by Nancy Scott McBride
vixen in the clearing-
her turf
where the strip-mall’s going up
Hatagoya's Desk
▼
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Thursday, May 26, 2016
A Home for World's Clouds
by Narendra Kumar Arya
Last month I travelled a place
Said home to world's clouds
Floating there in measures unknown
In forms and feature so versatile
As if they had their proper names.
Sometimes they appeared from the next turn of road
And like a sweet stranger asked to share the space
We were three people in the car,
Many a times they walked like neighbors
And after long walk said, " dear let us return,
It seems heavy rains
Want our company;
But oh! we have forgotten to bring parasols."
It was cold and it started raining
And when the trees started shivering
Clouds brought their thick blankets closer
Wrapping the trees as if children innocent
Drenched in waters from heavens
Lest they fall ill
Tomorrow they might have to attend schools.
Sometimes they ascended like airplanes
From green grassy valleys
As if they have to travel to other lands
Where people might be waiting to see
Relatives from distant lands
Full of tears.
In the place called clouds' abode I knew
Clouds are moving mind of Nature.
Sometimes these lovely creatures retained ugly memories
Inflicted by invisible wounds
When they cried to say goodbye
I felt it was not tears
It was gasoline on my face
Mucked with Middle East's airs.
Last month I travelled a place
Said home to world's clouds
Floating there in measures unknown
In forms and feature so versatile
As if they had their proper names.
Sometimes they appeared from the next turn of road
And like a sweet stranger asked to share the space
We were three people in the car,
Many a times they walked like neighbors
And after long walk said, " dear let us return,
It seems heavy rains
Want our company;
But oh! we have forgotten to bring parasols."
It was cold and it started raining
And when the trees started shivering
Clouds brought their thick blankets closer
Wrapping the trees as if children innocent
Drenched in waters from heavens
Lest they fall ill
Tomorrow they might have to attend schools.
Sometimes they ascended like airplanes
From green grassy valleys
As if they have to travel to other lands
Where people might be waiting to see
Relatives from distant lands
Full of tears.
In the place called clouds' abode I knew
Clouds are moving mind of Nature.
Sometimes these lovely creatures retained ugly memories
Inflicted by invisible wounds
When they cried to say goodbye
I felt it was not tears
It was gasoline on my face
Mucked with Middle East's airs.
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Who Killed the Honeybees?
by Ingrid Bruck
grass no longer hums
flowers don’t buzz
and you stop looking down
when you walk barefoot in clover
the sting of silence
each third mouthful of food
depends on bees for pollination,
they sustain the food chain
and are dying
the sting of silence
when bees starve for lack of flowers
or get lost going home and vanish,
when thirty countries ban American food
and GMOs enter our DNA
the sting of silence
when bees rain down in a parking lot at Walmart,
red wing blackbirds fall from the sky on highways,
and a million fish die in the Arkansas River,
when captive dolphins and whales turn killers
the sting of silence
half the world’s animals have perished since the 70s,
six gulls in a flock, instead of wheeling hundreds,
when only one Monarch visits your garden in a year
and few bats rake insects on the currents of night
the sting of silence
oceans turn to deserts, fishermen left jobless,
acid rain drains life out of lakes and rivers.
only a quarter of the frogs are left
to croak a night song of coming death
kill-offs, die-offs, honeybees vanished
the sting
grass no longer hums
flowers don’t buzz
and you stop looking down
when you walk barefoot in clover
the sting of silence
each third mouthful of food
depends on bees for pollination,
they sustain the food chain
and are dying
the sting of silence
when bees starve for lack of flowers
or get lost going home and vanish,
when thirty countries ban American food
and GMOs enter our DNA
the sting of silence
when bees rain down in a parking lot at Walmart,
red wing blackbirds fall from the sky on highways,
and a million fish die in the Arkansas River,
when captive dolphins and whales turn killers
the sting of silence
half the world’s animals have perished since the 70s,
six gulls in a flock, instead of wheeling hundreds,
when only one Monarch visits your garden in a year
and few bats rake insects on the currents of night
the sting of silence
oceans turn to deserts, fishermen left jobless,
acid rain drains life out of lakes and rivers.
only a quarter of the frogs are left
to croak a night song of coming death
kill-offs, die-offs, honeybees vanished
the sting
Sunday, May 22, 2016
In May the Santa Fe River is Alive
by Carl Mayfield
In the month of melting snow
the burgeoning river gathers itself
west of Baldy, flowing past fir
and spruce to ponderosa pines,
to gambel oaks, locust trees with thorns
to die for, the sound of moving water
muted once it reaches town, a steady
downslope all the way to Cochiti Pueblo
where no one even listens any more
to the dry stories of what was left behind.
In the month of melting snow
the burgeoning river gathers itself
west of Baldy, flowing past fir
and spruce to ponderosa pines,
to gambel oaks, locust trees with thorns
to die for, the sound of moving water
muted once it reaches town, a steady
downslope all the way to Cochiti Pueblo
where no one even listens any more
to the dry stories of what was left behind.
In the Garden in May
by g emil reutter
It is a dreary day in May as rain has fallen for days but today
is a day to visit the garden under cloudy skies that do not drip.
Squirrels scamper up the face of the dogwood that drops pink
blossoms onto the damp lawn. Around the old stump of mimosa
peonies sprout from the soil. Stalks of Tiger Lilies, Day Lilies fill
the bed as velvet blue flowers of Irises bend and bow. Neat pinks
and reds of Azalea are joined by dazzling purple of Rhododendron.
Thick leaves of Black Eyed Susan lift off mulch, grand basal leaves
of Hosta unfold and within prepare the racemes of white and violet.
Full blossoms of red peak out through thick leaves of Camellia as
roses bloom along the fence line where just below blue bells sway
silently in breeze. . Just past the green of Forsythia in pots along
the steps, Snap Dragons, Geraniums bloom in reds, pinks, whites
and yellows. Within the colors of this beautiful display those rascally
squirrels dig in soil for bulbs of tulips and hyacinth, robins pull worms
from the soaked lawn never noticing the hawk gliding, hunting from
above.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Misty Morning
by Ed Hack
It's all quite still in mist--the distant pines,
full-grown and dark, the bare, thin dying tree,
the purplish winter brush en masse, a line
behind the still-wet grass. The day's decree
is gray, again, light shrouded in a veil
spring trees glow through, banked fires that seem to purr
through misted air. White dogwoods float as pale
as ghosts; around them nothing wants to stir.
This silence is as deep as Time, a gap
between that doesn't need a single thing.
This is a land for which there is no map,
and what it gives is only what you bring.
Two pair of geese fly low, fly side-by-side,
honk twice, are gone. Their echoes quickly die.
It's all quite still in mist--the distant pines,
full-grown and dark, the bare, thin dying tree,
the purplish winter brush en masse, a line
behind the still-wet grass. The day's decree
is gray, again, light shrouded in a veil
spring trees glow through, banked fires that seem to purr
through misted air. White dogwoods float as pale
as ghosts; around them nothing wants to stir.
This silence is as deep as Time, a gap
between that doesn't need a single thing.
This is a land for which there is no map,
and what it gives is only what you bring.
Two pair of geese fly low, fly side-by-side,
honk twice, are gone. Their echoes quickly die.
Gestalt: Landlocked
by Karla Linn Merrifield
Sagemothsavor
batsilence
owllight
coyotenight
If I am not among
the all-consumed,
I will become
a rogue ocean wave.
Sagemothsavor
batsilence
owllight
coyotenight
If I am not among
the all-consumed,
I will become
a rogue ocean wave.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Lines
by Denny E. Marshall
lands body and hands
wrapped tightly with barbed wire
of roads and bridges
lands body and hands
wrapped tightly with barbed wire
of roads and bridges
Untitled
by Stephen A. Rozwenc
brick after brick
sown in harkened earth
by anonymous monks
this stairwell of silent prayers
ascends straight up
the puckered mountainside
where unutterable genius
envelopes the highest peak
in palpable mist
a gold leaved temple
beholds the green valley far below
bluer than the simple ability
to accept love
without the paraplegic futility
of desire
brick after brick
sown in harkened earth
by anonymous monks
this stairwell of silent prayers
ascends straight up
the puckered mountainside
where unutterable genius
envelopes the highest peak
in palpable mist
a gold leaved temple
beholds the green valley far below
bluer than the simple ability
to accept love
without the paraplegic futility
of desire
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Double Helix
by Mark Danowsky
two red tails lock
in spiral descent
after a crow chase
fall with the sun
glinting off feather
two red tails lock
in spiral descent
after a crow chase
fall with the sun
glinting off feather
A Lizard
by Taylor Graham
Under chickweed, foxtail, thistle bursting
green between rocks where I cut a path, trying
to clear defensible-space around my house
against wildfire – a glimpse of silver
wrinkles fast away from the spin of my weed-
eater, a flash of darting dark that disappears
into uncut grass, safety; invisible now.
I’ll leave a wide wild swath in my mowing,
to remind how uncertain and ragged
is the world we share, alligator lizard and I,
between fire and the clearing line.
Under chickweed, foxtail, thistle bursting
green between rocks where I cut a path, trying
to clear defensible-space around my house
against wildfire – a glimpse of silver
wrinkles fast away from the spin of my weed-
eater, a flash of darting dark that disappears
into uncut grass, safety; invisible now.
I’ll leave a wide wild swath in my mowing,
to remind how uncertain and ragged
is the world we share, alligator lizard and I,
between fire and the clearing line.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
The Avian and the Cetacean
for Beau Cutts
by Karla Linn Merrifield
He is the wandering albatross flying
every thermal of my great heart
in ceaseless flight, effortlessly driving
on great wingèd beats this steady rhythm
I pulse with him, his humpback;
he is the bird; I am the whale.
We are pelagic creatures of synchronicity,
at one with the sea and the sky.
It is a scientific fact; it is a myth.
He is the wandering albatross flying
every thermal of my great heart
in ceaseless flight, effortlessly driving
on great wingèd beats this steady rhythm
I pulse with him, his humpback;
he is the bird; I am the whale.
We are pelagic creatures of synchronicity,
at one with the sea and the sky.
It is a scientific fact; it is a myth.
Sand Harbor, Nevada
by Stefanie Bennett
When nobody’s shore-
Watching
The unspoken
Stones
Wing it
And sing...
When nobody’s shore-
Watching
The unspoken
Stones
Wing it
And sing...
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Summer Fun
by Jimmy Pappas
The neighborhood
children scurry
down the sidewalk
to see tiny crabs
emptied from
a toy pail
clatter around
searching for the ocean.
The neighborhood
children scurry
down the sidewalk
to see tiny crabs
emptied from
a toy pail
clatter around
searching for the ocean.
Seascape
by Ed Higgins
Eased by this rising moon,
the tide’s darkening stain surges
onto wet waiting sand. Thrust inward
toward the yielding reluctant shore.
Tentative, at first, this receding/inflowing
discourse of wave, sand, and cleft-split rock.
The ambiguous edge barely perceptible
now against the sea’s widening urge.
The surf out there like a quickened pulse
to the heart.
Eased by this rising moon,
the tide’s darkening stain surges
onto wet waiting sand. Thrust inward
toward the yielding reluctant shore.
Tentative, at first, this receding/inflowing
discourse of wave, sand, and cleft-split rock.
The ambiguous edge barely perceptible
now against the sea’s widening urge.
The surf out there like a quickened pulse
to the heart.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Origins
by Stefanie Bennett
Mohave Shadow-Land’s
Kinship depth
Is nothing less
Than
A full
Moon
In the rose
Window –.
Mohave Shadow-Land’s
Kinship depth
Is nothing less
Than
A full
Moon
In the rose
Window –.
Reality Check at Sea
by Karla Linn Merrifield
To learn
wild stories,
their old calculus?
The gyre teaches ancient cold truths.
Listen.
To learn
wild stories,
their old calculus?
The gyre teaches ancient cold truths.
Listen.