Brass Bell: Phoebe Lakin

Welcome to the April 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Phoebe Lakin

the gusty downpour

seen

from behind my tea steam

drizzly sunset

I smell the rain on me

the rain on you

if I am sad

then why are the stars

so bright?

gray day —

the lilac buds

have popped

a playground

so wet

and yet . . . no frogs

so many flowers

who will 

count them?

cloudless day

under the forsythia

the sound of silence

amongst the gusts 

of April wind

the first violets

too far to reach

the stars reflected

in the rain barrel

after the rain

in yellow boots

jumping puddles

wind chimes at 4 a.m.

the damp ocean breeze

smells of seaweed

nothing to gain

nothing to lose —

the summer flowers

in the sunlight

green green grass

and one white flower

under the weight of blossoms

this earth must be straining

to hold itself up

daffodils in a vase

the cupcakes 

drab by comparison

wind creases the curtains —

tea bag wrappers

shudder like dried leaves

in my bedroom

two-day-old tea

and a sunset through green leaves

drizzly afternoon

those little white flowers —

what are they called?

honey candy

tastes of

cloud darkening skies

we are always ourselves

when we are by the sea

ah, how the sunset sparkles

summer night in a French garden

even the crickets

like the rain

on the train

apologizing to the face of a man

whose leather coat

is now

covered in my hot chocolate

***

Phoebe Lakin, a tea enthusiast, attends college in Cambridge, 

MA. She likes reading, archaeology, and ancient Rome, and 

hopes to live in the mountains someday.  

brass bell: Jack Goldman

Welcome to the March 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Jack Goldman

snowfall overnight

world seems less complicated

in shadowless light

fresh snow on the creek

unruffled ducks glance at me

over their shoulders

bread of life for birds

cast upon the snowy yard

squandered on squirrels

snow ablaze in sun

contest of fire and ice

cold consolation

under the streetlamp

my shadow hurries ahead —

I’d rather linger

wary of warm day

magnolia blossoms withhold

their sudden glory

that unnoted twig

suddenly lifts from the branch

and becomes a bird

duplicitous March

I’m on to your fickle ways

my boots stand ready

planting a fall bulb

an annual act of faith . . .

two bulbs hedge my bet

in this cold country 

where skies merge with mirrored lakes

stone walls stand their ground

frozen pair of jeans

swinging slowly on the line

Old Man Winter's blues

stones stacked up like books

along the turbulent gorge

“Ancient History”

hip-hopping squirrels 

break dancing in the branches

addle the cool cats

willow trees whisper

secret longings to the wind . . .

that flighty gossip

youth speaks the grammar

of present and future tense —

age speaks past perfect

my friend recommends

meditation and breathing —

I’ll think about it

my mirror reveals

an elderly stranger who

appears to know me

floating in the sea

merging with the ocean sky

I swallow the clouds

strolling on the shore

warm sand caressing my soles

the sun underfoot

twinkling butterflies

swarming in the morning sun

a tropical wink

leaving the islands

returning to a cold home

sand in my sandals

sketchy potted plant

still living at the window

drawing winter light

poor old puckered pear

judging by appearances

we two make a pair

moved by a March breeze

maple trees unpack their trunks

no longer snowbound

something consoling

in the nonchalance of crows

patrolling the storm

handful of haiku

neither poetry nor prose

this side of silence

***

Jack Goldman:

I graduated from UCLA in 1964 after several years abroad in Israel, France, Germany and Switzerland. I came to Ithaca in 1965 as a graduate student in German Literature; joined Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) in 1967, and devoted several years to opposing the Vietnam War and doing community organizing. In 1975, I opened the Bookery, a downtown bookstore which continues to thrive. I've been married for many years to the extraordinary Barbara Mink

and I'm the father of the equally wonderful Emily, and son Dan* (d. 2013).

*   you were a gazelle

    sensing an instant too late

    the shattering air

brass bell: Sandi Pray

Welcome to the February 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Sandi Pray.

twilight sounds

how quietly fall leaps

from tree to tree

a lifetime

of grass in my hair

prairie wind

raindrops

on my head i carry

the last few

morning blossom

how you always find

the sunny side

i hear your voice

but forget your name

faraway river

quiet afternoon

on the smoothest rock

my shadow rests

backcountry

i add a feather

to someone's cairn

one coyote

the entire mountain 

howls moonlight

december mist

walking into

the laughter of ducks

origami

the crane doesn't mind

all my thumbs

bed of stars

i cool my face

with moonwater

the part of me

that keeps on walking

cliff's edge

after you

the song i can't lose 

little grey bird

blackberry eve

a prairie accepts

all the sparrows

gentle waves 

the rise and fall of dusk

on a gull's wing

looking through me

the toad never blinks

morning light

last ray of sun

the trail one snail

left behind

moon shadow

a spiders's thread

from here to there

wild mint

the taste of night

where stars fall

almost tomorrow

my empty page

filled with moonlight

mending fences

i learn the language

of crows

the river bends

about my ankles

first spring day

listening to dawn 

until sunlight fills

my empty cup

first raindrop

the thrill of thunder

on my tongue

traveling north

the cold sees

right through me

Sandi Pray, a retired librarian, lives a quiet life divided between the forests of north Florida and the mountains of North Carolina. Living a vegan lifestyle she is a lover of all critters and the solitude of nature.

You can find her on Facebook

Twitter @bigmax722

http://ravencliffs.blogspot.com

brass bell: Caroline Skanne

Welcome to the January, 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Caroline Skanne.

Starting this month the format of the journal has changed. Instead of publishing anthologies on a single theme I will now invite one, two, or three poets each month to present their work as featured poets. Keep dropping by throughout the year to see what is new. I feel certain you will enjoy what you find here.

And now … presenting …. Caroline Skanne.

that feeling

of not being

enough

i shrink into shadows

dark moon

twilight skies

there is little else

on my mind

than the texture

of your lips

like so many

times before —

i write

myself

a way out

tears

fall into a river

of memory . . .

who i was then

shaped who i became

with you

every sunset holds

dawn captive

there is no other way

to breathe the stars

fairyland

so far away yet

at my feet

dog violets whisper

of everyday magic

yellow

watercolours

on a rainy day

you delivered the sun

bird of paradise

* * *

winter stillness

two swans carry

the sinking sun

child's pose

i return

to beginnings

spring equinox

all the transitions

i need to make

how gently

raindrops count

my blessings

without you

only night sky

to hold me

before i see you

there is song . . .

chaffinch

another full moon

there was a time 

when you loved me

alone at last

just you and i

long night moon

folded between

pages of dusty old books

childhood dreams

* * *

yellow iris a sunbeam for your smile

wherever you go moon of winds i will follow

cool winter air i wrap up in a blackbird's song

purple-loosestrife amongst the reeds my wildflower heart

in spring trees remember what they used to look like

a kingfisher skims the surface of this moment

* * *

Caroline Skanne is obsessed with anything wild and free. She is the founder of hedgerow: a journal of small poems, and lives with her family, puppy and two cats by the river in Rochester, UK. Find her @

https://www.facebook.com/caroline.skanne.9

http://hedgerowpoems.wordpress.com/

Winter Haiku

Welcome to the December issue of brass bell: a haiku journal. This month's theme is WINTER HAIKU.

You will find work here by 103 contributors, from Australia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, England, France, India, Indonesia, Italy, Japan, New Zealand, Oman, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Scotland, Switzerland, Tunisia, and the United States

after the snow the flight of crows

- Alan Catlin

dark snow the night begins its winter

- Alan Summers

cold morning —

her hands hide 

the strawberry

- Ali Znaidi

the old oak branches

heavy with snow —

a woodpecker works

- Amauri Solon

winter time —

no more tourists

asking for ice cream

- Ana Drobot

close of the year

just one empty page

in the old diary

- Angelee Deodhar

searching for the dog

through the snow

two eyes

- Anisoara Iordache

dying fireplace

only a cat at the window

minds the snow

- Anna Mazurkiewicz  

his voice 

on the answerphone

— winter drizzle

- Anne Curran

long dark evenings

I pass the endless hours

reading George Eliot

- Annie Wexler

winter night

silent snowfall

bedtime stories

- Archana Kapoor Nagpal

first light of dawn

sparrows chanting

above new snow

- ayaz daryl nielsen

sunny porch —

a blooming hibiscus

mocking the north wind

- Barbara Kaufmann

frost flowers

an artist paints

the winter white

- Barbara Tate

snowfall . . .

even the broken fence

is beautiful

- Bill Waters

quiet winter

the deep clink of a coin

in a beggar's can

- Billy Antonio

hungry cat

gazes sadly at the sky —

fish swim under the ice

- Bozidar Skobic

ice blooms

in and all around my heart

winter sun

- C. Robin Janning

silent first snow

hides summer lawn furniture

in stillness

- Carl Scharwath

dying embers —

the missing xoxo

in her texts

- Carl Seguiban

deepest magic 

of the year — my candles glow

solstice eve

- Carole Johnston

first touch of frost a faery huddles in the late-blooming rose

- Caroline Skanne

Groundhog Day

on the clothesline

bedsheetsfrozenstiff

- Carolyn Coit Dancy

winter fog

a few steps from the house

I feel lost

- Catherine Rigutto

winter night —

one more marshmallow

in hot chocolate

- Charishma Navneet Gupta

winter solstice

I recycle my youth

in a dream

- Chen-ou Liu

last day of the year

evening arrives

little by little

- Constantin Stroe

light snow

she brushes off

my opinion

- Dave Read

winter dawn —

the seagull's shadow

drags on the grass

- David Rodrigues

winter bird

am i the only one

who knows your song

- Debbie Strange

falling temperatures

frost settles

into his beard

- Devin Harrison

first snow

a new outfit

for the old neighborhood

- Diana Petkova

mouths agape

children eating

snowflakes

- Diana Teneva

first snowflakes —

the cat shakes off

his wet whiskers

- Elena Malec

we install the car seat

for our first grandchild . . .

winter stars

- Ferris Gilli

I dig up the crocus

and tulip bulbs —

something alive to take away

- Frank Judge

basketball     hockey

endless pro football

skis     snowboards     —   winter

- Gale Owen

winter day

a kitten and a street musician

in the underpass

- Gergana Yaninska

first snowfall

the trees dissolve

into evening sky

- G.R. LeBlanc

first snow

the emptiness

of the bird feeder

- Helen Buckingham

playing guitar —

the pain in my fingers

this winter

- Jayashree Maniyil

in a patch of confusion

October pumpkins

punch through winter snow

- JenMarie Macdonald

New York winter

small dogs stroll

in shiny red boots

- Joan Corr

stopping to see

the shape of

a snowflake

- Joan McNerney

hail

out of a clear sky

angry words

- Joanna M. Weston

first frost —

the postman's

crackling footsteps

- John McDonald

getting out

my old winter

thoughts

- Julian O'Dea

this winter too

me and my old

rug

- Kanchan Chatterjee

first winter days —

again in mom's frail hands

my unfinished sweater

- Kashinath Karmakar

as if silence

could be seen

snow globe

- Kath Abella Wilson

muntingia blossoms

our scattered jokes float down

— best friend's funeral

- Ken Sawitri

overnight snow . . .

the river

narrowed

- kris moon

winter morning

one ray of sunlight joins me

at the table

- Kristen Lindbeck

a hole in a fence —

snow is falling

into an empty bowl

- Krzysztof Kokot

fragrant path . . .

all that we have

frozen night

- Kuheli Santra

first snowfall —

the kids gather

fresh flowers

- Kumarendra Mallick

old forest —

covered by snow

only the stumps

- Laura Vaceanu

old threads

woven into a bird's nest . . .

sweater weather

- Laura Williams

hemmed in by snow —

red apples lined up

on the windowsill

- Lavana Kray

winter field

a crow pecks at

the scarecrow's pocket

- Magdalena Banaszkiewicz

every twig ice-sheathed

yet — business as usual

for the noisy crows

- Margaret Fisher Squires

winter sky —

looking for an asteroid

between the stars

- Maria Tirenescu

morning light . . .

woodsmoke painting

the silence

- Mark E. Brager

cold night

my gloveless hands

in my pockets

- Marta Chocilowska

white-cowled and drowsy —

silence descends at Compline —

pines bowed in prayer

- Mary Carter Ginn

melting ice

I am startled

by his touch

- Mary Hohlman

visiting graveyards . . .

an invisible snowflake

kisses my forehead

- Maya Lyubenova

white embroidery —

in the winter sky

one thousand stitches

- Nicole Pottier 

winter evening

even the carousel horses

stopped running

- Nikola Duretic

breaking through

monochrome winter

the red trills of a robin

- Olivier Schopfer

winter dawn i fold into your breath

- Paresh Tiwari

aching back a staring contest with two snow clouds

- Pat Geyer

snow piles up

as I wait on the corner —

darkness falls

- Patricia Prine

gliding on thin ice in her new figure skates

- Persis Parshall Vehar

sunrise

children clap their hands —

snowman without a nose

- Petruta Ionescu

winter morning

the scarecrow with

a snow cap

- Pravat Kumar Padhy

winter night

I search for more heat

in the spice rack

- Rachel Sutcliffe

going home

I look for the smoke

from the chimney

- Radka Mindova

(English translation by Maya Lyubenova)

winter dawn

a patch of clouds

blossom a bare tree

- Ramesh Anand

unhinged unfurled cruel

wet wicked winter winds wail

their banshee refrain

- Rob Sullivan

melting snow

another hope

to fall in love

- Robert Kania

the way heavy snow

bends the white birch

and mother with age

- Robert Henry Poulin

strong winter wind

my house is broken too

tiny spider

- Rosa Clement

frozen river . . .

in its grip

the loon's call

- Samar Ghose

walking into

an argument of crows

winter fog

- Sandi Pray

long winter night

gentle as falling snowflakes

your glance

- S.Eta Grubesic

young lovers 

trembling

a winter storm

- Silvestru Miclaus

winter solstice —

i chip the darkness

off my toast

- Sondra J. Byrnes

on this frosty night

we are made clean 

new in the world once again

- Stacey Murphy

nightly visitors' log

signed on fresh snow —

3 deer, one paperboy

- Sue Norvell

on the snowy railing

three dozen pigeons

all facing east, but one

- Susan Sonnen

fresh snow

on the palm of my glove

winter sky

- Theresa A. Cancro

winter morning

even the child's breath

is smoky

- Thriveni C. Mysore

chopping wood nothing prepares us for winter

- Tim Gardiner

my mother again

atop a bare branch alone

red cardinal singing

- Tish Pearlman

crowing rooster —

New Year's

first greeting

- Tomislav Maretic

shadow running

ahead of me

winter sunshine

- Tricia Knoll

vacation

snowman watches over

the school yard

- Vasile Moldovan

snow storm

japanese rose blooms

in her room

- Vessislava Savova

pearls of dewdrops

from a frozen twig

a sparrow's song

- Vibeke Laier

snow-bound path —

footprints full

of moon rays

- Virginia Popescu 

the silence

of a cooling tea pot —

winter morning

- Yesha Shah

early morning snowfall 

stepping into your footprints

who will step in mine

- Zee Zahava

Previously published:

Carl Seguiban — dying embers — FreeXpression Haiku (August 2014)

Kashinath Karmakar — first winter days — European Kukai (December 2013)

Krzysztof Kokot — a hole in a fence — Diogen Winter Contest (2014)

Maya Lyubenova —  visiting graveyards — Flecks of Blue, a bilingual haiku collection (English and Bulgarian), by Maya Lyubenova

Radka Mindova — going home — World Haiku Review (February 2012)

Robert Kania — melting snow — World Haiku Review (January 2014)