Today’s Poem Comes with an Invitation

Permission Slips by Miriam Sagan

How many elements?
Compose a still life.

Who filled this bowl with sand?
Touch low tide.

Do objects or feelings have anti-gravity?
Shake the dice.

Can doubles exist together?
Pretend to take a sip.

How many seeds in the pomegranate?
Descend immediately.

Is a suitcase a diorama?
Open the book.

Is the blue pyramid water?
Stack things up.

Does THIS stand for THAT?
Draw closer.

Is the souvenir the honeymoon?
Pick your favorite.

Who spilled the wine?
Surprise yourself now.

Is the fear at the center or edges?
Prepare to exit.

What doesn’t fit?
Add something.

How close do you need to be?
Both show and tell.

How are you not random?
Rattle something.

Which one is real?
Draw a line in the sand.

What starts with the letter A?
Express your happiness.

Where is it red?
Count the grains.

Is it edible?
Listen for synesthesia.

Does God play dice?
Shake more than two dice.

Does the astrolabe tell fortunes?
Use Occam’s Razor.

Was it an idea that shattered?
Re-arrange your shards.






CLAY by Suzanne Vilmain
Permission Slips by Miriam Sagan

Cafe Pasqual’s Gallery 

May 1, two thousand fifteen
Friday evening – 5 – 7:30pm

103 E. Water St. Santa Fe, NM
{Next Door to Pasqual’s}
Elevator to the 2nd Floor

Baba Yaga Tanka

as Baba Yaga, as apt
to bless or curse
any day now, my cabin
might arise on chicken legs

Autumn Noelle Hall, Green Mountain Falls, Colorado, USA

To read more mythic tanka from ATLAS POETICA, click here.


by Kai Harper Leah

Spring Medley by Joan McNerney

Spring Medley
April quietly turns
emerald green.
Breezes shake apple
blossoms…an aromatic
Listen to this soft
symphony of raindrops.
After showers, gardens
of stars flower.
Evening is the dawn
of night time.
Meteors write poetry
across heaven.

Posted in Poetry. Tags: , . 4 Comments »

Heart of a Poet by Karen O’Leary

Heart of a Poet
The soul
spills on white sheets–
creative expression
born of compassion, honesty,
and dreams
Previously published in Sketchbook, 2009

Posted in Poetry. Tags: , . 26 Comments »

Poetry Class Field Trip: haiku and photographs by Ursula Moeller

We spent yesterday, Earth Day, at the Botanical Gardens, walking the maze on Museum Hill, and at the Museum of International Folk Art.


blue-grey agave
thorned century plant
dies after blooming


step by step by step
inward eyes; quiet mind
beware, Miinotaur


words for the displaced
who speaks English?

Haiku by Shabbir Shaikh

Evenings walk

My shoes sing duet

With crickets

from Selu, Maharashtra

B, B, B…by Karla Linn Merrifield

B, B, B…

“There is no feeling more pleasant, no drug more addictive,
than setting foot on virgin soil.” – E.O. Wilson

In the alphabet of my Maritimes summer,
I’m preoccupied with B.

It’s the bunchberries’ fault.
Their scentless ivory blossoms

bewitch me with pale, cruciform petals
above a cross of leaves,

the cardinal points
of my estival compass

this journey north and east where
B leads not to C but to another:

the Bog. The bog’s beckoning

in August seduce me to slog;
sink both feet into peat-moss,

a brown befuddlement up to my shins,
breathing bog, pure bog.

Breathing dwarf larch and orchids,
and lichen, odorless, clean.

I’m baffled I can step away, venture
beyond the subtle beauty of the bog, but

I do.
A bay beckons,

a blue bay
of blue whales.

The biggest beast this blue globe
has ever known knows me.

Baleine bleu beguiles
with the greatest breath.


the Bs of New Brunswick and Bay of Fundy
behind me. I make it to

the Bay of Gaspé;
I reach land’s end; I plunge—

because of the bunchberries,
the bog, the bay, the one true blue whale.


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