otata 33 (september 2018)

John Hawkhead

passing through
missed him


the play of light
across the walls
I put up

Alegria Imperial



i see you in my veins river tide on heavy lids from night’s
bowels a faint slurping

the pearl in his skull a porous sheen in a night bridge the last
star safe on the dark side

somewhat bruised the crescent’s womb a shallow breathing
in the heat a pulse in the maple’s breast

a labyrinth thickening in my hand an eel stuck in blue air
the tail vanishing eternally

on whale clouds hanging on to me for breath a swollen sun
sliding airless on sharpened knives

a monkey dangles from the orange crane musing on the position
of the rose vs allegation of lasciviousness


Peter Yovu


from Six Words


Most words that begin with the letters st convey a sense of the stationary, of being
stuck or still. One might say that story is an exception, as stories change, though
people seem to prefer to stick to them as they are.

Interestingly, many words that begin with str seem to break out into some kind of movement: stream, stray, strike.

Words beginning with sn often convey of sense of sneering. In his book on poetry
John Frederick Nims includes a photograph of a woman, her nose lifted in disgust.
Think snicker, snake, snide.

Why does the word snow behave differently? Is it just that snow— what falls and
fills the branches of tall pines— may be considered beautiful where a snake (for
many, reflexively) is not? I cannot quickly come up with another word that com-
bines the sn sound with a long o. The vowel seems to carry the word beyond its

All yesterday it rained. This morning when I woke and looked out my window,
yes: swirling snow. Strange that in January, in Vermont, that was a surprise.

I may not have said it out loud, but I did think: oh.

snow     so now is known


Lucia Cardillo

bocciolo ingiallito …
un amore impossibile
mai sbocciato

yellowed tight bud …
an impossible love
never blooming


Eufemio Griffo

stelle infinite
un pescatore disegna i confini
tra il mare e il cielo


endless stars
a fisherman draws the borders
between the sea and sky


pioggia al crepuscolo
i colori mutevoli
dei cachi maturi

twilight rain
the shifting colours
of the ripe persimmons


otata 33 (september 2018)

  1. endless stars
    a fisherman draws the borders
    between the sea and sky

    What great haiku!

    • do you also like the translation into English?

      The one you chose here, reminds me of the following haiku I wrote some time ago:

      pulling the dark net
      to his wee boat at dawn
      September moon slips through

      • Yes, it’s perfect.
        Your haiku is very delicious,. I’ll put it on my blog, if you don’t regret , at the end of September. Thanks, Donna.

      • wow, Marina, that would be delicious. Thank you.

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: