by Adam Levon Brown
Pliant grass bends with the softened wind
and submerges sorrow with the blackened
soil of faith and healing
Dwarf’s Beard lichen soothes the bones
of pain and whisks away phantoms of
night-molded loneliness
Palpable minnow-shine supplants
misery with Pine memories in essences
of elation and delight
Love permeates the broken twilight
of sadness and overwhelms the heart
with everlasting fortitude
Feathers of a Blue-Jay pirouette
down into the pond in renaissance fashion,
creating ripples of satisfaction
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Favoured Island
by Joanna M. Weston
a ferry sails into harbour
on its reflection
while mountains
rise into burning skies
and Douglas firs shake
cones on our heads
farm-stands litter
the winding roads
where crags reach
to tidal points
and bundled roses
open gates built
out of driftwood
for a tourist Canon
a ferry sails into harbour
on its reflection
while mountains
rise into burning skies
and Douglas firs shake
cones on our heads
farm-stands litter
the winding roads
where crags reach
to tidal points
and bundled roses
open gates built
out of driftwood
for a tourist Canon
The Catch of the Day
by Matthew David Laing
Acidic falling drops of concentrated
reptilian poison, splurging over tinted
glass windshields, wipers
melting and sticking like chewing gum.
The metal doors warp and buckle,
a child screaming from the back seat.
Geysers of waste and plastic
toppling over onto acres of sturdy pine,
filling the soil with chemicals, rot
and fusion of the environment with human
venom and excrement.
Once an uncharted emerald and sapphire vastness,
is home to the seagulls stooping over
the salty sea to the east – the fishing trolleys
lay silent and empty to the west, waiting
for the century’s catch of the day.
Acidic falling drops of concentrated
reptilian poison, splurging over tinted
glass windshields, wipers
melting and sticking like chewing gum.
The metal doors warp and buckle,
a child screaming from the back seat.
Geysers of waste and plastic
toppling over onto acres of sturdy pine,
filling the soil with chemicals, rot
and fusion of the environment with human
venom and excrement.
Once an uncharted emerald and sapphire vastness,
is home to the seagulls stooping over
the salty sea to the east – the fishing trolleys
lay silent and empty to the west, waiting
for the century’s catch of the day.
Silent Circles
by Emily Strauss
i.
the Redtail hawk is hardly seen against the cliff
wings held stiff for the up-drafts, only his shadow
circles over us, we duck and flinch instinctively
ii.
the moon is voiceless yet we denote by design
a female presence, pale, wan, fragile, a distant
ideal circling at night, a ghost in gauzy dress
iii.
the field sprayer turns around the center well
once a day, wheels pass silently, herds of deer
arrive at dusk to lick droplets from the alfalfa
iv.
dark black vultures, a kettle, slowly pass over
ready to slip lower, testing the state of a vole
lying under sage, bloody teeth marks dripping
i.
the Redtail hawk is hardly seen against the cliff
wings held stiff for the up-drafts, only his shadow
circles over us, we duck and flinch instinctively
ii.
the moon is voiceless yet we denote by design
a female presence, pale, wan, fragile, a distant
ideal circling at night, a ghost in gauzy dress
iii.
the field sprayer turns around the center well
once a day, wheels pass silently, herds of deer
arrive at dusk to lick droplets from the alfalfa
iv.
dark black vultures, a kettle, slowly pass over
ready to slip lower, testing the state of a vole
lying under sage, bloody teeth marks dripping
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Sunday, May 20, 2018
"Out of the sunset light"
by Margarita Serafimova,
Out of the sunset light,
a brown flame arose.
A falcon placed herself above her hunger.
Out of the sunset light,
a brown flame arose.
A falcon placed herself above her hunger.
Fragile Thing
by Lynda McKinney Lambert
Before daylight
lone black crow lands on swaying tree tops
high above rushing waters of the creek
crow’s voice hollers out
sharp staccato jabs, high-pitched notes
mingled with swift moving water
Canadian geese
build nests on flat rocks
beside a torrent of white-water
near Rhododendron bushes
super stars, each of them
magnificent blooming wall of flowers
before dawn this morning
Life happens slowly
like growth of lavender-pink
Rhododendron blossoms
smallest details
hundreds of them
wide open
everything in sync
a fragile thing.
Before daylight
lone black crow lands on swaying tree tops
high above rushing waters of the creek
crow’s voice hollers out
sharp staccato jabs, high-pitched notes
mingled with swift moving water
Canadian geese
build nests on flat rocks
beside a torrent of white-water
near Rhododendron bushes
super stars, each of them
magnificent blooming wall of flowers
before dawn this morning
Life happens slowly
like growth of lavender-pink
Rhododendron blossoms
smallest details
hundreds of them
wide open
everything in sync
a fragile thing.
Heron Mathematica
by Michael Medler
If you've strayed
too close to the coterminous
of rock, of river, a chaos
of green water may pull
you in. You may crack
the ragged plane of air.
The heron will loop
down, though, a cosine
arc drawn on a silver
of sky. He will
save you; the parallels
of his slender legs
withstand the flood.
Step back and stop.
If you've strayed
too close to the coterminous
of rock, of river, a chaos
of green water may pull
you in. You may crack
the ragged plane of air.
The heron will loop
down, though, a cosine
arc drawn on a silver
of sky. He will
save you; the parallels
of his slender legs
withstand the flood.
Step back and stop.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Sand Dunes
--from “The Snow Man," Wallace Stevens
by Emily Strauss
One should have the mind of water
to understand the Bitter River (Amargosa)
as it sinks into the wash and reappears
eleven miles downstream under willows
half hidden from the sun, avoiding sand dunes
and tracks of vehicles that climb like lizards.
The mind of water feels the heat of evaporating
pools, a constriction of mud, a thickening
into dirt as the river digs through hidden
channels underground, seeping, dripping
in cracks, lightless cavities it has forged
where we see only dry beds carved against
sandstone during rare summer floods. Then it
tires of hiding and pours for ten minutes, the mind
of water a living memory of rushing angst
in its haste to prove that bitter was only a lack
of momentum and rain is the shimmering soul
of water revealed once a year under black clouds.
One should have the mind of water
to understand the Bitter River (Amargosa)
as it sinks into the wash and reappears
eleven miles downstream under willows
half hidden from the sun, avoiding sand dunes
and tracks of vehicles that climb like lizards.
The mind of water feels the heat of evaporating
pools, a constriction of mud, a thickening
into dirt as the river digs through hidden
channels underground, seeping, dripping
in cracks, lightless cavities it has forged
where we see only dry beds carved against
sandstone during rare summer floods. Then it
tires of hiding and pours for ten minutes, the mind
of water a living memory of rushing angst
in its haste to prove that bitter was only a lack
of momentum and rain is the shimmering soul
of water revealed once a year under black clouds.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Sakura
by Deanie Roman
Cherry blossoms fall from the trees.
Petals, confetti-like flutter on the breeze.
Faded pink, edged with brown; wind-scattered across the ground.
Ribbons of blossoms dress the street; transforms the gutter at my feet.
Cherry blossoms fall from the trees.
Petals, confetti-like flutter on the breeze.
Faded pink, edged with brown; wind-scattered across the ground.
Ribbons of blossoms dress the street; transforms the gutter at my feet.
Slide Effects
The Blue Mountains, NSW Australia
by Stefanie Bennett
I hang my hat where
the oxygen’s lean
and cows
come home
in single file...
where nothing’s out
to prove a thing
but the believing
that’s behind
the green gate.
I hang my hat where
the oxygen’s lean
and cows
come home
in single file...
where nothing’s out
to prove a thing
but the believing
that’s behind
the green gate.
Sunday, May 6, 2018
Japanese Crow
by Deanie Roman
Crow looms on a wire,
watches, waits,
and menaces
passers-by;
his caw strident.
Crow looms on a wire,
watches, waits,
and menaces
passers-by;
his caw strident.
Osprey Fishing
by Wesley D. Sims
An osprey soars in circles migrating
up the cove, bright white underside
gleaming in the sun. It spies movement,
begins descending in a cone spiraling down
twenty yards until it clarifies the target,
draws in brown-barred wings and plunges
head down, accelerating as it dives.
Hits the water head first cratering plumes
outward, quickly pumps its wet wings
against the water to lift off straight up,
grasping a bass in its talons. It rises
fifty feet aiming toward the tree line.
Its reward wriggles, struggles to escape
the sharp claws as the osprey continues
its ascent and lights a high sycamore limb,
pinning its prey while it begins to dissect
the fresh meal with its curved eagle beak.
An osprey soars in circles migrating
up the cove, bright white underside
gleaming in the sun. It spies movement,
begins descending in a cone spiraling down
twenty yards until it clarifies the target,
draws in brown-barred wings and plunges
head down, accelerating as it dives.
Hits the water head first cratering plumes
outward, quickly pumps its wet wings
against the water to lift off straight up,
grasping a bass in its talons. It rises
fifty feet aiming toward the tree line.
Its reward wriggles, struggles to escape
the sharp claws as the osprey continues
its ascent and lights a high sycamore limb,
pinning its prey while it begins to dissect
the fresh meal with its curved eagle beak.
blue river
by Michael Estabrook
The golden eagle swoops down,
the sun blazing off its wings,
lands beside
the blue river, and watches me
with one black immobile eye
as I stand alone
on the bank and fish.
The golden eagle swoops down,
the sun blazing off its wings,
lands beside
the blue river, and watches me
with one black immobile eye
as I stand alone
on the bank and fish.
Sunday, April 29, 2018
Roots That Bind
by Gary Beck
Barely planted deep enough,
the aged sycamore trees
of Bryant Park
shed their leaves,
compelled by winter
to stand bare limbed.
They are not embarrassed
by nudity,
neither hoping nor despairing
for new leaves in Spring.
Barely planted deep enough,
the aged sycamore trees
of Bryant Park
shed their leaves,
compelled by winter
to stand bare limbed.
They are not embarrassed
by nudity,
neither hoping nor despairing
for new leaves in Spring.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Untitled
by Stephen A. Rozwenc
it’s so stifling hot here
in this fashionable extermination dome
we’ve so neatly constructed
New England’s spring wild flowers
are blooming 3 weeks earlier
but the cross-pollinators
those visionary bees birds insects
and butterflies et al
have not arrived yet
to seed
each vivid pistil
with another generation’s
stamen lush clarity
maybe if we try feeling as deeply as they
before they’re greenhouse gassed
like Jews
in a Nazis death camp
we won’t lose them
it’s so stifling hot here
in this fashionable extermination dome
we’ve so neatly constructed
New England’s spring wild flowers
are blooming 3 weeks earlier
but the cross-pollinators
those visionary bees birds insects
and butterflies et al
have not arrived yet
to seed
each vivid pistil
with another generation’s
stamen lush clarity
maybe if we try feeling as deeply as they
before they’re greenhouse gassed
like Jews
in a Nazis death camp
we won’t lose them
Sunday, April 22, 2018
The Cranium is Crammed
by Randall Rogers
Full of
nonsense lies
wit that spies
subterfuge
in guise
of truth.
That lays
bare remorse
upon redress
old wounds
sharp healing
knowing
no quarter
no loss
unfounded
non-grounded
none-the-less
cocksure
farm working
the Earth.
Persevering
naturally
pesticide-free
low-input
no till
soil microbe
menagerie
'til the end.
Full of
nonsense lies
wit that spies
subterfuge
in guise
of truth.
That lays
bare remorse
upon redress
old wounds
sharp healing
knowing
no quarter
no loss
unfounded
non-grounded
none-the-less
cocksure
farm working
the Earth.
Persevering
naturally
pesticide-free
low-input
no till
soil microbe
menagerie
'til the end.
Lunar eclipse, Adelaide 2001
by EJ Shu
beckon the penumbra
keel with a practised lean
into the graving dock
imitate delay
hang the tidal thesis
on the lowlight blocks
between spring and neap
flush iodine to redden the reaped fields
sing the willie wagtail
into the rare hot night
that ever-weathering silks the fine fraction
that ions drape the old surface
that dark mantling stains
the face of the regolith
like dogs’ tears
beckon the penumbra
keel with a practised lean
into the graving dock
imitate delay
hang the tidal thesis
on the lowlight blocks
between spring and neap
flush iodine to redden the reaped fields
sing the willie wagtail
into the rare hot night
that ever-weathering silks the fine fraction
that ions drape the old surface
that dark mantling stains
the face of the regolith
like dogs’ tears
Standing in the Woods Full of Winter
by M.J. Iuppa
Hard to forget the past when you
find yourself standing in a clearing
cribbed by black walnut trees
and fresh snow.
Cold air wakes trivial matters
lodged in your mind.
How strange— the sift of snow
caught between bars of light
ignites what you were so eager
to keep to yourself—
the unspooling of horses
galloping across an open pasture . . .
Gone, again.
Hard to forget the past when you
find yourself standing in a clearing
cribbed by black walnut trees
and fresh snow.
Cold air wakes trivial matters
lodged in your mind.
How strange— the sift of snow
caught between bars of light
ignites what you were so eager
to keep to yourself—
the unspooling of horses
galloping across an open pasture . . .
Gone, again.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Crow and Goose
by Linda Gamble
Sentinel crow, caws
into the March air
from atop a towering
naked oak.
Winter - spring sun
reflects its promise
off the lake below,
a lone goose paddles
against the wind through
shimmering ripples.
Crow caws
goose honks
crow caws
goose honks
crow caws
goose honks
Sentinel crow, caws
into the March air
from atop a towering
naked oak.
Winter - spring sun
reflects its promise
off the lake below,
a lone goose paddles
against the wind through
shimmering ripples.
Crow caws
goose honks
crow caws
goose honks
crow caws
goose honks
Double Suns
by Heather Saunders Estes
Another smoke-filled sunrise,
the ball, fuchsia red.
Below, a trick reflection in the Bay,
another sun,
squat like a lump of red bean paste
but hot-eyed and wavering.
Another smoke-filled sunrise,
the ball, fuchsia red.
Below, a trick reflection in the Bay,
another sun,
squat like a lump of red bean paste
but hot-eyed and wavering.
New Hampshire Morning
by John Grey
Black bear snug in tree fork,
morning sun gilds its fur tips,
turns a fluttering nose to amber.
Crows line the upper oak branch.
Blue jays spread the word -
corvids present - such as they are themselves
chickadee awareness descends in notes.
A solitary cooper's hawk
scours the waking trails for meadow mice.
A groundhog stands on granite soap box.
His mate nibbles the grass nearby.
A rabbit, the whole world to fear,
skitters into nearby brush.
It's spring. Rivers bulge with snowmelt.
Current flings fish into the air.
A great blue heron stalks
the outskirts of a beaver pond.
A chipmunk squeaks, red squirrel chatters.
Maple, poplar, blush with new green.
A vulture keeps a quiet watch for death.
Wart-headed turkeys sway their chest beards.
Nature, unattended, embraces dawn.
Black bear snug in tree fork,
morning sun gilds its fur tips,
turns a fluttering nose to amber.
Crows line the upper oak branch.
Blue jays spread the word -
corvids present - such as they are themselves
chickadee awareness descends in notes.
A solitary cooper's hawk
scours the waking trails for meadow mice.
A groundhog stands on granite soap box.
His mate nibbles the grass nearby.
A rabbit, the whole world to fear,
skitters into nearby brush.
It's spring. Rivers bulge with snowmelt.
Current flings fish into the air.
A great blue heron stalks
the outskirts of a beaver pond.
A chipmunk squeaks, red squirrel chatters.
Maple, poplar, blush with new green.
A vulture keeps a quiet watch for death.
Wart-headed turkeys sway their chest beards.
Nature, unattended, embraces dawn.
Sunday, April 8, 2018
Lines
by Denny E. Marshall
streams and rivers black
forest dark barren wasteland
dressed for funeral
streams and rivers black
forest dark barren wasteland
dressed for funeral
Friday Morning
—for Ryllis of St. Kitts
by Michael H. Brownstein
Come. Today, clear fishing and day bright,
morning sun strong breath and fresh light.
My friend, here's a paw paw and water nut for you.
Morning comes in crowing. Milky milky. Love vine. Bamboo.
Everything a ripe breadfruit and sugar cane together,
lime, palm leaf, a shadow of heather.
Silence in the ocean with large birds of prey,
one by one the lamps tickle out across the bay.
Now is the time, my love, time for waking,
time for praying, time for telling, time for baking.
Come. Today, a clear start and day bright,
early o’clock, strong breath and fresh light.
Come. Today, clear fishing and day bright,
morning sun strong breath and fresh light.
My friend, here's a paw paw and water nut for you.
Morning comes in crowing. Milky milky. Love vine. Bamboo.
Everything a ripe breadfruit and sugar cane together,
lime, palm leaf, a shadow of heather.
Silence in the ocean with large birds of prey,
one by one the lamps tickle out across the bay.
Now is the time, my love, time for waking,
time for praying, time for telling, time for baking.
Come. Today, a clear start and day bright,
early o’clock, strong breath and fresh light.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Drought
by Carl Mayfield
Brittle locust leaves
bitten by frost, taking on
uneven shades of gray, rust,
black and brown, assembling
where the wind lays down,
the smallest breeze bringing
the voice of decay to life.
Brittle locust leaves
bitten by frost, taking on
uneven shades of gray, rust,
black and brown, assembling
where the wind lays down,
the smallest breeze bringing
the voice of decay to life.
Road To Thimpu
by Jagari Mukherjee
Cherry trees on the road
To Thimpu
In Himalaya spring
Lose count of the syllables
In uphill rocks
Under the moon
Colored scotch.
Cherry trees on the road
To Thimpu
In Himalaya spring
Lose count of the syllables
In uphill rocks
Under the moon
Colored scotch.
Fanfare and Ballyhoo
by Lynda Lambert
final snowfall
advises slow-moving changes
floating, spiralling, dancing
whispering progression
hardy wet quiescent branches
undressed false acacia
fast-growing tree
black locust takes
a long nap
in rural woodlands
anticipating sunshine
after final snowfall
soft warm rain, new growth
fragrant clusters swagger
spring blossoms flourish
white, pink or purple attire
welcome the new season of
fanfare and ballyhoo.
final snowfall
advises slow-moving changes
floating, spiralling, dancing
whispering progression
hardy wet quiescent branches
undressed false acacia
fast-growing tree
black locust takes
a long nap
in rural woodlands
anticipating sunshine
after final snowfall
soft warm rain, new growth
fragrant clusters swagger
spring blossoms flourish
white, pink or purple attire
welcome the new season of
fanfare and ballyhoo.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Watching the Skies
by Juliet Wilson
Every summer
swifts
silhouette the sky
swoop-soaring
dance-diving
but now
the sky is emptying.
I'm getting older.
Maybe it's just my eyes.
That's right.
It must be
just my eyes.
Every summer
swifts
silhouette the sky
swoop-soaring
dance-diving
but now
the sky is emptying.
I'm getting older.
Maybe it's just my eyes.
That's right.
It must be
just my eyes.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
Nevada Mind
by Karla Linn Merrifield
I flick sere judgment on horned lizard tongue
wildness uncoils across great white basins.
I rattle a snake’s great desert tail
in the great ranges of sagebrush lines.
I, reptile, speak, coil the wild greatly.
I flick sere judgment on horned lizard tongue
wildness uncoils across great white basins.
I rattle a snake’s great desert tail
in the great ranges of sagebrush lines.
I, reptile, speak, coil the wild greatly.
Lines
by Lynda Lambert
crisp light at high noon
motionless blue spruce branches
soundless feathered wings
crisp light at high noon
motionless blue spruce branches
soundless feathered wings
Drought Wren
by David Chorlton
In the stopped breath after rain
a mountain pushes back
against the clouds
and a Red-tailed hawk is hanging
from the lowest one.
Among the clusters rooted in a wash
a gnatcatcher’s call
is an itch in the air, while the gloss
covering the ground
soaks slowly back
into a darkness shared
with all that lives beneath
the surface. Here, now, on this
last slope before the next
dry weeks, a Cactus wren
displays himself in light
that sprays from his feathers
as he fluffs them dry.
In the stopped breath after rain
a mountain pushes back
against the clouds
and a Red-tailed hawk is hanging
from the lowest one.
Among the clusters rooted in a wash
a gnatcatcher’s call
is an itch in the air, while the gloss
covering the ground
soaks slowly back
into a darkness shared
with all that lives beneath
the surface. Here, now, on this
last slope before the next
dry weeks, a Cactus wren
displays himself in light
that sprays from his feathers
as he fluffs them dry.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Traffic
by Juliet Wilson
The sky is pink with sunrise.
Headlights glare from cars
nose to tail in an endless traffic jam
known as the morning 'rush' hour.
On the Lagoons, oystercatchers gather,
pressed long red beak to white and black tail
calling and jumping then take off in a rush.
The sky is still pink with sunrise.
The sky is pink with sunrise.
Headlights glare from cars
nose to tail in an endless traffic jam
known as the morning 'rush' hour.
On the Lagoons, oystercatchers gather,
pressed long red beak to white and black tail
calling and jumping then take off in a rush.
The sky is still pink with sunrise.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Monet Paints the Blues
by Ben Rasnic
Smears of cloud
Blot the birdless
Canvas, splotches
Of cerulean, azure
Hover the suffering earth
& its indelible scars;
An old man
Crowned in a white
Straw hat
Barely discernible
In the high grass
Among the poplars.
Smears of cloud
Blot the birdless
Canvas, splotches
Of cerulean, azure
Hover the suffering earth
& its indelible scars;
An old man
Crowned in a white
Straw hat
Barely discernible
In the high grass
Among the poplars.
Shallow Roots
by Lisa M. Hase-Jackson
An Eastern Fox Squirrel
comes to visit the rogue sunflower
that popped up beneath the bird
feeder in my mother’s back yard,
picking out seeds to cache in his
cheeks, chattering at neighborhood
cats and black birds perching
in uncomfortable proximity.
They swoop down from the sky,
those birds, stirring up the Missouri
sky into a roiling summer storm,
their zephyr wings a vortex
of torrents and fulminations.
An Eastern Fox Squirrel
comes to visit the rogue sunflower
that popped up beneath the bird
feeder in my mother’s back yard,
picking out seeds to cache in his
cheeks, chattering at neighborhood
cats and black birds perching
in uncomfortable proximity.
They swoop down from the sky,
those birds, stirring up the Missouri
sky into a roiling summer storm,
their zephyr wings a vortex
of torrents and fulminations.
Florid Taos Haibun
by Karla Linn Merrifield
The hollyhocks are exuberant in their heliotropism
in Taos this June morning. Face on, eyeing in sun-warmed return,
the flagrant Bent St. botanicals— those papery blushing hussies,
those native Alcea setosa species in a chorus line of desire—
before my June yes; Mio sol turns morning a flower warmer.
Thunderclouds promise storm;
shadow disappears— I bloom
desert in pink.
The hollyhocks are exuberant in their heliotropism
in Taos this June morning. Face on, eyeing in sun-warmed return,
the flagrant Bent St. botanicals— those papery blushing hussies,
those native Alcea setosa species in a chorus line of desire—
before my June yes; Mio sol turns morning a flower warmer.
Thunderclouds promise storm;
shadow disappears— I bloom
desert in pink.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Blackwater Giants
by Suzanne Cottrell
Southern Bald Cypress, Redwood and Sequoia cousins
Towering 100 feet above black water swamp
Submerged roots outstretched, anchors secured
Bulbous trunks, buttressed for stability
Tree tops battered, flattened by Atlantic storms
Slow growth survivors draped in Spanish moss
Eastern mud turtles sunbathe on
Protruding gnarly knees
Warblers, wrens perched, hidden by
Vibrant cinnamon, bittersweet hued
Fronds of needle-like leaves
Shed in early autumn, deciduous conifers
Bared gray to rufous, ridged bark
Natural oils, repelled insects and decay
Hardy wood for Native American dugout canoes
Colonial planks, fences, furniture, shingles
Overharvested, few old growth stands remain
Sentinels along the Black Water River
Southern Bald Cypress, Redwood and Sequoia cousins
Towering 100 feet above black water swamp
Submerged roots outstretched, anchors secured
Bulbous trunks, buttressed for stability
Tree tops battered, flattened by Atlantic storms
Slow growth survivors draped in Spanish moss
Eastern mud turtles sunbathe on
Protruding gnarly knees
Warblers, wrens perched, hidden by
Vibrant cinnamon, bittersweet hued
Fronds of needle-like leaves
Shed in early autumn, deciduous conifers
Bared gray to rufous, ridged bark
Natural oils, repelled insects and decay
Hardy wood for Native American dugout canoes
Colonial planks, fences, furniture, shingles
Overharvested, few old growth stands remain
Sentinels along the Black Water River
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Southwest Pointillism
by Karla Linn Merrifield
This is the thorny issue. Pointed.
Everything is not a question, rude, cactus-pointy.
Destiny appears to keep our appointment
in New Mexico on U.S. Rt. 412 East at the Point
of Rocks’ turn-off, NMDOT sign pointing
north. This is the proper junction, pointless
to ignore at the noon-hour appointed
to sandstone, juniper, sage, pointedly
painted to reveal landscape’s point
of view, imprint of spirit, fossilized pinpoint
of relief.
This is the thorny issue. Pointed.
Everything is not a question, rude, cactus-pointy.
Destiny appears to keep our appointment
in New Mexico on U.S. Rt. 412 East at the Point
of Rocks’ turn-off, NMDOT sign pointing
north. This is the proper junction, pointless
to ignore at the noon-hour appointed
to sandstone, juniper, sage, pointedly
painted to reveal landscape’s point
of view, imprint of spirit, fossilized pinpoint
of relief.
decades of bitter winds
by Lynda Lambert
decades of bitter winds
whipped and thrashed
flagellated and whisked
the row of red barberry bushes
grasping thorny spines
blown towards the west
search the twilight for
last rays of winter light
dangling crimson berries quiver
thin branches poke out upwards
from buried roots
anchored deeply in cold-hardened soil
saturated with ruddy
frost-ravished leaves.
decades of bitter winds
whipped and thrashed
flagellated and whisked
the row of red barberry bushes
grasping thorny spines
blown towards the west
search the twilight for
last rays of winter light
dangling crimson berries quiver
thin branches poke out upwards
from buried roots
anchored deeply in cold-hardened soil
saturated with ruddy
frost-ravished leaves.
Springtime
by Holly Day
the river cracks awake in the middle of the night, sounds like something
falling inside the house, sounds like the dog/kid broke something. I get up
so that my husband doesn’t have to, stomp out into the living room
bathed in bright moonlight, see
the dog curled up by the front door, oblivious to whatever woke us up.
From the living room, I can hear more ice breaking off, feel the river waking up
pushing trapped branches and dead deer off to the side banks, determined
to become an unhindered body once more. From the bedroom, my husband asks
What’s going on, I don’t know where to start.
the river cracks awake in the middle of the night, sounds like something
falling inside the house, sounds like the dog/kid broke something. I get up
so that my husband doesn’t have to, stomp out into the living room
bathed in bright moonlight, see
the dog curled up by the front door, oblivious to whatever woke us up.
From the living room, I can hear more ice breaking off, feel the river waking up
pushing trapped branches and dead deer off to the side banks, determined
to become an unhindered body once more. From the bedroom, my husband asks
What’s going on, I don’t know where to start.
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Late Autumn
by Pepper Trail
The junipers stand like guttering green candles
among the half-naked, browning oaks
and from their tops, the solitaires call
back and forth across the valley
their calls the rusty, reluctant sound
of the old year turning toward winter
The junipers stand like guttering green candles
among the half-naked, browning oaks
and from their tops, the solitaires call
back and forth across the valley
their calls the rusty, reluctant sound
of the old year turning toward winter
Running Low
by Jacob Chung
I ventured
through the mountains
with my friends
for the entire week
I brought the car
back to the house
running on
fumes
I sincerely apologize
ocean blue skies
fresh spring air and lush greenery
were so beautiful
I ventured
through the mountains
with my friends
for the entire week
I brought the car
back to the house
running on
fumes
I sincerely apologize
ocean blue skies
fresh spring air and lush greenery
were so beautiful
Thursday, March 1, 2018
Evidence
by Jon Corle
All winter
they’ve been havin’ a party
under the driveway ice
a candy wrapper
gum
gold bottle cap
look away it’s razzmatazz
stare and it’s a still life
catch catch ‘em
All winter
they’ve been havin’ a party
under the driveway ice
a candy wrapper
gum
gold bottle cap
look away it’s razzmatazz
stare and it’s a still life
catch catch ‘em
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Four Images
by Pepper Trail
On the banks of the Saigon River, a Buddhist ceremony, the red-clad priest tipping fish from bright blue bins into the water, the worshippers bowing. Downstream, fishermen stub out cigarettes, walk to their boats.
Above the valley full of smoke, the meadow is done with summer, taking on texture of thick brocade, yellow, orange, and brown. An unseen solitaire gives his single call, again and again. A vulture crosses the blue sky, heading to California.
On the walls of the Iceland church, a gaunt old man, a puffin-catcher, raises his net toward half-painted birds. Below the cliffs outside, a boatload of visitors, all in orange, raise binoculars, gaze up at the puffins looking down.
The ship slides off a wave, strikes hard, shudders and booms. I wipe spray from my face, set my feet for the next rise and fall. Above, aloft, the albatross, white, trims his wings, turns toward Antarctica, and is gone.
