These medical masks aren’t for surgery,
They’re lotus flowers for the mouth.
The air’s killing us slowly.
Let me tell you a tale about the Emperor
Who planted sorrow in his garden
Because he longed for his late wife
And her stories.
And the bit where the shadow puppeteer
Molded her likeness in clay
And danced its shadow on the wall
Behind a candlelit curtain.
The Emperor teemed with song again.
The Pearl River takes the heart away,
Coils like a belt to break bone.
We’re swimming backwards through history…Read article
Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
why were you in this
useless empty ditch?
your basement nest was
hidden, warm and safe
your mate lingers these
brief, precious moments
your broken body
she lay aside her pen
evening darkness in place
a quiet city
ayaz daryl nielsen, veteran, former hospice nurse, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs) lives in Longmont, Colorado. Editor of bear creek haiku (26+ years/130+ issues), with hundreds of poems published in anthologies and worldwide, he is online at: bear creek haiku poetry, poems and info. …Read article
Listen to the poem:
The hushed slide of the back door
was the dream gone slack, my mother
not a ghost actor after all, but the horse was
a black vanish, silk slipping past the needle
and the day mumbled forward
inside all the interrupted clocks.
Later I watched the moon’s little path
of white fire across the lake—October
moon hanging in the throats of coyotes
beyond the boundary of night wire, a song
of blood and light.
The rattle I heard then was not death.
It was the day’s engine ticking, giving in,
an old wind …
You can earn your living
that making sense
Nor, everything considered,
Nor is dying.
Nor, given their limits,
are the senses
And common sense,
though common sense
would suggest it isn’t sensible
to wake at three
conscious that your consciousness
Nor is it sensible
to arouse your spouse
by saying out loud,
“Well, fuck that.”
Nothing is sensible—
not even the solace—
what else should you do?—
of stirring sweetener and cocoa
into the coffee you’ll sip
on your customary walk
through the street-lit …