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Sunday, January 29, 2023

The Wild Swans At Island Park

by Bruce Morton

It is in winter they are most
Striking, white as the snow 
Set against the black water
Which will not freeze over.

Everything is framed in frozen
Branches and twigs brittle,
Furry with hoar frost coat.
They warm themselves there

Drifting in the stream fed
By hot springs, steam rising.
They have settled in, staid,
Regal in their curve and preen.

It is no wonder that they stay.
Should they now take wing
Belly and breast become ice
Bringing them fast to ground.

Wednesday, January 25, 2023

Cuckoo's song

by Ram Chandran

from morning
following me everywhere-
this cuckoo's song

a cuckoo's song
answering 
a distant cuckoo's song

banyan tree-
a cuckoo's song lengthens
through aerial roots

cuckoo's songs 
in sync with
monsoon rains

Sunday, January 22, 2023

Lines

by Joshua St. Claire

trash trucks
the clutter clatter
of capitalism

Lines

by Douglas J. Lanzo

pressed black tea
tannins of peat
stain sea bay

Lines

by Nancy Scott McBride

busy intersection-
sitting by the side of the road
LAZY BOY lounge chair

Saturday, January 21, 2023

Lines

by Chen-ou Liu

clean coal billboard ...
a fork-tongued thought 
darkens the night

Wednesday, January 18, 2023

Excerpts from the Book of Suns

by Kevin Maus

1. There is no burn-out, only banquet.
2. Peace of mind is of horizon; waking and setting suns play upon this plain. We fulfill these
suns.
3. Banners of light filling the sea: God's army. Sentinels of light that burn in unfailing worship.
4. Look to it: the bared heart above is so much of the kingdom within.
5. There is an absence in beauty—this is calling home.
7. Omniscience is forgiveness.
8. Larger than any want so, larger than any despair.
9. To what do you genuflect? —92 million miles away is the altar to which I bow; which is but a
tabernacle to the true Host.
10. “Because it's there”, is the refrain in view of the mountain; so much better in view of a blade
of grass.
11. Let it roll, laughingly bright. Halos for holy fools.
12. It's alone like I am alone. In its remove it seems as though its face is turned, pondering
infinities—perhaps looking upon a sun of its own. But even with its face turned, its light is one
unbound.
13. There is sleep in it, dream even. “Return to the source.” It is all just a wayfaring of return.
14. A bird on its perch brighter than all thought; an iris in which are outdone all worlds. Where
else do we look? Why else do we look?
15. Even at the lowest hour, light lays about like an indisputable wealth.
20. The sun wrecks like a sacrifice upon the sea everyday: a marveling emptiness that makes me
long for home.
24. It's there, it hasn't aged—unfolded from the velvet lining of my travel bag (blue-black-green
gun-oil velvet). I draw the charm forth anytime, to warm myself with it.
25. It's there despite me. It burns eras away like a traveler gazing into his night's fire. It stops
every mouth. It stops every mouth of Human Being: Thank God—the Silence: its most utopian
potential.
28. Energy enough to power a body til the end of the earth; or enough for a soul to carry it into
the dark.
29. Vigilant: I watching it, it watching me; and it alone is escaped to tell thee.
30. It smiles upon me, eliciting my own: a smile alike to that which comes when watching a
child who is free at play. With an ease it comes, with a knowing ease it comes over us.
31. My friend, always waiting where I know to find; with nothing said, we accompany each
other in the thought: there is a light up ahead.
33. It burns there on my cell wall—and none can see that which I stare at all day, gratitude
bleeding across my face. I'm unable to help them understand.
34. A light which the darkness cannot see. An irreducible flint to strike alive at anytime—
marking the dark with dendritic, firework bursts; putting holes in the false-backed abyss.
35. I can't take it with me, for it is already up ahead waiting for me.
36. Honeysuckle amber, skyward fall. Tending the fire—a mere watcher.
37. “Out there,” only those wishing to get to it say that it is. I know that it is here, and worship as
such.
38. Bonfire of twilight. Dayend pyre to the genius of the sun. —It burns with the work of the
world.
39. In the shooting gallery of the eye: here I love to endlessly fire into its glorious void.
40. The temple steps are time.
41. An ache of loneliness yet in its glory: the loneliness being the end it contains.

Sunday, January 15, 2023

Route, Root

by Morouje Sherif

Davids’ in Providence, smothered in maple leaves.
Soaking in the rusted moonlight, probably eating an In-N-Out double cheeseburger.
Volcanic rust, the cold is in colour, sheltered.
The cannonballs in place of your eyeballs, I’m sure—
God, I should drop my torch.

Wednesday, January 11, 2023

Lines

by John Grey

December twilight
stand of naked chestnut oaks
erased by darkness

Lines

by Phil Huffy

the old orchard
few apples
many memories

Lines

by Chen-ou Liu

late night walk home ...
the distance between me
and a stray

Sunday, January 8, 2023

The Belt of Venus

by Marisa Frasca

The Belt of Venus generously lifts
above the horizon just before sunrise,
the sky awash
in pearlescent-pink luster
at the bottom of every war.

In the presence of Earth’s unbroken curve,
the great blue heron feeds in the marsh
and whistler swans build nest bowls
of aquatic grasses and sledges
among the industrial pipes 
leaking at sunset.

Wednesday, January 4, 2023

there are men i hate with the whole dark country of my heart

by Dan Leach

there are men i hate with the whole dark country of my heart
men like wolves for whom kindness smells like blood
men with souls like the ice at the bottom of the world
watch their mouths and wait for something true
all that spills out is grey hatred and falsehoods
the lowness of fools made brave over time
they crush bodies for money
they crush bodies for free
if you are civil with these men
they twist civility into labyrinths
if you go to war with these men
they say thank you 
then grind your children into dust

i got so weary I had to ask the holy ghost
what are we to do with such men
he said there is nothing to do
except to suffer and to dream 
he said you must suffer them until you see 
the old earth rolled up like a scroll
then you must carry that vision inside you like a secret
i asked if maybe there was some other door 
an exit kept hidden all these years
but the holy ghost said no
he said beware they are devils, these men 
and if you think you can escape them
then you know nothing about their reach
this is their empire and they cover it like the wind

Sunday, January 1, 2023

I want to focus on light,

by Susan Vespoli

not grief, not the gut clench that startles, 
shows up first in the solar plexus, 
then spreads to the heart and lungs to stifle
breath.    No.    I want to focus on the soft 

underbelly of birds, how they are cupped-palm-
sized,    feathered,    backlit by morning light, 
how the wings stretch and soar like Blue Angel 
jets above my head       if I remember to look up.