Crossing the Boundary

We set off from Stoney Middleton, the small Derbyshire village where Lover’s Leap stands tall and perilous, tales of rejected lovers jumping from the edge wafting in the air like the petticoats that saved them.   We see the grassy hill, edged by sheep, rise in front of us and we set off, only a…

I wonder what you see…

INVITATION: All art grows out of paying attention: in sight, sound, scent, taste & touch. You are invited to craft a written response (poetry or prose, 50 words or less) to the image and scene below:

43 Years

I was 43 before I saw swans in flight I was born      raised I loved was loved      am loved I carried life in my swollen belly           in my grateful arms I saw my parents face time with grace      and without grace I have painted seashells stood my ground danced terribly fought and won           and lost…

Elegy

Halfway down a plunging hill, out on a point at Sunshine, Dora Shepard’s sparkling house, foursquare, white, the finest kind, looks across the Thorofare. From this house, on clear days, you’d see sails, shoals, lobster boats, then blue-green water, all the way over to Isle au Haut. ©2018, 2013, 1997 by Ron Singer Previously published…

On Mill City Park

A group poem from Winni River Days, Franklin NH “It may be cloudy, but that’s okay. What a perfect, fun, wet day!” ~Con Partridge “It’s all about the company, the scenery, and the snacks!” ~Anonymous River days are the best days, flowing by without a care under unblinking skies. And these days — these Winni…

almond blossom ballet…

almond blossom ballet choreographed by delicate spring breeze ©2018 by Roberta Beach Jacobson Roberta Beach Jacobson is an American writer who spent most of her life in Europe. She tried retiring, but it didn’t work.

Coyotes

The coyotes are crying tonight. From across the creek Their wild howls Rise in the trees, Drift over rooftops Through open windows. Not far from our lawns and driveways Lies an ancient world, Of drought, hunger, fire and flood. Of open range and primal forest. The coyotes are watching Waiting To reclaim it. ©2018 by…

A Tall One

Upon my deck, a vodka poured up tall, I gaze out over my domain of green: An acre verdant wrapped in grassy shawl And sunset rain to add a glassy sheen. King Arthur with his table round and fair, Bright pennants on his soaring ivy walls, Could not compete with my beloved share Of backyard…

Kill Zone

Deer are still staying on their respective sides of the former Iron Curtain a quarter of a century after the electrified barbwire border fencing was removed at the end of the Cold War. ~ EARTHWEEK, 5 March 2014 The spotted fawn does not come near the scar in the land the motherland where under a…

Someone Lived Here

Someone lived here once. Someone, long forgotten, subdued this ground, stacking stone and wood and straw in rectangular constructions — a dwelling-place, with stable or cowshed. Someone beat back the yearly incursion of brambles and saplings to keep a vegetable garden or a chicken run; took venison, herbs and fuel from the ancient forest, and…

Of & To British Butterflies

The warming and dry. Not only those sands, the dunes heaped and rounded, but here. Where the umbrella serves as cover or cane, to gesture and point, left in the stand by the door, its folds with beads found between. And not. For: days and days and days of no rain and the open collar…

Longing

Today, the mirror stares at you. It stares at your lips, your red lips, your red red lips, your lips, red. Red like a cranberry. Red like the cardinal that perched on your windowsill yesterday, with the cocked head and clipped wing. He peered at you with his curious, seedy, black-bead eyes, and you considered…