This gathering of poems from our Tomato poets, forms a single reflective current—each voice exploring serendipity, introspection, memory, love, loss, and renewal. Together they trace the emotional terrain of being human: how we evolve, endure, and reclaim ourselves through honesty, resilience, and connection. In their shared vulnerability, these works remind us that transformation is always possible, and never too late.

HAIKU

Serendipity
Grey at the flesh starting gate
A cipher through time

~Marjorie J. Levine, author of “Road Trips” and other books

Sincere Introspection

I’m writing from the heart, my very soul,
Sometimes life extracts a heavy toll,
It isn’t that I feel deeply depressed,
Just sometimes I keep emotions repressed,

Of course as an adult I have to make decisions,
In retrospect there are no revisions,
Every single day is another random choice,
But did I really use my very own voice,

Am I acting out my feelings sincerely,
Or worried that my friends whom I love dearly,
Will not accept me having a bad day,
So I keep those angry moments at bay,

Not healthy you certainly might say,
I agree, seeking to explore another way,
To accept the fact that I will never be perfect,
That life is a daily challenge on which to reflect,

Forgiving myself for human imperfection,
Is the only way to become a better person .

Don’t you agree?

~Carol Ostrow, author “Poetry in Motion with Much Emotion”

Not Finished Yet

Once upon a time
There was a widower
Who had been single for many years
He was 87 years old
In good physical and mental condition
Tall and handsome
He began dating a woman,
Attractive and talented
Whom he had known for most of his life
She had been widowed for 1 ½ years
And was six years younger than he
Friends once, they made a lovely couple
At first, they went to parties,
To dinner, to the theater
There were day trips and weekends in the city
They spent time together in Florida
Where dinners took place in different restaurants
They visited galleries and museums.
The first sign of a problem came quickly
From his daughters and their families
Who had so much hostility towards the woman
It was palpable
Did they think she didn’t notice?
She, who noticed everything
And she never knew why
It made no sense
Their mother had even been a friend
The hostility grew and 5 years passed
The parties and theater stopped
There were no more trips
Galleries and museums were no longer visited
Only occasional dinners remained
He became ill and older
She was older now too
No longer able to care for him
He spent months in rehab
And now, he will return
But return to what?
Assisted living with emphasis on assistance.
The future is uncertain
“We’ll see” has become a familiar refrain

~Stephanie Sloane, author of “Dear Me”

To Know Mother Earth

Shaking and quivering can mean life or death.

The earth trembles beneath us,
not as an enemy,
but as a living body reminding us
that nothing alive remains perfectly still.

Rattling fossil lines of ancient bones
bear witness to civilizations,
creatures,
and forests that once believed
their seasons would never end.

Toppling domino tombstones fall one after another,
silent monuments to the illusion
that permanence was ever ours to claim.

We pretend we are separate.

We are not.

The breath that fills our lungs
was first exhaled by forests.
The rivers flowing through our veins
have wandered the earth for millions of years.
The calcium in our bones
was forged in ancient stars.

There is no death,
only transformation.

Yet we continue to squeeze Mother Earth
into the tight corset of human ingenuity,
consumption,
and endless accumulation,
asking her to sustain
what no living body was ever meant to bear.

We drape her magnificent beauty
in a poison soaked shroud
woven from discarded plastic,
chemical runoff,
burning skies,
and the arrogance
that believes every gift of nature
exists only for our taking.

We rake away the forests
that patiently gathered the breath we depend upon.

We plow the living soil

Tapping the riches of her breast too often
Until it forgets how to nourish itself.

We scrape away mountaintops
in search of minerals
whose value fades almost as quickly
as the machines that extracted them.

We fracture the ancient bedrock,
cracking open the deep memory of the earth
to reach buried reservoirs of energy,
never asking what invisible wounds
we leave behind.

Still she responds
with astonishing generosity.

Trees stand akimbo against the wind,
their branches reaching toward one another
like old friends refusing to surrender.

Braided rivers continue their timeless journey,
finding new pathways around every obstacle,
teaching us that resilience
is quieter than conquest.

When storms finally release their burden,
her rainbow tears stretch across the sky,
not as symbols of defeat,
but as reminders
that beauty can still emerge
from grief.

She offers renewal.

She offers forgiveness.

She covers scorched fields
with the green insistence of new life.

She fills the air
with birdsong,
blossoms,
and the fragrance of beginnings.

Again she whispers,
“I have not given up on you.”

And once more,

despite everything we have done,

she gives us spring.

~Phylllis Haynes, author “How to Dance in the Chaos”

Inside Out

Crack me open
and you will find
my Pez collection
and the dust it gathered over the joy it brought.
Empty ice cream cones
leaking melted vanilla chocolate swirls
through its broken bottom.
Endless cups of coffee,
and the rim of foamed milk
that lingered inside my mug,
temporarily staining it every day.
Red, white and pink wines,
diluted with one ice cube,
no matter the season.
The sturdy chrome and onyx cocktail table
I grew up with
and rest my feet on
night after night.
Thousands of photographs
of the streets and storefronts
of the city I love,
the older the better,
rekindling the eternal flame of nostalgia.

You will not be able to see
the bottomless love for my people,
but it is there,
like a million floating halos
protecting all the things
you will pull from my flesh.

~Nicole Freezer Rubens. author “Poems from my Pandemic Pen”

Better Late than Never

Bullied
Put the past in a rear view mirror no longer visible
Came shining through later than planned
Put others first and forgot about me thinking that was selfish
In some cases selfless
Thinking alot more clearly than before because too many rained on my parade
Sorry not any longer
Always the first to help someone else
Put myself on the back of the shelf lost and alone
See this is my moment even it is small and unseen to others
Better Late than Never

~Madlyn Epstein Steinhart, author of “Beautiful Heart” and other poetry books