Saturday, December 16, 2017

Three Photographs
Dani Leis

French Kiss

A leap of faith.

Jezebel drinks

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Crows Seen in Late Afternoon
News Report: Last night a crew dispersed a large flock of crows from a downtown park.

by Paula Weld-Cary

A swarm of crows
thick as a cave wall
hundreds this afternoon
swooping, cawing, shouting
like a mob of miners in revolt.
Perhaps they speak of last week’s wages
or tell stories of the streetlights’ pale                                           
reflections in the park downtown
where they slept until their recent eviction.
Now they circle maple trees and rooftops
deciding where they’ll go at dusk when they’ll rise
up and ride the swelling currents of the sky.

Sunday, December 10, 2017

The Resistance is Green

by Aaron Conklin

Decrepit buildings strangled with ivy,
crestfallen roofs penetrated by water,
saturating then drying, corroding plaster ceilings,
and softening interior wood to rot.
I welcome the ruin of civilization’s structures,
I secretly applaud the falling of the rain.

Foundation walls eventually surrender
to the obsolete encumbrance of their impermanence,
Man’s impenetrable fortresses subsiding to a verdant victory.
I silently admire the persistent erosion of the metropolis.

Sidewalks fractured by tempered roots writhing beneath the concrete,
Tendrils of grass penetrating the undulant fissures of disintegrating driveways.
The vacant lot’s asphalt is crumbling,
amassing rainwater, and birthing vengeful vegetation.

With a burlap sack slung over my shoulder,
I herald the resistance with showering handfuls of seeds,
sown as they are thrown and sprinkled upon the soil,
I celebrate the patient revolution of the weeds.

Post Twilight Again

by Alan Britt

Creepers weld hinges to darkness. Sunlight corrals clouds into Leipzig Stallions nudging & bobbing for angelic attention—this herd of sunlit clouds dusted by the moon’s cataract eyelid.  Patio chair ghost slumps against a white-washed shed. One creeper spirals a patchouli ribbon around the geisha thighs of a split-rail fence. Cricket removes his bandoneon, tossing its canvas case aside, & cradles the bandoneon between his knees. Below forsythia & like a stained-glass fingernail one cicada blazes octaves beyond the most esteemed pop singer. Charcoal tears smearing the sky’s canvas, a housepainter’s canvas, drip from a white tin suburban rain gutter.

Friday, December 8, 2017

December Water
Larkin Stringer

Of Numerous Fires

by Carl Mayfield

The cars snared by the humans
sway in the smog
to a dubious octane waltz.
Driving from here to there
requires internal combustion,
explosions we can't hear
over the wail of Los Angeles.

A fire on the mountain
takes a while to get there,
traveling as the wind sees fit.
Trees go off like spilled
gunpowder, message still
not received, oblivious
to the earth punching back,
we lament ash and smoke
smudging the skies now moved
into abandoned kitchens.

A vague highway roar
hovers around the emptiness,
scorched hands holding keys
to a house no longer there,
soot being the only color alive,
the wind laying down to rest,
speechless and abiding.
Heartless in every gear,
cars roll between city
and ocean and all the veins
in between, always ready
for someone itching
to get back on the road,
to start the next fire.

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Polynesian morning

by Stephanie V Sears

Indecision before creation
sea and sky still immersed
in each other’s reflection.

Intangible horizon veiled in
naught,  beyond reach
of the defining hour.

At the combed edge of  sand
water melts in a spasm
as if saying ‘at last’ and
irons out deception.

At the tip of the shoal
invisible footsteps
neither alight nor take off
but to everywhere at once.

A radiance appears where
smelted green and blue
fulfill an alien calm.

The sky catches its breath,
leaks colors and contrast,
complicates everything.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

connection drama

by Adrienne Veronese

once again i have followed winter to its natural conclusion
after one too many false starts toward this eventual spring,
am perched precariously in the fleeting sense of belonging
on the truant side of school road, late for this education
in asphalt & pavement dreams, therefore powerless
against the red-tailed hawk circling overhead,
his habitat disappearing beneath freshly poured cement
& piercing cry demanding to know what our connection is

where survival beats just as persistently at the door
of misbegotten subdivisions as his wings do
against the offshore breeze
i am collecting scattered showers for excuses
& he has taken a bride against all odds,
the crows chasing them from bull pine to ponderosa,
making sport of a chase we dismiss as territorial
without considering its implications

here, where the odds of survival make gamblers of us all
we rarely look each other in the eye
& though he is no different it seemed i caught his gaze for just a moment
while lifting his fallen feather from the underbrush

he seemed to be waiting, as errant players down rabbit holes
& other ministers of subterranean justice often do
waiting for me to define
just how
we are


by B. Anne Adriaens

Traipsing through driftwood and debris,
over tarred and feathered birds
washed up on the shore,
in seaweed and old fishing nets,
among bottles and broken toys.
its garish colours an insult
refusing to fade, an enduring
of those things we thought we’d buried.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Three Photographs
Samara Golabuk

Locus of Divinity

Element:  Fire

Element: Wood

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Lone Wolf

by Ilene Millman            

No revenants climb the shoulder
of rock
only you
far from home     a transient in shabby overcoat
running past all ability to breathe
busted radio collar hanging from your neck.
Last time anyone caught
even a glimpse of you prowling
the north rim of Grand Canyon, FDR was president.
How many miles crossing iron-stained cliffs
pulled by earth’s pole         mineral scents     
soil   water   blood.
On the plateau tonight, no shadows fall 
there is only light
drawn out of midnight
out of daybreak’s rise 
and you     
hungry   sore
the world narrowed down to this
as it is     however it is.

Sunday, November 26, 2017


by Charles Gramlich

Against a backdrop of rain-gray gulls take sunlit wing

Picking up the Pieces

by Elaine Christie

A black sweater water soaked
looks like - congealed blood of a
Faceless Rhino - the worlds stigmata.
Chip paper with remains of barbecued ribs
A Flamingo - some boys thought would be
fun to kick to death.
My gripper pulls a soggy carrier from the mud
leaving drag marks - of White Lions
hauled into cages for canned hunting.
A rubbish bag vomits on grass -
One grey glove -
the amputated paw of a Wolf
who struggled too hard.
Brown belt with large round buckle -
protrudes from a Dancing Bear's nose.
A spotted slipper -
Cheetah Cubs killed for rich Arab feet.
Flattened coke cans -
Crush videos from China
where women in stilettos pierce flesh
again and again and again.
Half full Dr Pepper bottle -
Vinegar filled Victorian jars
Of tiger embryos - pickled
to make wine from their bones.
Even the downy of a dead Pigeon
haunts my dreams.
The earth is a fragile body
of gaping red wounds, blue bruises
rainfall can't cleanse.


by Ruth Summersides

Sunbeam breaks the dawn,
Dawn breaks the mist.
Black crow breaks the silence,
Cuckoo breaks the egg.
Honeybee breaks its fast.
Red rose breaks the dew,
grass breaks the ground.
Heat breaks the ice.
Forest breaks the hart.
Moonlight breaks the night,
Barn owl breaks the sleep,
Sleep breaks the dream,
Dream breaks the darkness,
Sunbeam breaks the dawn.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Beloved Woods

by Diane Wing

The beloved Pennypack woods embrace
With branches of American beech, oak, and fern lace
Fluttering excitement fills the soul;
An exhilarating sense of being whole.

The forest grants entrance to this realm of power
Allowing thoughts to bud and flower
Shaded, cool protection encourages one to wander
The spectacular journey offers lessons to ponder

Fallen tulip poplars uprooted and dead
Moss clings to the bark signifying new growth ahead
Ducks glide by without a care
Reflecting serenity in their gentle stare

Through the canopy the sun beams
Fertilizing thoughts of life, love, and dreams
Illuminating souls deep into the night
And nourishing one’s inner light

The scurrying chipmunks and honking geese
Bring about ultimate peace
The music of the flowing creek
Gives voice for the silent rocks to speak

Discoveries around every bend
The fascination never ends
The majesty of the forest green
Holds reverent magic yet to be seen