Monday, January 8, 2018

Peggy Dugan French, Ajśa Dźemila Zahirović, t. kilgore splake, Rachael Ikins, Dennis Rhodes, Steve Ausherman, pl. wick, Patricia Carragon! and, Judith Partin-Nielsen!

             poet Peggy Dugan French  Cardiff, California                   

rules of love:

be kind to all
share a flower from time to time
hold hands while waiting in line at the movies
be patient
learn to let go
learn to hold on tight
smile
eat dinner together
don’t go to bed mad
(isn’t that on all the long lasting marriage lists)
be strong
for yourself
for each other
always


poet Ajśa Dźemila Zahirović
                                    Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The Old Bridge
and the Neretva River-              The deserted well. . .
The undying beauty.                  A leaf on a tree breaks
                                         Its dreamy silence.

                 Two birch trees in the sunshine
                 Stretch out their arms. . .
                 The artist and the poem.

                                          He has turned old in the saddle -
                                          The poet on his
                                          Eternal Journey.




                    t. kilgore splake   calumet, michigan

save the trees                                        rolling road miles

words not explaining                                  felt it coming

what's beneath the bark                         pounding alpha-beat keys

                                                    couldn't type fast enough

                   30 feet today

             another twenty tomorrow



two poems from t. kilgore splake's 2017

                AHHH 
                LIFE

       from Transcendent Zero Press
       www.transcendentzeropress.com

            splake@chartermi.net

recent t. kilgore book is "ghost light"       published by Gage Press 
in Battle Creek, Michigan.

Tama and Frosty: 'And now, Mister Editor, a poetry collection us
kitty-kats especially chose for this post. . ."

For Kate
a love story in four parts                        poems by 
                                                          Rachael Ikins



              "Kate," states Tama, "is a most special friend of ours."
"And!," says Frosty, "Rachael Ikins has written an entire collection of poems, with pictures, about beloved Kate!  
                    Here is a favorite, among many favorites!" 

                    Perfection

                      After sun and full of joie de vivre
                      you clamber up my pillow stack.
                      Vibrating like an engine you lick 
                      my chin raw purple if you can tease 
                      me out of the pile.  You unfold yourself
                      along my face.

                     You flop 6 pounds, tiptoed suede over my nose.
                     You purr, no color in your dark
                     new-moon eyes.  You are so happy.
                     I have to laugh.  I can't breathe with a nose
                     full of you.  You fit exactly into
                     my elbow crook, my fingers
                     just long enough to tuck beneath
                     your paws.


Lovely, noble assistant editors- and, shall we include poems from other close friends of ours?  
                              Happy mews mixed with purring!
 
                       poet Dennis Rhodes   Naples, Forida

     The artichoke, asparagus,             I've never given away
     lettuce and beet                       anything of value
     all sat around having                 that hasn't come back to me
     a fruitless conversation.              in one way
                                               or another.



               
     poet Steve Ausherman   Albuquerque, New Mexico

                   Rivets and Rust

         The feet of my father are cold,
               calloused, pale and yellow.

         I know neither him nor his bones,
               teeth nor truth, stubble nor smile.

         A life of steel-toed boots and pallet jacks,
               home town factory smoke.

         Behind the football field rises gravel heaps,
               trains whistles echo umber hills.

         Work, work, work thick in his bones.
               His days filled with rust.

         The feet of my father are huge.
               Carry the family. Carry heavy stones.

         The books are not balanced. None opened.
               The safe is empty. Wallet worn thin.

         Looking at him, I try to understand
               Rivets and bones and loading docks.

         The feet of my father are cold,
               calloused, pale and yellow.


poet pl. wick  from an Okefenokee swamp stump   Empire, Colorado


    it's one of those jobs--
    a job that
    has absorbed  soaked
    infiltrated the blood
    the marrow   and soul . .

    s0  between shifts
    instead of
    much needed sleep
       a cat-nap in the
    staff-room--

    with a cup of jasmine
    and a courtesy-cart bagel
    it's down to the basement
    into the quiet and dust 
    tucked alongside the boiler
    (very Dicken-esque)

    a couple of hours with pen &
    blue cover spiral notebook--
    daydreaming poetry. . .

geeks
grifters &
candied apples

selections by
toma rosen and pl. wick

contact Canyon.Wren@Q.com (and/or)
pl. wick
PO Box 249
                                          Empire, CO
                                          80438-0249
(a copy also in today's postal mailing of bear creek haiku #141)

Noble assistant editors Tama and Frosty have chosen to close this post with two poets they're especially fond of, Patricia Carragon! and, Judith Partin-Nielsen!

                poet Patricia Carragon   Brooklyn, New York

subway in motion
        wheels sing lullabies                      vapor clouds
               passengers fall asleep              rise from my teapot
                                                      Winter cold blues



              poet Judith Partin-Nielsen   Longmont, Colorado

                              wanting to go home
                              longing toward that place
                              now only remembered
                              still, I see the horizon





see you in a moment


ayaz dary nielsen




                                       (and/or) darylayaz@me.com



note:
poetry can be mailed to    
                        bear creek haiku
                        PO Box 596
                        Longmont, CO
                        80502   
                        USA                (an SASE is appreciated)

From other than the USA, email (as above)
And! 
If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too (include postal address)

                        Best to all our creative endeavors!
   

Saturday, December 16, 2017

t. kilgore splake, James B. Peters, Teresinka Pereira, Steve Ausherman, Yarrow, Ann Christine Tabaka, Greg Gregory, Nancy Shires, Patricia Carragon, and, Juanita Torrence-Thompson!

                 poet t. kilgore splake   Calumet, Michigan

         lost in cold whiteness                          movie theatre

            wind driven snow                        brief afternoon hours

          poet drunk on silence                        young wild free



   poet James B. Peters                      poet Teresinka Pereira   
   Cottonville, Tennessee                         Toledo, Ohio                       

   Christmas decorations,                       SANTA CLAUS                         
   Everyone has a tree.
   A sleigh and plastic tire                     Without dances, singing
   Further down the street.                     his HO! HO! HO!
   The weather                                    the old man
   is just now turning cold                     comes to give
   Maybe Christmas will be white.              a message of peace
   The spirit has caught                         to all mankind!
   The shoppers in the mall                     With storms
   And everywhere                               or with limpid sky
   there is more cheer.                           here he comes                         
   Better if it filled the year.                    from the firmament
                                                     with memories...
                                                     The poem 
                                                     is the gift
                    to each poet!
                                                           

     poet Steve Ausherman
           Albuquerque, New Mexico

           spilled salt
              tossed over my shoulder
           the warm comforts
                          of superstition.


     
    poet Ann Christine Tabaka
          Hockessin, Deleware
     
           wind in the trees
           leaves dance to
           a grand ballet                       
   (to you from Yarrow)                          in my window      
                                                         a moonless night
                                                       pulls down the shades



                  poet Greg Gregory
                        Antelope, California                                      

                  I have learned the right words, right
                  tone, each of the right                            
                  faces, pleasing smile.
                  I have learned them as prairie
                  grass learns to send its tendrils
                  into the sod to
                  escape prairie fires.
                  I have learned how to survive.


poet Nancy Shires
      Greenville, North Carolina

                    rainy spell
                    a population increase
                    of violets

      song of the swallowtail sung in yellow

                                    yellow flowers 
                                    cascading from a blue pot
                                    it doesn't take much




            (And it is sunrise in Colorado. . .  we fools are dancing!)


                         poet Patricia Carragon                              
                            Brooklyn, New York

            photographs                              pastoral silence
            can't always see                          inner cacophony
            the beauty of the moment              speaks


                         poet Juanita Torrence-Thompson
                               Bayside, New York

           Jewel eyes, burnt to-                Singing sienna
           Paz observing crocus. Peace.       Eyes, saucy lavender lips
           Splatter of spring rain.              Swim through lilac days.


Noble assistant editors Tama and        
Frosty, you have created another
excellent blog post of poems
from very favorite poets!

Frosty:  "Treats for everyone!"

happy mews, contented purring,
heart-felt grins and sighs
(as we eat treats and dance). . .



see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen



                                       (and/or) darylayaz@me.com



note:  poetry to be considered for print issues 
of bear creek haiku
can be sent to:       bear creek haiku
                        PO Box 596
                        Longmont, CO
                        80502   
                        USA                (an SASE is appreciated)

from other than the USA, email (as above) often works best, yet! 
if you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too.

                        Best to our creative endeavors!

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Peggy Dugan French, Rex Sexton, Don Wentworth, Steve Ausherman, Patricia Carragon, Carl Mayfield, t. kilgore splake, Angelee Deodhar, Frosty and Tama!

                               



                               poet Peggy Dugan French
                                    Cardiff, California

              sanctuary                           construction site
              the song of this river              the chatter of daily lives
              the touch of your hand            mixed with sawdust

Peggy is editor of print publication   SHEMOM   
     peggydfrench@gmail.com          2486 Montgomery Ave.
                                            Cardiff, CA
                                            92007
                                                          send your poetry!


assistant editors Frosty and Tama, stating, "next, artwork and poetry from the friend who always made us purr..."

                             poet and artist Rex Sexton





THE KISS GOODNIGHT

Somber in the soft dusk
with sleep coming on
I think about the best
way to lay life's wonders
down. Of course, somehow
with a smile on my face. No
sour grapes. Death is everyone's
fate.
I must lay my long mirror down
The future belongs to those who
are coming. I'll greet them
as I can, leave them
a little something.
Grace and beauty has its way.



(Skeleton Key by Rex Sexton)



                      poet Don Wentworth   Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania


         that slow lope,                          Grand Unified Theory
       of nowhere to go,
been there, everywhere, before -               the moment
      look, see, the willow                      becomes  
          yields to you                           you




                             (above haiga by Frosty and Tama)






Paint a Tree     poet Steve Ausherman
                           Albuquerque, New Mexico


Paint a tree/ paint a thin branch

Paint shaded green/ paint the lines of my hand.

Paint a sapling/paint a girl growing up.

Paint exposed roots/ paint grandma in a rocker.

Paint a tree/ paint a thick branch.

Paint autumn leaves/ paint a wedding veil.

Paint wind-bucked pine/ paint a boy's cowlick.

Paint aspen bark/ paint a Dear John letter.

Paint a tree/ paint a thin branch.

Paint a thick trunk/ paint a Sunday dinner.

Paint acorn skin/ paint my child leaving home.

Paint leaves in the rain/ paint the doctor's office.

Paint a tree/ paint a thin branch.




    poet Patricia Carragon
                                   Brooklyn, New York

          rain forgives anger
                   when it falls with grace and hope
                            water heals the land
                                     courage replants, life renews
                                              the earth and sun in balance




  (above haiga by Tama and Frosty)


                   poet Carl Mayfield  Rio Rancho, New Mexico
                                           
        snowy fog                          along the path
            walking home                              each direction home
          through home


                  poet t. kilgore splake   Calumet, Michigan

       thelonious monk                             lost in cold whiteness

        soft jazzy touch                               wind driven snow

      world full of edges                          poet drunk on silence


     and, last, Angelee Deodhar shares a recent photo of Frosty. . .


assistant editor Frosty asks "Did you have to use this picture!?!"

Noble assistant, this picture earns all of us, especially you, and Tama, and Angelee Deodhar- extra-special treats!

"Happy mews and purrs and extra-special treats for everyone!"
from assistant editor Tama...                    



see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen

                     

darylayaz@gmail.com
(and/or) darylayaz@me.com


note:  poetry to be considered for print issues 
of bear creek haiku
can be sent to: bear creek haiku
                  PO Box 596
                  Longmont, CO
                  80502   
                  USA                (an SASE is appreciated)

from other than the USA, email (as above) often works best, yet! 
if you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too.



                                              best to our creative endeavors!            

Friday, December 8, 2017

kitty purrs: poets Joanna M. Weston, Juanita Torrence-Thompson, Paula Yup, t. kilgore splake, James B. Peters, Carl Mayfield, Patricia Carragon, Judy Katz-Levine, and, Bijoy Kant Dubey!


                          poet Joanna M. Weston
                     Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia                              

   the newsboy
   cast in bronze
   still delivering

                                                the mailman
                                                stationary
                                                in bronze
      the prison becomes
              a famous library -
              books on time
                                                   wild roses
                                                   in sunlight -
                                                   love
      forget-me-nots
      by the stream -
      our faded photo



                   poet Juanita Torrence-Thompson
                          Bayside, New York

               HAIKU #11  --  FLORAL ARRANGEMENT

               IKEBANA of
               Pink, blue, yellow perfumes air
               Delightful for all

               HAIKU #12 --   KOTO: THE JAPANESE HARP

               She plays the Koto
               Softly as a gentle wind
               Strokes an olive branch


     
                poet and artist Paula Yup
                Spokane, Washington

                MYSTERIES ARE ALL I CAN READ

                             here in Alaska
                exhausted with bloodshot eyes
                asthma
                assorted afflictions
                loneliness
                after a dozen years
                in a third world country
                this transition back to life
                in the States
                distracts me
                but it's ok
                life is a mystery  too


      poet t. kilgore splake   Calumet, Michigan
                
  searching wilderness shadows
                                                   breakfast with dad
   like monk circling cloister
                                              squeezing juice perking coffee
     quietly seeking wisdom 
                                                   never happier time





                                             CIGAR SMOKE
                                             Five teenaged boys
                                             In a forty-six Ford.
                                             Sitting on a back street
       poet James B. Peters           Filling the interior                    
       Cottontown, Tennessee            With cigar smoke.
                                             The most intelligent
                                             Quest for knowledge
                                             At this point
                                             Was whether
                                             Farts
                                             Would ignite.


                                                   

                    poet Carl Mayfield
                  Rio Rancho, New Mexico

          Blank Look #61
          One rogue apricot appears on the tree.
          She slices the fruit carefully, evenly.

          This is the way a thousand years
          Slips quietly through your fingers.


                                    
                           poet Patricia Carragon
                         Brooklyn, New York

                         Roller Coaster Train

                      We were approaching
                         Coney Island--Stillwell Avenue,
                         but the N train didn't stop--

                         It continued upwards on tracks
                         that rose above the station
                         until it made that sudden descent

                         and plunged into the ocean
                         where the real mermaids waited
                         over an hour to get on.


       poet Judy Katz-Levine   Norwood, Massachusetts

         Song With Strong Coffee 10.9.17 Starbuck’s

         Lilt of voices, swell-song
         The rain, October leaf
         “Tell me, tell me how to”
         Swept away sorrow, the call
         And ochre branches
         The fall of a hand, dialogue                         
         With a friend who knows
         A blind-song, just starting
         Seed-poems rise in light
         Rain, the call                 


                            
                
                       poet Bijoy Kant Dubey   
               Chandrakona Town, West Bengal, India
  
               My Silence

               My silence
               The silence of rocks and stones
               And trees

               My silence
               Mine, not yours,
               But mine, mine only

               My silence,
               My silence
               The silence of rocks and stones

               And trees,
               Trees,
               Rocks and stones

               My silence
               The silence of mine,
               Mine only, not yours

               And the world did not
               Why had I been silent,
               Silent?



assistant editor Frosty:  "Tama,
we've purred so much
within these poems-
extra treats are needed!"
assistant editor Tama:
"Mister Editor, it's up to you!"

Noble assistants, you've presented 
yet another lovely poetry collection- extra treats for all of us!

Frosty: "Especially Judith!"                       



see you in a moment


ayaz daryl nielsen

                       darylayaz@me.com 
                       (and/or) darylayaz@gmail.com


note:  poetry to be considered for print issues 
of bear creek haiku
can be sent to: bear creek haiku
                  PO Box 596
                  Longmont, CO
                  80502   
                  USA                (SASE's are appreciated)

from other than the USA, email (as above) often works best, yet! 
if you choose to send poetry via email from within the US, 
that's ok, too.

                          Best to our creative endeavors!