Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Lines

by Susan N Aassahde,

billiard toast flock
cask sneaker
tambourine peak hunt

Sunday, November 24, 2019

LInes

by Roberta Beach Jacobson

circling seagulls
welcome sign
rusting into fall

The Buff-Rumped Thornbill

by Frances Roberts

Hidden by the leaf of a Red Olive Plum
a Buff-Rumped Thornbill
sends a high wisp of song
into open forest.
A piping voice calls back
from Lane Cove Valley below.

Praying Mantis

by Lucy Zhang

There’s a Mantis
in the middle
of Wolfe Road
raptorial forelegs folded
not praying but
waiting.
How did the butterfly
fall victim
when all it needed to do
was complete an upstroke
in a lift-producing vortex
and tumble
through the sky?
But the Mantis stalked,
struck out, tore off
extraneous Bushbrown wings
and held the butterfly close
like it’d never
let go.

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Light and shade

by Lillian Good

Kookaburras
mark the changing light.
In-between, dark flies buzz
interferingly over red dust
sprinkled with dung.

Sunday, November 17, 2019

Route 109

by Tom Lagasse

Wandering through the Litchfield Hills
In his battered red Chevy Malibu
Its odometer nearly tipping to 100K
Li Bai drunk from one too many
with his friends at the GW Tavern
pulls his car to the shoulder
Near Sunny Ridge Road.
On the back of an envelope
From an unpaid bill he scratches:

The mist rests
on the pines
above
as they lean
with the weight
of Route 109.

Over the Lake

by Ray Greenblatt

Winds scour Marsh Creek Lake
and rip at stray stone walls
no longer knowing what
they kept out or in.
          Myth has it that fish
          lie on the bottom
          disguised as mud balls.
                   Trees have dropped all their
                   summer camouflage.

Four old crows each on
brittle tree branch
talk things over in
their raspy argot.
          Fox out of its den
          forages for short time
          before snowflakes whirl.
                    Tomorrow lake surface
                    might be walkable.

(Corn) Husk In The Wind

by Randall Rogers

It's true in the end ashes do look best.
Or the new beautiful
compressed-bone art deco white oval
I saw advertised on TV the other day.
Creamy it looked like a bar of Dove soap.
A large burial mushroom pod
where your remains sprout
new fungi (or fun-guys!), perhaps? Heh-heh
So many options,
so much to look forward to
getting old, croaking, and being buried in
the quaint little cemetery
around the church
of the small town
on the prairie
in southern Minnesota
where all the farms
are neat and orderly
and there are towns
like Truman
where industrious Germans and Swedes
mow their lawns on Sunday
now that weed's legal
and there's decent internet
it's okay to live there.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

ebb tide

by Martha Landman

last night the moon was in your hair
but the day is vast around us now
the horizon further away
islands and mountains hold
the infinity of this place
the ocean peels away from the shore
large circles of brown and blue
thin layers of water lying still, a flat bed
we walk on the ocean floor
a white-bellied sea eagle swoops
a fiddler’s bow playing Spiegel im Spiegel
but last night the moon was in your hair   

Sunday, November 10, 2019

Lines

by Christina Chin

cormorant dives
Li River's starlit water
an oar pauses

Prodigious Plumes

by Suzanne Cottrell

Dragon’s Breath proclaims its presence                                         
spreads burgundy streaked, olive foliage
presents its fiery bouquet of
feathery crimson blooms
hints of spicy fragrance
dominates floral landscape
summer through autumn

Lines

by Christina Chin

dawn light
filters into the teacups
Mulu Caves canopy

Friday, November 8, 2019

November 8, 2019
7.02 a.m.
29 degrees

by John Stanizzi

Panoplied in cold, fall has charred the entire landscape, as memories 
overtake my thoughts – visions of dragonfly days,
     and on the first morning the
notification by the great blue heron on the
     far side of the pond that the
dawns ahead would be filled with myriad marvels; he was right.



Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Consider This

by Mary Innes

Consider how it is
    we eat the air:
Sunlight touches green,
turning spirit into matter,
becoming us
who breathe our spirits back to air.

Consider how the grasses' green
becomes our skin, our heart, our hair.
Carbon marries light
and we appear.

Sunday, November 3, 2019

Lines

by Padmini Krishnan

Chilly night
Redwood tree absorbs
all the moon

Nightfall at Minnamurra

by Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad

At the foot of Minnamurra Falls
the maples heave in the gale,
wind drawing applause
rich with sudden confetti,
whirling bushels
of umber, gold, sienna.

the trees arch skyward,
upper reaches shorn
as the windstorm shuffles away,
balm of autumn night
settles eggshell, tranquil,
the forests of Illawarra
lit by a smudge of fireflies.

Lines

by Padmini Krishnan

Cold night
wind sings
to nesting pigeons

Saturday, November 2, 2019

Lines

by Carl Mayfield,

water bowl--
     bloated mouse
  lifting his head