October, 2011

A Journal for Linking Poets  


Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime

from shadow into sunshine, stepping over magnolia petals
bare cherry trees - no hint of the blossom to come
to be felled - a cross marks the pin oak's trunk
filled with scarlet seed pods - thestone bird bath
a truck laden with gas cylinders revs up the road
lined up in a window coloured glass bottles
twig on the path, her shadow steps over it
through the umbrella-palm, wind rattles
on the west side the letterbox roof broken
lying in sunshine the tabby cat stretches its legs
in the raised garden a tepee of bamboo sticks
caught inthe fork of a tree a tiny bird's nest
the whirr and spray of a water blaster
carrying a plastic bucket and a newspaper - the old man




Collaborative Haiga: burning sky:  Haiku by John Daleiden; art by Juilana Galluccio



Patricia Prime
Catherine Mair

perched on the bird feeder - artificial budgies
miniature shade-houses billow in a front garden
a tuft of moss on the magnolia's branch
that dip in the hills holding the clouds
over the fence gleams a line of white washing
behind the park bench just a hint of insects
hidden by hedges, the murmur of voices
one-legged postie swerves her bike to a letterbox
filling the dog's bowl - clatter of the bucket
warming the right side of my face, winter sunshine
holding a basket of flowers - small statue
a lean figure in black - the click of her walking stick
on the front steps a collection of mosaic teapots
aggregate pathway - each pebble shining


Colin Stewart Jones
Jane Reichhold 

Still waiting on the dance floor, Jane!
Do I hear a waltz?
Strauss. I think. Perhaps it’s not the done thing in Vienna but how about we make our own moves and see where the music leads.
If the world was flat we could go to the edge and jump off. 
Before we leap into another reality, first dance me to the end of love.  
Any love is another reality, isn’t it.  
And yet even nothing always means something when said by a woman!

the steep hillside
wanting to give all
and let go

one foot follows the other
but I hear clouds beckon

I had to get out of bed early because the grass was talking to me.
Return O night and let your whispers take me softly into a dream. 
Why do I feel you sleep with a Dylan Thomas book under your pillow? 
Perhaps the bottle by the bed gave me away.
I’ve often wondered if alcohol makes a better writer.
Though the slur is hard to translate to the page it certainly makes for more interesting reading.
None intended. Now I am wondering why you see my comments as a ‘slur.’
And none taken. Yet see how we stagger when we involve the drink.
I often feel I would be nicer person if I occasionally loosened up. 

Play it Sam!
but first you must
part your lips


Ramona Linke
Simone K. Busch

Sommerfest …
Über dem See verglühen
weiße Chrysanthemen
auf halbem Wege
das alte Wiegenlied

Summer festival …
white chrysanthemums burn up
above the lake
a forgotten lullaby
cuts surface


auf seiner bleichen Wange
ein wenig Maskara

verfrüht – aus der Kastanie
fallen unreife Früchte

summer moon
on his sallow cheek
a little mascara

untimely - green fruits falling
from the chestnut tree

auf dem Dachboden
das alte Gespenst pfeift
mein Lied
zu seiner Abschlussfeier
die Blumenduftnote

in the attic
the old wraith whistles
my song
for his graduation party
the flowery scent



Lynne Leach
     David Rice

first heat of summer
a white moth orchid wilts
plopping on the sill
even with a big sunhat
all my petals have dropped

     by ripe boysenberries
     picked from our vine
     I sit on the porch
     and listen to a wren

how rare...perfection...
the taste of fruit
still plump with juice
and after birdsong
sweet silence

     midday quiet
     even the wind is still
     I listen
     to my worries

arbutus branch
curls of crackled skin peeling
down to pale pink bark
the hotter our earth becomes
the more fragile I feel

     leaves touching
     the garden's micro-climate
     keeps the soil cool
     no way to shade
     the whole sky




Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania




at the edge of the waves
time breaks away

message in a bottle
when unstopping a dream
blows away


while clamming
find her second half


in the roar of the surf
“Will you …?”


in father's pocket
a note
with his name



the place to sleep
under the bridge
dispose of waste


sea foam
the hermit crab
shifts the shell


salt lips and
names in the sand –
the sea hesitates


bunker nearly buried
by sand



faded songs
beer cases  remain


my foot
touching cold ashes –
driftwood lands


hand in hand
looking back for the last time …
film tear



( March – May 2011)




André Surridge
Owen Bullock

on the bank to the gentle
sound of the river . . .
a willow leaf
becomes a book mark

after the chapter
meeting my ex from the bus
for the film show
my worlds collide
and I’m glad

full house
how easily
my hand
slips into yours . . .

before the big bang
surely life had already begun . . .
I seem to
have had many lives
within this body

some say we each hold
a genetic memory
within the essence
of our beings . . . the struggles
& triumphs of ancestors

fragrance of the rose
this sweet yellow morning
and something more . . .
nights of passion
long ago

the house of wisdom
its seven strong pillars
let in the light . . .
today I am a disciple
of reflections in dewdrops

the sphere in that sci-fi
contained the energy of
another world . . .
pocket of autumn sun
the kitten wades through fallen leaves

in this
expanding universe
seems to stretch
beyond known borders

as a child
I knew how big the world was
I just didn’t know
where it went
how much it would cost

this view across the lake
to the mountain ­
ripples of light
in a salmon sunset

no words
for this one red
winter rose
just a colour
a colour & the cold

ache of old bones
is it winter setting in
or arthritis ­
the mad dog chews
on everything

I have nothing to say
about the world situation
no microphone in hand ­
dense fog
encloses morning

mist turns to rain
I start
the tax return
write off the day

bare branches
shaking in the wind ­
and inside the bark
what life revived
what preparations made?




Haiga by Ramona Linke



Owen Bullock
André Surridge

crashed wall
of the wave
picks up again

ocean breeze
the gull lifts
from its shadow

the wind . . .
echoes of
other days

her eyes
the sky
blue beyond belief

the long afternoon
changes colour

first stars
the tide brings
driftwood & dreams

what do they know
the seagulls
all flying west

out at sea
lights from crab boats
nipple the dark

feeding on him
he buries his feet

path home
between dunes
the crunch of shells



Autumn N. Hall
Claire Everett

a mountain breeze
the sound of ocean surf through
Ponderosa Pine
I must learn to bend and sway
awash in these sky waters

again, the climb
through coconut-scented gorse...
in the middle
of my mind's nowhere
the lake's sun-beaten gold

this rusted blade
washed up once more on shore
like so much flotsam
if I grasp its battered hilt,
might I yet be a King?

not the arrowhead
that grazed the heel of dawn
but the cushion stone
where I took pains to shape
and polish the dream

vessels of light
the morning star contained
in each drop of dew
water for this, my whetstone
Ardennes' yellow coticule

deep in the inkwell
a tear the sun let fall
the hawk on the crag
and the stag's rutting call
across the ridge of time

a doe answers
the language of musk
speaks in fawns
her mate will lose his antlers
to grow them back once more

my thoughts interlaced
with fingers of mist...
the stone-mason
carves an effigy
of his beloved Queen

all around is salt
the waters of Her womb
stone-eroding seas
and still She weeps for man
and still man sleeps...

first light
raising the cairns
the song of a wren
spills from the lintel...
a kiss to awaken him

first breath
sun's blush on the apricot
warm, this call to flesh
fingers dovetailed round prayer beads
hands cupped round soft breasts

his fingers in stars
he slips the torque from her hair...
from the swallow's throat
to the robin's breast
and the foxglove's grail of dew



Patricia Prime
Owen Bullock

 childhood cinema
where I spent my pocket money
watching Roy Rogers
riding towards the sunset
on his golden palomino, Trigger
my sister took me
to Saturday morning shows:
tune in
to next week’s exciting adventures . . .
I never thanked her

 so much comes to mind
like dust down blades of sunlight
memory shows a morning
of all the family together
sitting round the breakfast table

we ate alone, in shifts –
when I was fourteen
I turned vegetarian
mother said, you can
do your own cooking from now on

 their paths diverge
as the children leave home
one by one
our love held by slender threads:
email, texts and phone calls
I knew
Gran had died
before I picked up the receiver
she cried out for me mother said
and I for her, at the funeral

memories roll on
like the silent films of yesterday
the tape
stopping and starting
until the spool finally ends
I still dream
of acting in films
some say
it’s a substitute
for your own life



Rodney Williams
Jo McInerney

glisten in spring rain –
eucalypt air

breathless hush
of summer twilight …
his tread on the gravel

river meadow ~
across round bales of hay
a flood-line of silt

they breast-stroke
beyond the pontoon
deep water

limpid reflection
a black swan preens its mate
twice over

second tremor …
this time
they simply hold hands

logger’s notches
scale a mountain grey gum ~
lace monitor

last windfall
split in half … 
autumn equinox

plums in syrup
bubble on the stove
weeding gran’s grave

a whisper
through the grass …

crows caw
down the south range
a chill wind

spindrift …
seagulls buffeted
above the break

already dark
the fragrance of wood-smoke
from a neighbour’s fire

prunus petals
float over the wall …
spring thaw

their boots
on the veranda

            first home …
            deciding where to put
            the bird-feeder




Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

third mowing
wafts of mist loosing
from the Matterhorn

only late the day warms
the hut at the slope

mountain chapel …
a torrent blocks
the arduous path

in the swiss pine forest
finding nutlets
of last year

fear of heights – rocks
reflecting raven caws

crouching between milk cans
the light vanishes


Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

Dritte Mahd
Vom Matterhorn lösen sich

erst spät wärmt der Tag
die Hütte am Hang

zur Bergkapelle …
ein Sturzbach versperrt
den Steilpfad

im Arvenwald           
des Vorjahres finden

Höhenangst - Felsen werfen
Rabenschreie zurück

zwischen Milchkesseln
kauernd talwärts
verliert sich das Licht



Giselle Maya

Jane Reichhold           

from his ancient lair
the god of earthquakes has stirred –
a powerful move     
daily I check the progress at:   

pitiless and uncaring
of land and people he took
Matsushima into his embrace   

“Waiting for Godot” but
preparing for a tsunami    

as far as the moon
miniscule radioactive particles
penetrate the air     

 listening to the CIA cousin
nature suddenly seems benign

horror stories
children in lines to be tested
by the Geiger counter

as though all were well
swifts link sky and earth

Sunday church
on a sunny porch
the ants and me

Namazu a giant catfish
has shaken the archipelago    

sleeping in a book
old stories come awake            
with a jolt   

no heavenly protection
what can we do to help  

a hand extended
following it the person
with a kind heart

soothing wounds of kokoro
May moonlight on white iris  
on mourning clothes

the cuckoo sends its song
over wind-swayed oaks    

on the higher hills
cherry blossoms
sending healing thoughts
to Japan each day at noon

centifolia roses
and scent of freshly turned earth
a moment of silence

down on my knees
even the wind drops

a windbell from Kyoto
without wind this day   
I watch my thoughts    

on the windmill
of the monkey mind

calendar turned to June
a Northern saw-whet owl
looks at me        
in his paper eyes
our common ancestors
without feeling a thing
we rush through space
round and round   

as the center of the earth
trees grow tall and taller
Kashima the protector
keeps the earthshaker
pinned down     

the carpenter comes today
replaces shingles on the roof

silent moon
the earth also has stopped

ripples on the waves
covering so much loss    

rising sun
all that a new day

ripe snow peas
nothing else needed    

thanks giving
the radiation numbers
go down  

long June rains
thunder and lightning   

the fallen cherry petals
swirl away  

may all songs of Yamato
restore the land’s harmony     
started May 15, 2011 – ended: June 5, 2011


Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

this man
in his best jacket
I’d like to see
his face unshaven
and his gardening coat

to please me
he brings a plastic bag
of persimmons
overripe and full of juice
that I pulp into a fruity haze

the fog
has settled into the bay
a day reading
variations on questions
possible improbable

after my walk
in stormy weather
I place my boots
side by side, as in
Van Gogh’s painting

who knows
we may cross the field
to the place where
we’ll grow old together

in the beginning
there was a BSA motorbike -
a pillion for me,
just the two of us travelling
the length of the British Isles

we met after tai chi
and before meditation
enveloped our talk
our smiles

light drifts
from the rising moon
to the bare table
where pages rise in a brief breeze
opening like palms in prayer





Haiga by Razvan Pintea





Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime

Collaborative Haiga: burning sky:  Haiku by John Daleiden; art by Juilana Galluccio

Colin Stewart Jones
Jane Reichhold 

Ramona Linke
Simone K. Busch

Haiga by Ramona Linke

Lynne Leach
     David Rice

Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

André Surridge
Owen Bullock

Haiga by Ramona Linke

Owen Bullock
André Surridge

Autumn N. Hall
Claire Everett

Patricia Prime
Owen Bullock

Rodney Williams
Jo McInerney

Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania

Giselle Maya

Jane Reichhold   

Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime

Haiga by Razvan Pintea


Back issues of Lynx:

XV:2 June, 2000
XV:3 October, 2000
XVI:1 Feb. 2001
XVI:2 June, 2001
XVI:3 October, 2001  
XVII:1 February, 2002
XVII:2 June, 2002
XVII:3 October, 2002
XVIII:1 February, 2003
XVIII:2 June, 2003
XVIII:3, October, 2003
XIX:1 February, 2004
XIX:2 June, 2004

XIX:3 October, 2004

XX:1,February, 2005

XX:2 June, 2005
XX:3 October, 2005
XXI:1February, 2006 
XXI:2, June, 2006

XXI:3,October, 2006

XXII:1 January, 2007
XXII:2 June, 2007
XXII:3 October, 2007

XXIII:1February, 2008
XXIII:2 June, 2008

XXIII:3, October, 2008
XXIV:1, February, 2009

XXIV:2, June, 2009
XXIV:3, October, 2009
XXV:1 January, 2010
XXV:2 June, 2010
XXV:3 October, 2010
XXVI:1 February, 2011

XXVII:2, June, 2011

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