A Journal for Linking Poets 


XX:2 June, 2005




PAN YARD LIME 2005 by gillena cox

NIGHT GHAZAL by Abra (Barbara Mackay)

EXODUS by Ruth Holzer



JERSEY DEVIL by Robin M. Buehler


NIAGARA FALLS by Robin D. Gill




FOUR SEDOKA by Don Ammons

Richard N. Bentley

 A JUNE OF TANKA by Tom Clausen

Elizabeth Howard

SEASONS OF HEALING by Laryalee Fraser


ECLIPSE OF THE HEART by Thelma Mariano

MOU OSHIMAI DA by Tim McGovern

LATE SHOW by Kevin Paul Miller


NOW AND THEN A GLIMPSE by Carol Purington

SAMPLING by Werner Reichhold

WOODEN SEAT by Anna Rugis

HERE by Anna Rugis


I'M NO RIVER by R.K.Singh



TRUE LOVE by Marie Summers

SUMMER WIND by Marie Summers

MOONGLOW by Marie Summers



Robin M. Buehler, Jeanne Emrich, 
C W Hawes, 
Eva LaFollette, 
Giselle Maya,
June Moreau,
K. Ramesh,
Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos, 
alexis rotella, 
Aya Yuhki


John M. Bennett




gillena cox

January, the moon's full in the night sky
Smaller lights of twinkling stars

A cooling gentle breeze
Intimates his aftershave cologne

Pulsating sounds from the steel band
In the pan yard filling the night space

The rich blend of food and prattle
Excites every music connoisseur's palate

Conscious, each of one's own space
Yet unconsciously swaying to this one rhythm

Communion of pan music
Season of Carnival

His empty plate, except for a few grains of rice
Tonight's moon is still a full moon

*The word "Lime" is used here in the Trinidad and Tobago dialect sense, and it refers not to a fruit, but to an activity of people getting together in common consensus to have fun. See this link for more "Trini" dialect words.


Abra (Barbara Mackay)

Come, take my hand and we will walk the elbow of night
I will lead you beyond blackness into the glow of night.

In the east a glacier appears and walks forward on the land
white and blue icebergs glitter as the sun nips the toe of night.

In the framed mirror I watch myself dance the fandango
I am naked and wanton protected by the soul of night.

How is it that I have come to love what I once feared
those ghosts and goblins formed by the shadows night.

Once I had a great love who walked across the sky
by day, now he lives in the hollow of night.

Crows wing in and perch on the limbs of a tree and I
Abra glimpse their blackness just before the swallow of night.


Ruth Holzer

Shmuel-called-Shepsel, he got out,
far from the Tsar when the Great War broke out.

Bumping under burlap sacks on the road to Yashinovka,
through rain and flame, Chaya got six children out.

Her parents, may peace be upon them,
lay in the Goniadz graveyard, a narrow way out.

Pioneer cousins tugged on their boots,
hiked to distant Palestine, singing their way out.

The last horse in the village stumbled and balked,
but pulled the wagon of life, bringing invisible Ruth out.


Sue Stanford

over the puddles, over summer clouds
cricket cheers reverberate: the lingering light

the last daydreamer rehearses a love scene
startled, she slips the words up her sleeve

cheap mascara reddens her eyes
at the year end disco girls dance with girls

that song, she feels as though she had written it
MSN, the art teacher's pregnant

a tampon explodes in a jar of tap water
mixed feelings she marks off the end of Term Four

crossroads: which way did they go?
for an instant a baton connects separating runners




Robin M. Buehler

Cursed is thee; this child within.  Not even planned, yet it grows!  It grows, and I count the days.  The days 'til I rid thee from me, flesh of my flesh.  Bone of my bone.  This thirteenth child I wish gone from me.

cursed since conception
Mother Leeds' thirteenth child
grows inside

Leaves rustle, giving way to his first taken steps.  Be gone, wretched creature.   I cast my eyes away from thee, never to lay them on thy winged and hoofed limbs.  Be gone, I say!  Be gone from my sight!

He flies
deep into the woods
forever damned

My thirteenth child.  What have I done?   But to cast thee out into the  New Jersey wilderness  and defend thyself, alone.  What will come of thee?

He lives on,
if only in folklore,
the Jersey Devil




C W Hawes

A night of rain in early July.  The windswept torrents beat against the eastern windows, accompanied by occasional booms of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning.  I am reading Basho's Oku no Hosomichi while drinking cherry-flavored green tea.  When I reach the part where the poet writes of the Mogami River, my wife calls to me from the basement asking me to help her bail water.

streams swollen
with heavy summer rains -
my leaky house!



Robin D. Gill

like water off
a whale’s tail

And a Japanese dressed all in white praying for something stands on the sea surface below . . .

like brushwork
rain pours down from
the whale’s tail

When it rains, it pours! I imagine Japanese in a Hiroshige print or a Hokusai with clothing held over their heads in a run for shelter and, yes, a photo of a Morton Salt container in a whale’s tail montage.

the whale’s tail
has anyone called it
a time-rain?

A whaling dingy would not make much of a yadori for that shigure but, anyway, the water from a whale’s tail could fill a book of poetry couldn’t it!



Mary King

Hello, my name is Kobayashi Issa and I am a new member to this group.  I would like to humbly offer this haiku:

The moon and flowers,
forty-nine years,
walking around, wasting time.

C&C is always appreciated.


Hello, Issa, and welcome to the group.  May I say respectfully that it sounds as if the moon and flowers have been walking around and wasting time for forty-nine years.  Perhaps they have but that probably is not what you had in mind.  Maybe if you were to rewrite it as follows:

my hometown
many cousins -
peach blossoms

Feel free to discard this suggestion if it does not suit.  Must go now--I think I may be coming down with a cough.
Best regards,    


Dear Issa, may I echo the welcoming words of my good friend, Shiki.  I just love your haiku, how long have you been writing?  Since you've asked for c&c, I will suggest just this very tiny adjustment to what you've written:

The butterfly is perfuming
its wings in the scent
of the orchid

I have tried to keep the gist of what you were saying, while adding what I think might give it just a bit more interest.  But as my good friend Shiki said, this suggestion is yours to keep or discard.  I'm sorry I can't write more at the moment, but there is a humungous frog that keeps jumping into the pond and the splashing noise is driving me crazy.
All the best, 


Dear Issa my man,
As I was saying to Dean in another life on another plane entirely, you can't have birth without existence and you can't have death without birth.  So just relax, have another drink and it will come to you.  Or maybe it won't but being there is the same as not being there.
Catch you on the rebound,
Jack Kerouac


Dear Shiki, Basho, and Mr. Kerouac,
Thank you all for your most interesting comments and suggestions. They were all very helpful to me, and I may just adopt one or two.  I'm enjoying reading all of the work posted here and hope to post another haiku tomorrow, if time permits.  You know how it is, though: moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes.
All the best,





Don Ammons

From a dreamed silence
an unseen hand brushes my cheek.
"Yes," her eyes smile. "I am here."
Heat spirals me down,
a moth to flame, an ego
burnt to smoldering, white-gray ash.


Summer rain splatters
asphalt, rivers of oily grime
down culverts. I lift my face
to sky, rain; close my
eyes, try to forget the street
paved city – country clay roads


Yellow rape fields. Flat.
Climbing hills. Falling away.
Bright yellow glaring eyes. And
over yellow fields
a strong sulfur smell of burnt
coal – Yellow flaming yellow!


From a restless sleep
the icy touch of a black
shrouded shade chills me awake.
"Who are you?’ "Regret."
A long silence. The clock ticks.
I wait. Finally – "Which one?"



A pastel by J. G. McGill
Richard N. Bentley

The country schoolyard
Contains three worlds:
Night, day and the twilight
Within the night.

The passions and aspirations
Of children at recess
Move among the swings
With malevolence and power.

Leapfrog. Jumprope. Hopscotch.
Open graves. No one has
A shape or a color, or a name.
Our imagery breaks down.

See the moon shining
On the broken schoolhouse roof.
You adore the vision, but
You will be startled

Less by the vision than
By your remembrance of a scream
Heard in a dark stairwell
Fifty years ago.



Tom Clausen

my eye comes to rest
on a hole in the tree,
perhaps made by a woodpecker
     this way an emptiness
     finds me here and there


a storm coming up
and as I take in
the laundry off the line
it occurs to me
this is a moment to savor


I remind my son
that generally I try
to get along with everyone
and avoid fights
and no, I can't "take him"


this ebb and flow
of cards playing War
with my daughter...
I can't see the woman
she will become


yes, when I just work
for my family
it sort of works
but when I don't work for them
it doesn't work!


amazing to think that once
I had time in my life
to lay out sunbathing,
totally oblivious to
what on earth I was doing


Elizabeth Howard

  at the Hiwassee Refuge
                                a whooping crane
                                comes and goes with the sandhills
                                yet the big white body
                                belies its disguise

Canada goose
                                perches on the railing
                                one leg tucked up, heron-like--
                                sudden sunspots on the lake
                                blot its silhouette

                                sandhill cranes
                                high in the sky
                                trailing a lilac banner
                                announcing spring--
                                my scarf waves at them

plastic bags
                                hung in the barbed wire
                                wings flap in the wind
                                snowy egrets

                                like broad-winged hawks
                                cranes form a kettle
                                seem directionless
                                yet wind northward
                                in tune with destiny



Laryalee Fraser

obituary –
words hover over
my coffee cup
I reach for the telephone
swallowing the taste of guilt

painting the porch
where our laughter once circled
my arm stretches –
between these peeling boards
the soft brush of an echo

play time
with my grandchildren
drawing pictures
I paint my own childhood
in brighter colors

this slow journey
feeling my way through shadows
gold forsythia
frames your photo, announcing
a new season of healing

folds of sunlight
in a peach-tipped rose
her shy smile
with grandmotherly pride
I focus the camera



Ruth Holzer

the cabbie waits –
we finish
a long goodbye

eucalyptus too –
it must give way
to freeway

changing my flight –
tricky game
of aircraft roulette

limp salad –
stuck in Dallas

landing at midnight –
how cold
it is here


Thelma Mariano

at first light
I awaken in your arms
all those deliberations
and my plan to say goodbye

thoughts of you
as he saunters towards me
a black cat
now lying at my feet
wanting to be stroked

those age-old questions
about love surface again
the river tonight
as inky as the moon
now in full eclipse

if the night could speak
it would whisper your name
instead this silence
as I lie next to you
wishing for what you cannot give

the low timbre
of your voice in the darkness
of my room
leaves a resonance
long after you are gone

missing you
even though it's over
I walk past
the frozen patch of ground
where I last saw roses bloom



Tim McGovern

snow falls
on the stone lantern,
and I whisper
"cherry blossoms".

In my palm
my offering
gone with a breath
like a dream of you.

all I can offer
will vanish,
shall we be
snowflakes together?



Kevin Paul Miller

night in the city
on a crowded street
fedoras and fenders

hardboiled detective
standing in the shadows
lights another Lucky

Friday night fights
bums eating

high on a rooftop
beat poets write wild verse
jazz fills the air

sirens mix
with saxophones
the city never sleeps



Dru Philippou

teenage boys
midges swarming
in the humid air

chameleon mimics wind
trembles down
the coral’s mouth

Lobo Peak
lonely hiker
howling in the mist

rain on corrugated roof
a hundred scuttling
fiddler crabs

peeling onions
layer by layer
weeping you in winter

compost pile
last year’s rotted wishes
spring to life



Carol Purington

Sixteen candles
the gift of singleness placed
in my hands by God
wrapped in stiff paper
tied with white ribbon

Rain lands softly
on the black lamb's fleecy back
no sunrise
this Easter morning
but the empty tomb

Now and then a glimpse
on a dutiful postcard
snowcapped mountains
shining with the brightness
of the face of God

A west wind
shudders the farmhouse
I feast on comfort food
beside the garden catalogs
a book about heaven

and the white of snow-smooth fields
I've said goodnight
found forgiveness
for the day's crooked trail



Werner Reichhold

preset curvature
at the East-West parable
light distortions
tales lure my finger
to a dimmed screen

a new password curls up
on the tip of a touch
presidential preference
the cursor's menu
points to insecurity

what you follow in fog
is not a firefly
it's the winged move
of a banana moon
peeling itself out of light

then almost dark
Euphrates & Tigris
keep washing waters
the cradle's red cedar
swings sleep on a baby's eye

eye of a Sufi
neither blink nor a linear
on a sandy stage the dancers'
whirl well beyond slow oil.


Anna Rugis
Part 3

 he never looked up
until that solar eclipse
but she was lonely
a dangerous companion
she made him do it

in five hundred years
when they have learned to bargain
there’ll be a title
and it will be the searching
that they don t think of

on this wooden seat
he will build they tell stories
it s just an impulse
to have somewhere to put them
everything glistens




Anna Rugis

my saints and I live
under a tree and
drink with owls

we do this because
we are no longer

we are beautiful
in accordance,  we
change ourselves

we no longer need
houses with sound roofs
as rain falls

straight through our beauty
            the recognition
            seen by light


Anna Rugis

the curve of my hands
the elegance
of fern fronds

a position of
poise    preceding

I ask for guidance
turn the palms upward
my disconsolence
two shallow pools in
the half light

put away your tools
in time to gather
a new dew

you can be one of
a new breed who can
transform it

into a sweet grace
and something tender
like water cress

the weeds and the stones
you used to banish
will come back

and bless you with their
moans of gratitude
and relief

you see how it is?
all your unyielding

have blunted your will
sharpened your wish
to remove

any last tension
a hatchet through
spider web

when the animal
begins to glow like

and the hunter and
the gatherer have

they will fall into
a kind of slumber
be dissolved

another degree
of the same process
into light

this is how you change
turn your hands into
cockle shells


R.K. Singh

The sun couldn't help
nor fish protest:
river has no sex
so it dried up
trapped in its own banks

The otter watches
a duck walking on
the frozen river
icicles drop bit by bit
from a lone tree

At the river
she folds her arms and legs
resting her head
upon her knees and sits
as an island

I couldn't understand
what's Hindu about having
fish and onion
after prayers by the river
in the temple courtyard

I'm no river
flowing toward the sea:
I must find my way
asking strangers in strange places
sensing soul, using insight



R.K. Singh

all of the moon at night –
white chrysanthemums

the half moon
on her neck reminds of love
before departure

the sun not yet set
but the full moon rises
as if in a hurry

a star shines bright
beside the crescent moon
she fakes a smile

shadow of age
on the wall –
second full moon

whiteness of the moon
and rocks howl with the wind
December in the veins

after the party
empty chairs in the lawn –
new moon and I

the sky couldn't retain
all of the moon now entering
my house through the window

setting moon
leaves behind sparkle
on the waves

noisy birds
don't let me sleep:
midnight moon.


                                graphic by John M. Bennett




First String
Richard Stevenson

Zucchini chubber!
From across the alley
guitar runs and riffs

"So What?"
The languid hips in it –
that’s it!

The emerald hour
Coltrane stretches the notes
on "Miles’ Mode"

Coals to Newcastle
a paper wasp with green plans
in a rolled leaf

apples pink-cheeked
plump finches titter a bit,
peck out the bass

cymbal sizzle breeze
blue jay screeches wee-eee! wee-ee!
and down come the leaves

Heads up, Ornette!
Autumn leaves got nothin’
on blue boppin’ jay!

softer than cymbals
splayed sprinkler streams
on zucchini leaves

Turn down the blaster!
Rap’s got nothin’ on
this sprinkler patter

quick pitter patter
around the kit, this sprinkler’s
chick a chick so-oo hip!

a stiff breeze
red-cheeked apples
drop snicker snack

rock in the park
action dachshund’s just gotta
do his solo too!

rock steady dachshund
you just can’t compete
with electric blues

Second String: Coltrane Pops

Coltrane’s "Greensleeves"
the old cat curls up
next to my laptop

Coltrane’s soprano
searching among chords
cat’s ears swivel too

The classic quartet’s
"It’s Easy To Remember"
old cat’s eyes close

‘Trane’s "Out of This World"
keeps the cat’s ears piqued
and peepers open

Tyner comps under
the silver splash of cymbals,
Coltrane’s alley sax
searching paper bags and cans
out in these mean bass streets

Tyner’s finch fingers
titter in the cymbal splash
of falling waters
while ‘Trane’s tenor weeps
of home from a farther shore

‘Trane’s acetylene torch
slowly seals seams of "Miles’ Mode"
this gun metal day

‘Trane!  You’re so sly
even the discordant notes don’t
make the cat’s ears flinch

Tyner cavorts now
cat’s ears trained
on the laptop fence

Rim shot!  Cymbal splash!
Cat’s ear pivots toward
the sun-splashed shores.
Who’s rowing this awful boat
toward the Godhead now?

Tyner comps
under scintillating cymbal splash,
bass’s heron reach

Coltrane mellow on
"Nancy ( With The Laughing Face)"
cat stretches a paw

What’s new?  Honey?
Cat’s pure marmalade
in his jar of dreams.
Coltrane’s tenor torch probes
for holes between the notes

"Up Against The Wall"
the classic quartet acquits it –
self most seamlessly

Trane’s tenor travels
down seamless silver track
cat just licks his paws.

"I Wish I Knew"
Tyner’s keys keep crooning
under horn quest

Love, you call it
the first movement in which
Tyner tickles God

sometimes a cat yowls
not now, your sax searching
for alley scraps

a cat yowling,
some might say, but a light
came on, didn’t it?

discordant, harsh
yet the acetylene blues
cut through steel

Rim shot!  Splash!
You take the tiller on tenor,
stars’ canopy
acceding passage
of your pea green boat

Joy, the third movement
your horn’s mother calling you
from the back porch still

Cats in heat
caterwaul from God’s alley
for moon’s milk saucer

The big C
man, you hadda know;
you hadda blow!

Tenor terrorist!
You come out blazing bullets,
spray the audience

raw as a dog’s nose
chasing down rabbits
tenor hound howling

blackboard finger notes
got the bare moon bone
clamped in your jaws

sugar is sweet
taproot tenor sucks and shucks
huckleberry wine

sheets of sound
so many rain/sleet notes
so many windows

Big C
Chasin’ the Trane
finches in the eaves

Look out, Jericho!
Got an ax that’ll blow
leaves off the trees;
gotta a blow torch
and acetylene will!



Marie Summers

blind date
a rosebud droops
upon arrival

daisy petals
in the afternoon breeze. . .
he loves me

under Orion . . .
on one knee her beau
professes his love

June wedding
ice sculptures melt
into the hors d'oeuvres

moonlit current. . .
the bridesmaid's dress billows
in the breeze

sugar moon
the wedding cake
half eaten

Marie Summers

heat lightning
the snow geese chatter
on the shore

summer storm –
sailboat masts clag
in the whitecaps

thick fog
rising off the pond. . .
flock of geese

upside-down dingy
I laugh to myself

finish line
the catamaran zips past
a blue heron

Marie Summers

a newborn cries
for milk

a quilt on the clothes line
covered in frost

daysleeper. . .
cigarette smoke curls
around the moon

on peach roses –
her sleeping form

crescent moon
dad's fingernail clippings
on the floor

night fishing
moon ripples caught
on my hook

blue streaks –
the road home
in the moonlight





how can I tell
you about them
in the light of day
the fruit I gathered
from the orchard of sleep?

June Moreau



hidden flower
behind a veil of green
a blushing bride

Robin M. Buehler


baby's breathe
upon mother's left breast
sweet surrender

Robin M. Buehler



her scent lingers
longer after her departure –
that wild rose!

Robin M. Buehler



once ocean-scented 
these postcards mailed
long ago
when you thought
even the sand was new

Jeanne Emrich



even here
on this city sidewalk
the ants are busy
and I stroll along
as though I've nothing to do

C W Hawes 



        can even your practiced hands
        fold me
        to the strange geometries
        of this
        another new life with you

Eva LaFollette



I leave the spider...
as I remove
the haiku strips
hanging from
the branches

                      K. Ramesh



by the scantily-clad girl
on my evening walk
I give her my last twenty
and continue walking

C W Hawes


summer evening-
standing among
the fallen leaves
I watch the tender ones
in the tree

K. Ramesh

mother in the kitchen-
the scent of a burnt
match stick first,
then, the aroma of tea
fills the evening

K. Ramesh



the sorrow
contained in velvet petals
of crimson dahlia
is a far from praise
to mankind

Aya Yuhki


smell of flowers
as the sun
frolics in the playground
even at night!

Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos

     while driving home   the moon
hidden by dark clouds   edged with white light
softly illumines   the field   of dying corn

C W Hawes 


there are ships
for sailing
ships for thinking
and the waters
are very deep

June Moreau


darning wool socks
kept in a basket
one by one
recalling the winters
i have worn them

Giselle Maya

Leaves on fire
as the heat touches
its stem –

Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos


on shores
of the pond
it belongs
to the mist of silence -
the white heron

June Moreau


on an evening
of autumn passing
a butterfly
flits kissing
a deep red dahlia

Aya Yuhki


C W Hawes

my best friend   in fourth grade
people thought   we were siamese twins
then   some seven years later   we were strangers

                                  she wept   bitterly
my eleventh grade sweetheart   when I said
my dad   took a job today   in Ohio



in a jet plane
black hatred
and passionate love
fly together

Aya Yuhki



Chinatown Alley –
of Mahjong.

alexis rotella



Carts filled with fruits
in the street
greet every villagers
with their vivid hues –
a dash of rainbow.

Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos



bent pitch fork
the metalsmith has no time
for small repairs
quinces slowly ripen
among emerald leaves

Giselle Maya



C W Hawes

that woman   arrested
 for carrying   a concealed weapon
they agreed   finally   it was a bookmark



the windbell’s cord
broken and mended
again and again
fierce winter storms
sweep the garden

Giselle Maya


transparent twilight
over the field of dahlias
a praying mantis
in the chilly dew

Aya Yuhki



I will keep
a deep attachment
as my partner
until the day I leave this planet
with seas and mountains marred

Aya Yuhki




  Submission Procedures 

Who We Are


Deadline for next issue is 
September 1, 2005.

  Poems Copyright © by Designated Authors 2005.
Page Copyright ©Jane Reichhold 2005.

Find out more about Renga, Sijo, Tanka, or Ghazal.

Check out the previous issues of:

LYNX XX-1, February, 2005
XIX:3 October, 2004

LYNX XIX:2 June, 2004

XIX:1 February, 2004

XVIII:3 October, 2003

 LYNX XVIII:2 June, 2003

XVIII:1 February, 2003

LYNX XVII:3 October, 2002

LYNX XVII:2 June, 2002

XVII:1 February, 2002
LYNX XVI:3 October, 2001
LYNX XVI:2 June, 2001
LYNX XVI:1 February, 2001
XV:3 October, 2000
LYNX XV:2 June, 2000