Jacaranda Tree, Los Angeles

by Alice Campbell Romano

after last night’s rain
jacaranda nearly bare
bark gray brown
grass a lavender stain

June Evening, Garden Valley, Idaho

by Yash Seyedbagheri

Ponderosa pines rise

in black shadows

cabins through the groves

lights faint and yellow

a moon 96% full, shines luminous 

in a pale blue sky with clouds colored pink and gray

Down Holiday Drive

lavender shadows glow in distant eastern hills

Midnight in Suriname

by Joshua Fagan

The silver lake leaps
Into a spotted frog’s mouth.
Ripples grow and fade.

Cicada

by Mary McCormack

red-eyed cicada
struggles up blades of grass--then flies,
suddenly graceful

Hummingbird

by Carol Casey

bringer of joy
ruby throated
in magenta lupines
wings invisible
now here, now there
now gone.

Lines From North Hutchinson Island

by Andrew Hutto

A bowl of roseate spoonbills stir when the
lagoon wakes shutter the mangrove forest.

Marsh rabbits and stone crabs
hide in sandy burrows.

Nettle

by Sarah-Jane Crowson

The hollow road’s all snarled with thorns,
fringed with stinging plants, the path
lost in hundred-eyed branches, where roots
are claws, knitting floors of speedwell, bluebell,
stitchwort, nettle, wren, dock, buttercup,
vipers bugloss, thrush, goosegrass, dock
nettle, dock, nettle.

Rose-breasted Grosbeak

by Diane Sahms

As if every sound has its own shape, purpose.
His song, distilled. His black-hooded head
& brilliant semi-circle of red, with a leaky
valve extending down the middle of a white breast
& satin black wings with patches of white highlights
& this sacred space—his rambling song & sharp
rhythmic tweets—then in silence—there’s
emptiness—to enter, to become that silence,
ever changed

crow

by Trishita Das

crow blots itself into the skin of the sky,
crow pulls the smell of rot from corpses,
crow cackles into the night's blackness.

Lines

by Christina Chin

billowing red sails
in morning mists
Halong Bay

Scent of Almonds

by Padmini Krishnan

The spring moon melts
into a tree yellow butterfly
on the almond bush

Summer Savory

by Sarah-Jane Crowson

Summer Savory, lemon-spiced,

softer than Rosemary. Dark green

leaf-spears glow with oil.

Mercury claims dominion over this herb.

After Rain Herbs

by Ann Boaden

After rain herbs smell of themselves.
Cleared and crystalized with wet, they
skein away green down a summer roadside:
heft and sheen
of honey; quick red
of pepper; blue clean
langor of lavender.
Bruised
to balm.

Tsuchiyama - 50th station of the Tokaido Road by Utagawa Hiroshige (Kyoka version)

by James Bell

a violent rainstorm beats down
on four travellers who hasten

along their path in a defile
between the hills - the roofs

of the village can be glimpsed
further down - in the distance

profiles of summits - blue
mountains that spare the houses

from the storm soon to abate when
the mountains change to a brighter shade

'after summer rain'

by I.W.B.S. Sister Lou Ella Hickman

                         after summer rain
                     leaves in wind
              rustle like chimes
         in an old forest

Spring Morning

by Feston Altus

When the rain ends
Green buds speckle
The black spring oak
Two damp whitetail deer
step across a frostless stream.

Mist

by Saharsh Sateesh

Winter mist
chisels crevices
into Mount Shuksan.

Overjoy

by Randall Rogers

Tickle my fancy
deadly asp
for I enjoy
life knowing
I'm gonna die (death);
wisdom flees
from a surfeit
of security.
Hold your breath
until you turn
blue.

Sapir Whorf

by Ian McFarland

I can see the world,
just as clearly as
I am able to
describe it.
Balanos adds       
another shade of
meaning.
Marsh, fen, grove,
left to wonder
at the placement
of his oaks,
bunkered on the rise
among the wild grasses
by the river,
spry the wooded clearing.

Aha!

This will take some time.

A Florida Swamp

by John Grey

A solitary egret rides in
on a floating island.
Mangrove twine
sips brackish water.
Snake slithers through the tangle,
            upends a log
            of painted turtles.     

Now and then,
fish pop the surface
            Swamp, sleeping water.

A frog’s throat drums.

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