"when I was 9 years old"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

when I was 9 years old
I played Mohawk Indian
hide and seek
creeping
among the comforting shadows
of forest trees
and the lacy silhouettes
of ferns
longing for grace

now I’m a 73 year old expat
who has fled
an angry withering
culture
that offers schoolchildren
in schools
as human sacrifices
to appease
merciless gun manufacturing gods

In the Desert

by Carl Mayfield

thirty-seven drops of rain
have reminded
the cholla cactus
what color is for

Lines

by Colleen M. Farrelly

ibis creeping low
in spring’s oasis
before jaws snap shut

"At the bend, a flamenco cry erupted"

by Margarita Serafimova

At the bend, a flamenco cry erupted.
An invisible rooster, proud with the midday light,
robbed my pulse,
and I looked for confirmation at the man
who was working there.

Pelagic

by Karla Linn Merrifield

Do not say
the tide goes out
rather it falls
coral reef appears
another
another
secreted shoals
exposed
as turquoise retreats
to horizon-deep blue
I follow
shearwaters
flying the ebb

"I saw the belly of a bird of prey"

by Margarita Serafimova

I saw the belly of a bird of prey –
dappled as a clear sky with cirrocumulus.
She possessed the inner law.

Cable Crossing

by Gary Lark

I stop at the cable crossing hole
when light just touches
the top of the canyon.
I slip down the bank under the trees
to the liquid emerald
and roll cast to the dimples
of rising trout.
They pay little attention
to my muddler or mayfly.
I set the fly rod down.
This deep green world
turns to magic at twilight
and I give in.
The fish jump and roll
as I breathe the living air.
I will be here at seventeen
and seventy, life washing
through me, this small infinity,
the experience of one.

Haiku At Poinsett Bridge No. 2

by Matthew Banash

You can’t tell
A Monarch butterfly
Where to go

Wild Water

by Victoria Doerper

Water rockets
Round boulders
Tight pressed
In pockets of cliff,
Falling heedless
In spume and thunder
Pounding down,
Surging under
Broken limbs,
Bounding up,
Flowing on again
Strong as a silver
Scour of gravel,
Silt sculpting rock,
Building up a mantle
Of remembrance
In deposits along
The further banks,
Signs that once
Water had a wild
Encounter
With constraint
But left behind
Less than what
She kept
And carried
Forward.

Haiku At Poinsett Bridge No. 1

by Matthew Banash

Crows laugh in the elms
At jokes I don’t get-
Caw caw caw

Around the Bend

by Gary Lark

We fished the south fork
for bullhead catfish
or steelhead in the winter
but seldom for trout.
I decided it was time to explore.
June, before it got too warm,
I headed up river,
looking for water on BLM
or Forest Service land,
somewhere not posted.
On the map Cow Creek
makes a big loop
before joining the river.
I walk railroad ties
away from civilization,
catch a couple of trout,
nothing to get excited about,
when a sweet aroma
filters through the trees.
I follow, find some tiger lilies.
Though perfect in their own right,
it's not them.
Down more ties, around a bend,
the scent invades me,
tunnels into my cells.
There it is, wild azalea
in full bloom, filling the world
with its heavenly essence.
In the pantheon of aromas,
it could shoulder aside
gardenia and honeysuckle.
Wild azalea, unmatched.

Hummer Sunset

by Mike McCormick

Emerald stars
Erupt from sun
Orbit juniper

Scatter like comets
When yucca shadows
Grow long talons

Deodar Cedar

by Jack King

I have three trunks
like a fork
aimed straight at the sky.
I climb the air.
My limbs reached out for a hand
to hold,
but never found one so kind.
The only one of my kind,
For all I can see.
I stand taller than all around,
They never knew the reason for my height
was because of my bite on an old sewage pipe
deep beneath the grass and pavement. Shit
was my secret
ingredient.

Raging Earth, Soothing Sea

by Maria DePaul

The ground quakes before me,
The islands overflow with fire.
I am Pelehonuamea,
Hawaii’s Volcanic mother.
I devour the archipelago
With towers of ash.
I rage at human stains on the
Landscape, erasing every trace.
Men flee to my basaltic shores,
To meet the goddess of the sea.
My sister Namakaokahi cools
Raging sands with soothing waters.

Binghamton June

by Matthew Johnson

In summer,
The wide, brushstroke Catskill daylight
Never bothers the farm girls tending their gardens,
Or the mountain men, hiking the valleys
And streams of the Hudson River.

In summer,
The clouds coiling ‘round the Catskills
Suffocate the sun, and spill autumn,
For in that low-hanging, morning June mist,
There’s plenty of 50-degree days to be found.