Beep, beep, beep … oh, what now?! Is it time already? Surely she can’t be in labour now. It’s been just under two hours.

Beep, beep, beep … the beeper continues its disturbing melody.
It’s so peaceful and quiet under the linden tree and the sweet nostalgic aroma of the slightly shrunk blossoms evokes almost a Zen like state of mind. Not urgency. Definitely not that!
Beep, beep, beep …!!!

baby’s first cry
a silence in between
the angel wings' flutter

Count to 10 in reverse order. Ten, nine, eight … Why just 10? I can start from 100. I’m not tired. I’m so full of excitement, I’m having my baby, I can climb mountains, Everest even … What comes after eight? Her hands are so warm. They smell of linden blossoms …

a musty smell
in the local museum
dug up pots

Things behind glass. Things you can't touch. So good to get back to the feel of now. An open window. Radio music and birdsong mingling in the midst of a damp June afternoon.

an egret flies
through sculpted foliage
petrichor

farewell meal
the wine has a taste
i cannot name

alpine monastery
the monks
all suntanned

opening
a train window
the conductor
lets in a single
flake of snow

a biscuit
and a cold nose
in my palm
 

a gaggle 
of geese unzips the 
summer sky
 

subway steps –
a steep ascent
to the moon
 

spider’s web
maps the wrinkles
on his face
 

starless sky . . .
the sniffings of
a fox
 

Steve Mangan is a semi-retired careworker from the UK living as an ex-pat in Turkey.

Saturday dad ---
I wait outside the bookies
with a can of pop,
at church we light a candle
for his horse

 
snowflakes
and a robin's song
in streetlight
the city-bird sings
through the night

 
winter solstice
a bowl of red bean porridge
with fifty birds' eggs
the days grow longer
and the years shorten

misty walk
a magpie
shade of blue

Time Haiku #48

cicada songs
last vestiges of summer
on YouTube

autumnal sunset
fifty shades
of sorrow

where two seas meet
the broken V
of wild geese

sheeting rain the outstretched snail

rippling through ripple after ripple sun on the stream

still childless playtime in the park

filling our silence
the heavy scent
of lilies

wild voices, vol 2: an anthology of short poetry & art by women
(Edited by Caroline Skanne) wildflower poetry press 2018

nightfall
the snow
settling

summer dusk
reading by lamplight
this moth and I

sugar cubes
the scent of horse
in my hand

the steady creak
of the old garden fence
honeysuckle breeze

sudden rain
strangers
share the doorway

selfie…
is Matsushima
not enough


jaywalking…
the stag beetle
dodges my foot

dUSt

desert mathematician arms
outstretched

winter architect i buy his silence

after the frog
i dissect
an earthquake

winter my son sleeps in a bear suit

tonight she says my hair needs moonlight 

full of milk my ghost brother

still half-asleep i thank the ATM

between the ribs a whale a winter star

old sailor carving songs from the wind

as my wife sleeps i wrestle a rainbow

black spots
dance across the dusky sky
starlings
shape-shift their way
home to roost

amid graffiti
and mindless vandalism
flowers wilt
in the cold shadow
of her gravestone

winter moon
the longest night feels longer
waiting
for a baby's
first woeful cry

Tracy Davidson writes haiku, tanka and other short poetry. Her work has appeared in various publications including Modern Haiku, Atlas Poetica, Ribbons, Moonbathing, A Hundred Gourdsand Notes from the Gean. She lives in Warwickshire, England.

free newspaper
fake news
comes cheap

war correspondent
anticipating battle
killing time

a crack
of broken twigs
the smell of sap

Ron C. Moss (Aus) &
Caroline Skanne (UK)

catch up one step back a snail's glisten

halfway up the stone steps
a toad and I meet
in the moonlight

old postcard
when our friendship
was young

family album
four variations
of the same smile