her seven flowers fan – Noh mask fixed in place mh untouched a bowl of cold rice rests beside the lingering warmth of her sunrise cushion ah lost songs flood soft grey light, autumn-tide only the moon and I hear star-music mh unseen the last pink petal falls – no longer centred by her gravity we drift apart ah 59

Games the men who think they are gods look down from playing poker in the heavens their eyes scan the earth, the cards, and now and then they shake their heads in disbelief the old god sighs blood and destruction it is hopeless the youngest god says one day, all will be well then the gods go back to the play their fortunes won and lost at the drop of a card and way below them the real God sits on a hill musing on life then he closes his eyes, prays, and goes back to sleep Joy McCall


ink and rum warming sake by the fire, reading Neruda I change my mind . . . hot buttered rum surrounding this cocoon of cozy total night inkwell for the poet’s pen Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel leaking into eternity coffee shops & tanka, late night thoughts, the makings of my dailiness – little by little, leaking into eternity left behind the dregs and stains a smoke trail of faint, curling disappearing words Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel


sightless eyes a bench by the village pond wind and rain under the dripping willow a sodden drunk and his dog as the working class, with the sightless eyes of statuary, search the sidewalks for a penny of meaning Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel coyote and branch all night long loud wind and rain keep me awake at dawn, a coyote howls me to sleep I wake reluctantly – the scritch-scritching of a walnut branch at the window bids me return to dailiness Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel


with the passing of day stretched out on the living room floor thinking of tanka and more tanka my bones ache laying still all night as they will in the grave ... if I knew such morbid thoughts: 'bones lying still in graves...' smell of fresh brewed spiced coffee life holds the light and the dark ... birth and death bones and coffee

pause in thought... a scroll here, divination there wind, rain, chants, prayers then silence


eternal silence broken only by the song of the waves, the wind the voices of God conversations this evening waiting for the coming post-midnight train halfway in to writing a poem sleep comes when I wake the words have flown congested evening what little words are left spilled in the potted ferns Matsukaze/Murasame


dredging wind through shadow leaves wavering on the wall and still the arborist insists it’s photosynthesis poets around the table picking apart verse after verse leaving no line unturned instead of a table let us gather at the river's edge and swirl our lines until they blur poems running together letters, words circling downstream softening, reforming the sediment we dredge extracting new lines from the muck Don Miller / Joy McCall


spinning we talk of freedom and risk we talk of safety and walls the coin spins it is in ,yes, the sound of the spinning that we wait eyes softly closing feet beginning to stir heads we dance tails we sicken and die yet even in the grave the penny-toss - heaven or hell? as slowly as moss growing over stone the deeper, richer green of time? can I help letting go of the summit and rolling downhill? the landing is rough but oh, the ride, the ride Joy McCall & Don Wentworth


burrow what a delight it is when, with a rasp, I tell the world I cannot leave the hut of my mind I burrow deep underground when pain strikes the dark mole turns, blind, deaf, unafraid when you see me emerging in a soft velvet hide let me come slow to my senses Liam Wilkinson & Joy McCall


high sweet notes spilt like milk over the piano lid her manuscripts quench my thirst for D minor miracles reading his lines my head fills with music with rain songs and the high sweet notes of the mad east wind in correspondence two poets tangled in the melody of echoing lines Liam Wilkinson & Joy McCall


after this life what if life's a fire and death a coal stone glowing amber in the dark? I want to be autumn winds and a chill rain friend, let the fire go out, come into the field after the long summer rustling ochre leaves I see your smokey ghost dancing naked through the woods Liam Wilkinson & Joy McCall


redneck the neighborhood is sun-drunk and the natives are restless – just a good ole redneck holler-day tattooed pagans strutting their stuff in club-town cheap vodka and crack fake pride and joy Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel lilting a cabbage white shuttles through tangled brush – this lilting fabric at evening’s end it settles on the lavender pale wings closing the cream and mauve of his silk kimono Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel


Mother’s Day she wears it well dementia the same way she wore her Sunday shoes dreaming of her and moaning in my sleep the cat climbs up beside me turning pages I'm a poet yet words fail me I can’t communicate my tears by phone mindlessly throwing pebbles off the bridge ... the creek she walked with me just four years ago long summer day 'nothing in it for me', she says immortality. . . the mountains, the sky, the sea all gone too soon fractured afternoon no one around to cry with or laugh with or be mad at


laughter next door after a few broken words she hangs up I say 'I love you' to the dial tone despite sunshine I opt for black white handkerchief in my back pocket Robert Epstein & Joy McCall dissonance the music lasted longer than the marriage and still it plays scratchy in my head heart seizing he doubles over mid wedding march squashing the organ keys . . . the dissonance, the dissonance Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall


clothes (don't make the man) pink sweater, brown sweater talking head & nodding head I call them Sharon & Karen you know, sharing & caring smiling ... the good souls I know wear tattoos and needle marks under worn, torn jackets Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall

binned sitting through a poetry reading I think there are some who should and some who shouldn't one haiku after another – the disposing of tissues from box to bin Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall


telling tales heartsore his bones shattered he turns back to making a living the only way he knows how since bone flutes and bison on cave walls, whether bedtime tale or the tv soaps—always, the story tellers Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall

Home home from hospital – where there were sticks apple blossoms crowd the window coming home to an alien world after the crash nothing is the same Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall


keeping the faith waking at night still that slight aching in my chest ... some new sadness digging its way in fingering the beads of memory, finding no fixed interpretation – only the barred owls keep the faith Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall

fooled her surprise at my age undid what the mirror did to me this morning the doctor says it could be worse and he smiles I guess he is right but it could be better, too Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall


last words tiny moth above my heart coiled snake marking the scarline where my leg once was a leg lost the tractor repaired – his penciled last words painted over Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall

inside fever broken, the child faintly smiles – fireflies in a mason jar male robins fighting over a worm feathers flying my best friend calls from the cells again Larry Kimmel & Joy McCall



The Bamboo Hut Autumn 2015  

The Bamboo Hut is a journal dedicated to publishing quality english language tanshi(short poems). Coming out twice a year it includes within...

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