by Susan N Aassahde,
billiard toast flock
cask sneaker
tambourine peak hunt
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Sunday, November 24, 2019
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
and on the first morning the
notification by the great blue heron on the
far side of the pond that 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.
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
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.
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.
