Lines

by John Hawkhead

winter sun
blue notes in a minor key
fresh snow

Outside Pignon Haiti

by Connor Orrico

as dusk settles
in Fontaine hamlet
the Equus bray

Lines

by Anannya Uberoi

an apple tree plunging,
the elm parroting,
a gamble of eggs

Melancholy

by M.J. Iuppa

This country air smells heavy
& strangely thick— green fumes of
cabbage— a whole field never picked, but
left to expose its demise, from a race of blue
caps swimming in an unexpected sea to
so many skulls bearing the grimace of
Pompeii— eyes raise to question
this field’s sour economy.

Seasons With Stone Lizard

by Terrence Sykes

upon my stone wall
lizard flashes rainbow tail
seasons come early

what do you forage
dandelions plucked for lunch
let us share this meal

verdant sunlight fades
clutching of oregano
spring rains bring flowers

willow branches dance
blackbird casts it mournful song
cross the fountain

summer comes too soon
lizard I call you my friend
flashing prism gleam

ginger blossoms soar
into star laden cosmos
dawn finds me hungry

rivers call my name
unspoken punctuation
where is my autumn

chestnut foliage
wild hive laden with honey
hidden in the lairs

where are you lizard
we have not talked as of late
dreams need to be told

mulberry charcoal
warms these freshly plucked peaches
drunk upon plum wine

clouds steeped silent hours
chrysanthemums shine brightly
like a pot of tea

lost in copse & groves
olive tree constellations
tea kettle simmers

stars fall from the sky
winter snow comes too early
fire pit keeps me warm

stone lizard stay warm
hibernate like a phoenix
resurrect come spring

Late April Evening, Garden Valley, Idaho

by Yash Seyedbagheri

At the end of Sunset Drive
where the road curves
pines rise
black shadows
sky a deep velvet
frogs calling
Venus shines
a waxing crescent moon above the trees
it is the last week of April

Green on Grey in Adelaide

by Martha Landman

Rain forced in by Antarctic winds
drenches pepper trees, oaks
and fern.
Lorikeets’ green, yellow and red
defy the sunless grey morning
until skies open to their screeches
and let blue slither through.

Morning

by Kathleen Brewin Lewis

Leaves of the banana tree,
gravid with fresh rain.
One touch, they spill their catch.
Green day born and baptized.

A Brief List of Brilliant Things

by Kathleen Brewin Lewis

Thin light of morning.
Aubade of the house wren,
aroma of magnolia. Spiderwebs,
brown hawk in the sky.
Green meadows dabbed
with violets. Ginkgo turning to gold.

Spray of waterfall. Hiss of goose.
The chatter of afternoon rain.
Jupiter and Venus in the sky
together, fireflies in the pines.
A path of silver moonlight
thrown down on the crumpled sea.

Lines

by JS Absher

early spring
lambs in the shadow
of a vulture's wing

Agalloch

by Kevin McGowan

bazaar of spices
stemming from musky heartwood

Zebra-Tailed Lizards

by Lynn Finger

Zebra-tailed lizards
skim
under buckled mesquite,
soft sounds
on dry river sand.

Gravity

by Michael Estabrook

the sky with all its blue
tumbling down through the branches and leaves
of the trees reaching
all the way to the ground.

Lines

by Elizabeth Sams

barn owl
in a crevice in the Douglas Fir
as dusk falls

Lines

by Luther Allen

single bloom
winter garden
the pearl moon

Lines

by Roberta Beach Jacobson

in the center
of the pasture
a lone tree of crows

Lines

by Susan N Aassahde

bramble platoon jazz
lemon twist
Kingfisher panic keg

tikkun olam

by Madison Zehmer

tell me again how seaweed aches for breath,
how the fawn cries out for its mother,
how snakes wrap around oak.

show me butterflies flattened on gravel,
crow innards eaten by vultures,
buzzards sleeping away guilt under willow trees.

tell me there is hope
in birds that still fly south for the winter,
in flowers that blossom from concrete,

in the scarred dirt you cradle in your hand
and then whisper back to earth.

Autumn Morning

by Ray Greenblatt

Marmalade moon
burns in mauve sky.
Cold frames filled
with gold Incan masks
as first sunlight fills trees.

Rainy Afternoon, Garden Valley, Idaho

by Yash Seyedbagheri

up and down Sunrise Drive
Garden Valley Idaho, hills rise and fall
dip and curve
a soft rain falls
light gray clouds above
a mist to the east

Lines

by Veronika Zora Novak

a monkey's hiss
that is not there . . .
dusk in bamboo

Lines

by Marilyn Dancing Deer Ward

Hawthorn hedge
deep in darkness
Dunnocks chirp

Patterns

by Ray Greenblatt

Crows on swaying wires
rule the early morning.
A stroke of gulls
against distant woods
across the Great Elk River.
Clouds move up the river,
tide now ebbing.
Trees shuffle in place
and wave branches in rhythm.
From the north Boreas
is the unseen
music maestro.
Like a sub-atomic particle
one moth defies plotting.

Unmeditated

by Stew Jorgenson

A robin has returned
with spring

as I sit here
this morning

not thinking
about it

just listening
to

the earth breathing
through me

taking each one in
and letting it go

waiting for another one
to return.

The Simplicity of Water

 by Colin James

It hardly ever seems under duress
just expands or contracts,
evaporates or condenses
at its environment's indulgence.
Patiently sorting out
its workload by category.

Crows

by Philip C.  Kolin

A cortège of black clouds,
They sweep acrosss
A frightened sky.

Gloom calls them
To a country of corpses--
Fouled air, red flares.

Trees with wild hair
Cannot hide or hush
Nestlings in their
Last taint of breath.

For most fallen
The duration of death
Is swift, a hunter's shot,
a bigger predator's spoil.

Pieces of flesh left behind
On highways or back roads
Waiting for these dark undertakers.

Over each they mutter
A one-syllable requiem
Before ravaging them.

Or carrying off
Pieces of flesh
To their aeries.
The wind goes silent.

Blank Look #7

by Carl Mayfield

the daffodils are back
with their version of the story

Early spring in the Blue Hills

by Lucy Chae

past the foothills where timber rattlesnakes
meander in fat, lazy lines
and dogwoods lie unblossomed,
the narrow clearings wither into thorn.
whitetails scramble farther,
breaking through the thickets,
snapping wispy branches
for a place still as clear as winter.

Lines

by Ron. Lavalette

high winds all night long
—mesmerizing lullaby—
first week of April

Lines

by Roberta Beach Jacobson

in the Maple trees
where winter was
spring

Lines

by Christina Chin

wind dies
a coconut branch snags
the bullfinch kite

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.

Lines

by Veronika Zora Novak

weeping
till we no longer dream . . .
winter koi

Lines

by Roberta Beach Jacobson

late December
shivering spirits
of the cornfields

Lines

by Padmini Krishnan

patch of blue
amongst dark clouds
the hidden hyacinth

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

Blank Look #819

by Carl Mayfield

      no post card
      can do it:
                   mountain peak
                   knowing where to stop

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.

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.

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.

Winter

by Craig Kennedy

Gregorian chant, burning wood,
the midnight blue Croton River
frozen thick and bittersweet,
congealed near Orchard Road.

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.

Lines

by Carl Mayfield

soaring raven painting the sky black

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.

Lines

by Susan N Aassahde

snow crumpet plaza
nettle mash
rain stalactite dentist

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.

Lines

by Christina Chin

desert superbloom
the call of skylark
sitting in the sun

Lines

by Veronika Zora Novak

shaped
by mountain fog . . .
a raven's caw

Lines

by Andre Le Mont Wilson

coyote darts
across Bear Creek Road
faces the sun

Ravens

by Walker Abel

At daybreak in desert
two ravens on rock
moon still up in west.

Hills wrinkled deep with shadow.
When the birds fly north
no one stays behind.