Sunday, May 27, 2018

Favoured Island

by Joanna M. Weston

a ferry sails into harbour
on its reflection
while mountains
rise into burning skies
and Douglas firs shake
cones on our heads

farm-stands litter
the winding roads
where crags reach
to tidal points
and bundled roses
open gates built
out of driftwood
for a tourist Canon

The Catch of the Day

by Matthew David Laing

Acidic falling drops of concentrated
reptilian poison, splurging over tinted
glass windshields, wipers
melting and sticking like chewing gum.
The metal doors warp and buckle,
a child screaming from the back seat.

Geysers of waste and plastic
toppling over onto acres of sturdy pine,
filling the soil with chemicals, rot
and fusion of the environment with human
venom and excrement.

Once an uncharted emerald and sapphire vastness,
is home to the seagulls stooping over
the salty sea to the east – the fishing trolleys
lay silent and empty to the west, waiting
for the century’s catch of the day.

Silent Circles

by Emily Strauss

i.

the Redtail hawk is hardly seen against the cliff
wings held stiff for the up-drafts, only his shadow
circles over us, we duck and flinch instinctively

ii.

the moon is voiceless yet we denote by design
a female presence, pale, wan, fragile, a distant
ideal circling at night, a ghost in gauzy dress

iii.

the field sprayer turns around the center well
once a day, wheels pass silently, herds of deer
arrive at dusk to lick droplets from the alfalfa

iv.

dark black vultures, a kettle, slowly pass over
ready to slip lower, testing the state of a vole
lying under sage, bloody teeth marks dripping

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Three Photographs
Pepper Trail


Checkerspot

Haiku

 Lily & Grass

Sunday, May 20, 2018

"Out of the sunset light"

by Margarita Serafimova,

Out of the sunset light,
a brown flame arose.
A falcon placed herself above her hunger.

Fragile Thing

by Lynda McKinney Lambert

Before daylight
lone black crow lands on swaying tree tops
high above rushing waters of the creek
crow’s voice hollers out
sharp staccato jabs, high-pitched notes
mingled with swift moving water

Canadian geese
build nests on flat rocks
beside a torrent of white-water
near Rhododendron bushes
super stars, each of them
magnificent blooming wall of flowers
before dawn this morning

Life happens slowly
like growth of lavender-pink
Rhododendron blossoms
smallest details
hundreds of them
wide open
everything in sync
a fragile thing.

Silhouettes

by Stefanie Bennett

The periwinkle pulls her head in
at twice the speed
of sound

Heron Mathematica

by Michael Medler

If you've strayed
too close to the coterminous
of rock, of river, a chaos
of green water may pull
you in. You may crack
the ragged plane of air.

The heron will loop
down, though, a cosine
arc drawn on a silver
of sky. He will
save you; the parallels
of his slender legs
withstand the flood.

Step back and stop.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Sand Dunes
--from “The Snow Man," Wallace Stevens

by Emily Strauss

One should have the mind of water
to understand the Bitter River (Amargosa)
as it sinks into the wash and reappears
eleven miles downstream under willows

half hidden from the sun, avoiding sand dunes
and tracks of vehicles that climb like lizards.
The mind of water feels the heat of evaporating
pools, a constriction of mud, a thickening

into dirt as the river digs through hidden
channels underground, seeping, dripping
in cracks, lightless cavities it has forged
where we see only dry beds carved against

sandstone during rare summer floods. Then it
tires of hiding and pours for ten minutes, the mind
of water a living memory of rushing angst
in its haste to prove that bitter was only a lack

of momentum and rain is the shimmering soul
of water revealed once a year under black clouds.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Sakura

by Deanie Roman

Cherry blossoms fall from the trees.
Petals, confetti-like flutter on the breeze.
Faded pink, edged with brown; wind-scattered across the ground.
Ribbons of blossoms dress the street; transforms the gutter at my feet.

Slide Effects
The Blue Mountains, NSW Australia

by Stefanie Bennett

I hang my hat where
the oxygen’s lean
and cows
come home
in single file...
where nothing’s out
to prove a thing
but the believing
that’s behind
the green gate.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Japanese Crow

by Deanie Roman

Crow looms on a wire,
watches, waits,
and menaces
passers-by;
his caw strident.

Osprey Fishing

by Wesley D. Sims

An osprey soars in circles migrating
up the cove, bright white underside
gleaming in the sun. It spies movement,
begins descending in a cone spiraling down
twenty yards until it clarifies the target,
draws in brown-barred wings and plunges
head down, accelerating as it dives.
Hits the water head first cratering plumes
outward, quickly pumps its wet wings
against the water to lift off straight up,
grasping a bass in its talons. It rises
fifty feet aiming toward the tree line.
Its reward wriggles, struggles to escape
the sharp claws as the osprey continues
its ascent and lights a high sycamore limb,
pinning its prey while it begins to dissect
the fresh meal with its curved eagle beak.

blue river

by Michael Estabrook

The golden eagle swoops down,
the sun blazing off its wings,
lands beside
the blue river, and watches me
with one black immobile eye
as I stand alone
on the bank and fish.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Lines

by Deborah P Kolodji

stagnant pond
the back and forth
of a cabbage white

Roots That Bind

by Gary Beck

Barely planted deep enough,
the aged sycamore trees
of Bryant Park
shed their leaves,
compelled by winter
to stand bare limbed.
They are not embarrassed
by nudity,
neither hoping nor despairing
for new leaves in Spring.

Tombstone

by Denny E. Marshall

Aliens mark grave
On earths unmarked tombstone
Died of consumption

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Untitled

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

it’s so stifling hot here
in this fashionable extermination dome
we’ve so neatly constructed
New England’s spring wild flowers 
are blooming 3 weeks earlier

but the cross-pollinators
those visionary bees birds insects
and butterflies et al
have not arrived yet
to seed
each vivid pistil
with another generation’s
stamen lush clarity

maybe if we try feeling as deeply as they
before they’re greenhouse gassed
like Jews
in a Nazis death camp

we won’t lose them

Sunday, April 22, 2018

The Cranium is Crammed

by Randall Rogers

Full of
nonsense lies
wit that spies
subterfuge
in guise
of truth.

That lays
bare remorse
upon redress
old wounds
sharp healing
knowing
no quarter
no loss
unfounded
non-grounded
none-the-less
cocksure
farm working
the Earth.

Persevering
naturally
pesticide-free
low-input
no till
soil microbe
menagerie
'til the end.

Lunar eclipse, Adelaide 2001

by EJ Shu

beckon the penumbra
keel with a practised lean
into the graving dock

imitate delay

hang the tidal thesis
on the lowlight blocks
between spring and neap

flush iodine to redden the reaped fields
sing the willie wagtail
into the rare hot night

      that ever-weathering silks the fine fraction
      that ions drape the old surface
      that dark mantling stains
      the face of the regolith
      like dogs’ tears

Standing in the Woods Full of Winter

by M.J. Iuppa

Hard to forget the past when you
find yourself standing in a clearing
cribbed by black walnut trees
and fresh snow.

Cold air wakes trivial matters
lodged in your mind.

How strange— the sift of snow
caught between bars of light
ignites what you were so eager
to keep to yourself—

the unspooling of horses
galloping across an open pasture . . .

Gone, again.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Crow and Goose

by Linda Gamble

Sentinel crow, caws
into the March air
from atop a towering
naked oak.

Winter - spring sun
reflects its promise
off the lake below,
a lone goose paddles
against the wind through
shimmering ripples.

Crow caws
            goose honks
crow caws
            goose honks
crow caws
            goose honks

Double Suns

by Heather Saunders Estes

Another smoke-filled sunrise,
the ball, fuchsia red.
Below, a trick reflection in the Bay,

another sun,
squat like a lump of red bean paste
but hot-eyed and wavering.

New Hampshire Morning

by John Grey

Black bear snug in tree fork,
morning sun gilds its fur tips,
turns a fluttering nose to amber.
Crows line the upper oak branch.
Blue jays spread the word -
corvids present - such as they are themselves
chickadee awareness descends in notes.
A solitary cooper's hawk
scours the waking trails for meadow mice.
A groundhog stands on granite soap box.
His mate nibbles the grass nearby.
A rabbit, the whole world to fear,
skitters into nearby brush.
It's spring. Rivers bulge with snowmelt.
Current flings fish into the air.
A great blue heron stalks
the outskirts of a beaver pond.
A chipmunk squeaks, red squirrel chatters.
Maple, poplar, blush with new green.
A vulture keeps a quiet watch for death.
Wart-headed turkeys sway their chest beards.
Nature, unattended, embraces dawn.