by Kersten Christianson
Paws reach for salmon-
berry branch, rough tongue brushes
against spring greens, cane
and bud. Verb: to consume, eat
of the earth’s deep good.
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Home Woods
byTaylor Graham
Standing off my dog in the swale,
a young pointed buck. Morning too dim
to say how many seasons he’s circled
us in his rounds, and bedded down
under the buckeye’s twisted limbs. Bent
grasses, weight of sleep and waking.
My dog’s on guard-dance with what lives
among us. The buck advances
by inches, drawn magnetic to our north
fence. One sprung haunch-leap over
the wire’s wild side; dawn caught antler-
gold for a moment, gone.
Standing off my dog in the swale,
a young pointed buck. Morning too dim
to say how many seasons he’s circled
us in his rounds, and bedded down
under the buckeye’s twisted limbs. Bent
grasses, weight of sleep and waking.
My dog’s on guard-dance with what lives
among us. The buck advances
by inches, drawn magnetic to our north
fence. One sprung haunch-leap over
the wire’s wild side; dawn caught antler-
gold for a moment, gone.
Sparkle of the Mica
by Tricia Knoll
Running the arroyo as the sun rises,
too many perfect stones to pocket
in no-pocket shorts.
Horse hoof prints sprawl under the sun,
and prickly pears hang over the eroded lip.
I dodge boulders and cowpies.
The miracle this morning –
a slab of weathered pinyon
shaped like a fish with a glass eye
swimming the drought arroyo.
Running the arroyo as the sun rises,
too many perfect stones to pocket
in no-pocket shorts.
Horse hoof prints sprawl under the sun,
and prickly pears hang over the eroded lip.
I dodge boulders and cowpies.
The miracle this morning –
a slab of weathered pinyon
shaped like a fish with a glass eye
swimming the drought arroyo.
Forest Fire
by David Subacchi
The smell of burning pine comes first
Before black smoke columns
Twisting upwards
Appear on the horizon
And even at a distance
A warmth is felt
Warning of danger
And flushing the cheek.
Summer brings
The picnic people
Discarded smokes
Bored souls
Experimenting
Under cover
Of the timber
Cathedrals
Lighting candles
Before wooden images
Igniting passions
Mistaking trees for gods.
The smell of burning pine comes first
Before black smoke columns
Twisting upwards
Appear on the horizon
And even at a distance
A warmth is felt
Warning of danger
And flushing the cheek.
Summer brings
The picnic people
Discarded smokes
Bored souls
Experimenting
Under cover
Of the timber
Cathedrals
Lighting candles
Before wooden images
Igniting passions
Mistaking trees for gods.
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Soon, Blueberry Moon
by Kersten Christianson
Soon
those blue-
berry moon picking
fingers will stain bright
violet hues. You forage in the light
of the berry moon, drop fruit in a Folgers
can fastened by rope, buffered by the curve
of your body. Pulled into the dream of a bear
sharing its abundant crop, blue shadows
in wild moonlight, the moon so round you could reach
into the night sky
and pick it.
Soon
those blue-
berry moon picking
fingers will stain bright
violet hues. You forage in the light
of the berry moon, drop fruit in a Folgers
can fastened by rope, buffered by the curve
of your body. Pulled into the dream of a bear
sharing its abundant crop, blue shadows
in wild moonlight, the moon so round you could reach
into the night sky
and pick it.
Little Dry Canyon, Late April
by Tim Staley
3 lean coyotes blend in
to the blond canyon.
Their heads are low
between their shoulders.
No people are here.
A weak little wrinkle
of water and light
wags the floor.
3 lean coyotes blend in
to the blond canyon.
Their heads are low
between their shoulders.
No people are here.
A weak little wrinkle
of water and light
wags the floor.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Coloring Book
by Chris Butler
Color outside the lines
with magical markers
to create new hues
of bruised black and blue,
graffiti city property
by spraying paint
onto walls, ceilings
and cracked sidewalks.
Trace your veins
with a razor blade
for a perfect shade
of red.
And scribble every
color together for a
perfect double vision
rainbow.
Color outside the lines
with magical markers
to create new hues
of bruised black and blue,
graffiti city property
by spraying paint
onto walls, ceilings
and cracked sidewalks.
Trace your veins
with a razor blade
for a perfect shade
of red.
And scribble every
color together for a
perfect double vision
rainbow.
Sunday, August 20, 2017
Prelude
by Trivarna Hariharan
In the branches
of a blossoming
amaranth—
there is a bird
chafed by whose
song,
even stones
begin to move
like rivers.
In the branches
of a blossoming
amaranth—
there is a bird
chafed by whose
song,
even stones
begin to move
like rivers.
A Love Poem for the Giant Sequoia
by A.K. Kelly
when she comes at you in full force,
take her beauty in strides.
when you go, leave her as she was.
in fact, leave nothing of yourself.
remember that in between all the wonder, in between
all that you experience when you are with her,
she exists without you.
she lives permanently in a wild and free place.
while you, you only belong temporarily.
the most painful truth for her
is also what she desires most--
to look inside when it's over, and find
no lingering trace of you.
when she comes at you in full force,
take her beauty in strides.
when you go, leave her as she was.
in fact, leave nothing of yourself.
remember that in between all the wonder, in between
all that you experience when you are with her,
she exists without you.
she lives permanently in a wild and free place.
while you, you only belong temporarily.
the most painful truth for her
is also what she desires most--
to look inside when it's over, and find
no lingering trace of you.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Rio Mora Valley, New Mexico
by Jari Thymian
inside
forest service greenhouses
thousands
of two-inch seedlings
hope like wind through mountains
a stump
in the ponderosa forest
the thin
tree ring of my birth year --
invisible from the trail’s peak
deep, deep
scars in her wide trunk
even
in death her branches twist
skyward with strength
inside
forest service greenhouses
thousands
of two-inch seedlings
hope like wind through mountains
a stump
in the ponderosa forest
the thin
tree ring of my birth year --
invisible from the trail’s peak
deep, deep
scars in her wide trunk
even
in death her branches twist
skyward with strength
Sunday, August 13, 2017
White-bellied Sea Eagle
by Ion Corcos
Broad wings slow,
white breast swoop,
over grassland, dunes,
and rugged beach.
Feet thrust forward,
it dives, nears
the ocean’s surface,
snatches a fish
from the splash;
in its talons, the fish
to a rock ledge;
silver scales,
and red, stripped flesh,
against stone.
Broad wings slow,
white breast swoop,
over grassland, dunes,
and rugged beach.
Feet thrust forward,
it dives, nears
the ocean’s surface,
snatches a fish
from the splash;
in its talons, the fish
to a rock ledge;
silver scales,
and red, stripped flesh,
against stone.
Leaving Lake Havasu, Arizona
by Stefanie Bennett
If the sky had a voice
I envisage
We’d buckle under
The bent-over
Exit wounds
Just as
The willow
Does
In bright water...
If the sky had a voice
I envisage
We’d buckle under
The bent-over
Exit wounds
Just as
The willow
Does
In bright water...
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
becoming your job
by C. Z. Heyward
it was time to leave
wings of the sparrow
loping through juniper berries
caress my lids into submission
she's nesting
as I've fed her soft grain
as an afterthought
one pint at a time
zoophilous screams of the quartet
wane on down the boulevard
I jump in a taxi
less I'm seduced back inside
He asks me
Where to my brother
In the moment
it was only cue I needed
I ask him
What brings you here
Bad dreams
his reply
About my children
orphans all them
I ask
civil war
Worse
Poachers
How worse
Their mothers can't fight back
Because elephants can't shoot rifles
Orphans have nightmares
Crying well into the night
Then through the sunrise
And sunset
He tells me
He bedded with them
No more than straw
And a blanket
but the screams of infants
fell like mourning stars
in between the cackles of hyenas
Feasting on the flesh of their mothers
So he left
No longer able to soothe
innocence mutilated
he's trying to remember to forget
but he's like them now
nothing is forgotten
it was time to leave
wings of the sparrow
loping through juniper berries
caress my lids into submission
she's nesting
as I've fed her soft grain
as an afterthought
one pint at a time
zoophilous screams of the quartet
wane on down the boulevard
I jump in a taxi
less I'm seduced back inside
He asks me
Where to my brother
In the moment
it was only cue I needed
I ask him
What brings you here
Bad dreams
his reply
About my children
orphans all them
I ask
civil war
Worse
Poachers
How worse
Their mothers can't fight back
Because elephants can't shoot rifles
Orphans have nightmares
Crying well into the night
Then through the sunrise
And sunset
He tells me
He bedded with them
No more than straw
And a blanket
but the screams of infants
fell like mourning stars
in between the cackles of hyenas
Feasting on the flesh of their mothers
So he left
No longer able to soothe
innocence mutilated
he's trying to remember to forget
but he's like them now
nothing is forgotten
Delicate in this Storm
by Megan Merchant
The rain sheets. Mud lips over blacktop,
washing out our road.
I wake before he stirs, before he warms
an arm around my ribs, adds breath
to this hour in which I am leaning
against in order to forgive.
I crack an egg and in it
a spider,
a sprig of aster,
a split-yolk moon.
I whisk each omen until it yellows—
a bruise where blood
pooled weeks before,
but has hued toward healing.
From my window, an unkindness of ravens
slink between branches.
They hold out for a softening,
or opening of light,
their black feathers show no hint of damp,
no heavy, or glisten.
The rain sheets. Mud lips over blacktop,
washing out our road.
I wake before he stirs, before he warms
an arm around my ribs, adds breath
to this hour in which I am leaning
against in order to forgive.
I crack an egg and in it
a spider,
a sprig of aster,
a split-yolk moon.
I whisk each omen until it yellows—
a bruise where blood
pooled weeks before,
but has hued toward healing.
From my window, an unkindness of ravens
slink between branches.
They hold out for a softening,
or opening of light,
their black feathers show no hint of damp,
no heavy, or glisten.
A Walk in the Park
by Chris Butler
The old
go for a brisk morning
walk in the park
covered in tombstones
in the greatest waste
of real estate space
since causing
golf coursed curses,
to forget their long lost
friendly neighbors or
to remember
where they are buried.
The old
go for a brisk morning
walk in the park
covered in tombstones
in the greatest waste
of real estate space
since causing
golf coursed curses,
to forget their long lost
friendly neighbors or
to remember
where they are buried.
Sunday, August 6, 2017
Butcherbird
by Ion Corcos
A lizard
lies impaled
on a snapped twig,
its dead body
slight in the silver
of the bark, the crevice
of the branch
a larder.
Black sap stains
the pale bark.
Butcherbird shifts
low on a tree,
searches
the woodland floor,
ready to pounce.
It does not sing.
Grey legs push
into the air,
wings outstretched
to land soft
on the floor.
Stabs the ground.
Thunder strikes
the nearby hills.
A lizard hangs
splayed in beak.
Watchful,
the butcher sings,
echoes
between trees.
A lizard
lies impaled
on a snapped twig,
its dead body
slight in the silver
of the bark, the crevice
of the branch
a larder.
Black sap stains
the pale bark.
Butcherbird shifts
low on a tree,
searches
the woodland floor,
ready to pounce.
It does not sing.
Grey legs push
into the air,
wings outstretched
to land soft
on the floor.
Stabs the ground.
Thunder strikes
the nearby hills.
A lizard hangs
splayed in beak.
Watchful,
the butcher sings,
echoes
between trees.
Out(side)
by M.J. Iuppa
Sitting quietly in our canoe, we
cast our thoughts upon the pond’s
mirror caught in consolation
of clouds, searching for
the hole in its puzzle,
the hole in the monument
of another day. We’re
broken by desire
to make life, some-
how worthy of
its consequences.
Sitting quietly in our canoe, we
cast our thoughts upon the pond’s
mirror caught in consolation
of clouds, searching for
the hole in its puzzle,
the hole in the monument
of another day. We’re
broken by desire
to make life, some-
how worthy of
its consequences.
Sunset Over the Chesapeake
by Ben Rasnic
A golden glow
emanates from white sails
& the breaking waves
against the fading sky.
Burnt orange spawns
atomic rings of fiery
red and vibrant
yellow veiled
in watercolor mists
immersing
into the deep
blue horizon.
A golden glow
emanates from white sails
& the breaking waves
against the fading sky.
Burnt orange spawns
atomic rings of fiery
red and vibrant
yellow veiled
in watercolor mists
immersing
into the deep
blue horizon.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
Brand New Home
by Dan Fecht
A hermit crab traverses the sands
Of driftwood
On a beach of sea debris.
Crab has a new shell; old root beer soda cap
A hermit crab traverses the sands
Of driftwood
On a beach of sea debris.
Crab has a new shell; old root beer soda cap
