by Christina Chin
wind dies
a coconut branch snags
the bullfinch kite
Sunday, March 29, 2020
After Bonnie
by José Stelle
Moon out and a forced lull.
No woozy waterspout
Dragging the fractured sea
To a dark rage.
The hacked, wrecked hulls
Heaped on the shore
Loom like whale bones
In a strange glow.
The well bottom is shorn
Of the fleece clouds.
Only some scattered planets
Make a pale show.
Across the water
The dock lights drown
In their own reflections.
All around, demented
Crickets scrape their wings off.
Moon out and a forced lull.
No woozy waterspout
Dragging the fractured sea
To a dark rage.
The hacked, wrecked hulls
Heaped on the shore
Loom like whale bones
In a strange glow.
The well bottom is shorn
Of the fleece clouds.
Only some scattered planets
Make a pale show.
Across the water
The dock lights drown
In their own reflections.
All around, demented
Crickets scrape their wings off.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Winter’s Afternoon, Garden Valley, Idaho
by Yash Seyedbagheri
Up Sunrise Drive
sun illuminates hills of white
air crisp and still
shadows of pine trees zigzag in leftover snow
road rises and dips and curves
Up Sunrise Drive
sun illuminates hills of white
air crisp and still
shadows of pine trees zigzag in leftover snow
road rises and dips and curves
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
Squirrel Selecting Bouquet
by Wesley D. Sims
A squirrel sits upright
on hind legs amid a patch
of lavender, lilies, and goldenrod
as though trying to select
a bouquet to pick and take home
to his out-of-sorts mate,
needing to make up
for his horrible habits
like hoarding the acorns,
leaving a mess of hulls
scattered around the house
and other irritable actions
constantly driving her nuts.
A squirrel sits upright
on hind legs amid a patch
of lavender, lilies, and goldenrod
as though trying to select
a bouquet to pick and take home
to his out-of-sorts mate,
needing to make up
for his horrible habits
like hoarding the acorns,
leaving a mess of hulls
scattered around the house
and other irritable actions
constantly driving her nuts.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Lake Morey
by Corey D. Cook
Red and white bobber pins the sky’s
reflection to the surface of the lake,
an expanse of light blue borrowed
from Sisley, crowded with schools
of clouds, their bellies round and ripe.
Red and white bobber pins the sky’s
reflection to the surface of the lake,
an expanse of light blue borrowed
from Sisley, crowded with schools
of clouds, their bellies round and ripe.
Blank Look #302
by Carl Mayfield
Standing on the escarpment,
city pollution at eye level.
In the valley below fossil fuels
are pushing their weight around.
Standing on the escarpment,
city pollution at eye level.
In the valley below fossil fuels
are pushing their weight around.
Winter
by Craig Kennedy
Gregorian chant, burning wood,
the midnight blue Croton River
frozen thick and bittersweet,
congealed near Orchard Road.
Gregorian chant, burning wood,
the midnight blue Croton River
frozen thick and bittersweet,
congealed near Orchard Road.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
Overwinter
by Kathryn Ganfield
Canada geese break their vee
into a sine curve.
Four lag behind, beating hard to regain the flock
that wends northeast on a winter afternoon.
Geese or ganders, identical,
whether near or far.
Wings a gauntlet gray,
heads stretched and black like asps.
In the air,
bright and ceaseless honks,
capped only by a downy woodpecker,
its head a slice of Red Delicious.
Knocking, knocking,
rapping, bashing.
Not too loosen insects, but because
this is the only song they sing.
Canada geese break their vee
into a sine curve.
Four lag behind, beating hard to regain the flock
that wends northeast on a winter afternoon.
Geese or ganders, identical,
whether near or far.
Wings a gauntlet gray,
heads stretched and black like asps.
In the air,
bright and ceaseless honks,
capped only by a downy woodpecker,
its head a slice of Red Delicious.
Knocking, knocking,
rapping, bashing.
Not too loosen insects, but because
this is the only song they sing.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
City Street Performance
by M.J. Iuppa
This winter there will be
no winter—only snow
mixed with rain— the filthy
kind of slush that gets thick
in the smear of wheels
spinning around corners—
all vowels stick
as pedestrians arch
their backs & raise
their arms, like pigeons
dispatched—not
a moment too soon.
This winter there will be
no winter—only snow
mixed with rain— the filthy
kind of slush that gets thick
in the smear of wheels
spinning around corners—
all vowels stick
as pedestrians arch
their backs & raise
their arms, like pigeons
dispatched—not
a moment too soon.
Wednesday, March 4, 2020
Pima Canyon Sunday
by David Chorlton
Cactus wrens mark distance by their calls.
Winter sparrows come out
from seclusion, and the sun
is a spirit clock at noon.
The desert trail’s a pilgrim’s
way, where lizards cling to
the rocks and every
Curve-billed thrasher has a tiny Compostela
in the cactus where it makes a nest.
