hedgerow #22

welcome to hedgerow #22, featuring eleven different poets and artists. the next issue will be dedicated to spring flowers. send in your your work in time! and, if you haven’t done so already, please have peek at the links below.

with love & kindness…






Cardinal and I
eat sour cherries off the backyard tree
at dusk.
“you’re molting”, I say.
and he tells me how he can change
become even brighter
while staying completely true
to his very

Stacey Crawford Murphy is happiest when her thoughts are clear, short and haiku shaped, but living in Ithaca, NY helps too.





Carole Johnston lives in Lexington, Kentucky USA where she drives around Bluegrass backroads with a notebook and camera in the front seat, capturing the haiku moment. Journeys: Getting Lost, Carole’s first chapbook of haiku and tanka, is now available for presale from Finishing Line Press.




winter’s end
hearing the stream
sing again


back from the vets
opening the car boot
to silence

Rachel Sutcliffe, from Yorkshire, UK, has suffered from a serious immune disorder for the past 14 years, throughout this time writing has been her therapy, it keeps her from going insane!




“Fresh ink?”
“Yeah, the souvenir of my trip,” the youth said,
  with a shy smile.
“Very nice, truly cool.” I meant it
   (although tattoos are not my thing).
Yet both of us have been ritually marked
  –whether obvious or not,
  by experiences in
the land of the Maori.

A pharmacist by profession, a haiku poet by nature, Nancy Brady reads and writes, living on the coast of Lake Erie in Huron, Ohio.




our dog


in the steam
on the window
a freshly-drawn sun

Lauren Krauze writes short stories, short poems and long emails. She currently teaches and lives in New York, NY. Discover more of Lauren’s writing at http://www.laurenkrauze.com.




insomnia —
trying to read
grandmother’s bible
in a foreign tongue

Julie Bloss Kelsey’s favorite thing about spring is the emergence of frogs, especially the spring peepers that frequent her back yard. @MamaJoules on Twitter




The Color of Night

Behind the closed doors of my childhood
I have lived my life.
In my room, a separate
Compartment of safety and solitude
From a stormy combination of chemicals,
A bubbling brew called “father.”
Struggling against the rip
Drowning in his tides of darkness,
I fought to stay afloat
Learning comfort comes from solitude.

I walk away too easily, tossing people in my wake,
“It is less trouble to be alone” I repeat.
I fill my days with events and errands,
My nights with marijuana and TV shows I’ve already seen
Attempting to fill an empty space, a birthing place,
A universe filled with my father’s indifference.
I crave what I have no roadmap for
And I search without knowing north.
Am I lost if I don’t know my terrain?

Loneliness is just a frame of mind
A filter to look through
A decision made unconsciously
A badge, a lost battle.
It doesn’t need to define my daylight,
Because it colors my night.


When he said, “You shine so bright. I am lucky to know you.”
I believed him.
When he said, “You make me want to be a better man,”
I believed that, too.

Then he continued to date
Other women. He liked to talk about them… and
How much better, smarter, prettier, sexier I was,
(Soon I will be the chosen one, I thought).

While I have never received a fist in the face like her,
I am still my mother’s daughter.
I can take a squared off punch in the gut like a heavyweight,
Expecting it to be the last. It never is.

Then, the tipping point…
That place where I stand upright again, finally.
There is no rush of blood to my head.
Only the anemic dizziness of a woman
All bled out.

Jeri Thompson resides in Long Beach, CA where she spends much quality time with herself and her Trikke (Scarlett Birdie) riding along the beach bike/Trikke path. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2014, she is soon to appear in Pearl Magazine. Also find her in Silver, Green and Summer Anthologies from Silver Birch Press, and online at Cadence Collective, Bukowski on Wry, Cactifur and Carnival Literature Magazine (Vol. 4). CSULB grad, studied with professors G. Locklin, E. Fried, R. Lee and R. Zapeda. LBC resident since 1993.




a sea of blue uniforms
under the New York sun
a black man
holding up a placard
that reads I can’t breathe

Chen-ou Liu is currently the editor and translator of NeverEnding Story, http://neverendingstoryhaikutanka.blogspot.ca/, and the author of five books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize, 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest) and A Life in Transition and Translation (Honorable Mention, 2014Turtle Light Press Biennial Haiku Chapbook Competition).





is not a state, it’s a winged thing.

Swimming in our ocean, gasping for breath,
battered by waves,

we do occasionally

look up,
see the blue sky, feel the sun on our faces,

glimpse it for a moment–
serene, flying.

George Young is a retired physician living in Boulder, Colorado, USA. He has published four books of poetry and has recently become engrossed in writing short, eight-lined poems.





Debbie Strange (Canada) is a published tanka and haiku poet and an avid photographer. She enjoys creating haiga and tanshi (small poem) art. You are invited to see more of her work on Twitter @Debbie_Strange.




turtle path she found her way home

Kat Lehmann (@SongsOfKat) lives in Connecticut, USA by the river where she writes. Her first book of free verse poetry, Moon Full of Moons (Peaceful Daily, 2015), was published in February 2015 http://peacefuldaily.com/page/books.