Category: column

A Summer Snowfall

There once was a young woman named Bega. She lived in England in a time before us, when the land stretched onwards for miles like a slow breath and the hills rolled quietly and the sea whispered its lullabies. She lived with her father amid tumbling hills and rumbling streams, where mountains touched the sky and valleys sank low.

When the Water and Sand Dance

shells washed by wave bubbles

When the water and sand dance, whence (whence?) their music? What is that music? What sense, what composition surfs itself in? Yes, the water — its bazillion droplets, the mini-jetsam line it etches. Yes, the sand — its gazillion granules, the sponging gauze-and-muslin of…

Unhinged

~ A Ghazal On the train to Rome, cigar smoke clouds my window; people eat mortadella and a porter sells gum and mints. I travel to a sacred place, discover a broken latch. In prayers of my own device, I have questions. We know…

As Forest

This was our territory once. Every lifetime our places and times of day diminish, but as long as food sources remain plentiful we will stay here and adapt — learning to cross carefully the hard grey roadways and the daylight hours, the noise and…

The Aegean and the Land

The warm air of the Aegean is a blanket wrapped around you. Life moves slowly and without any cares. Days stretch long like a yawn and nights are still and quiet. Here, in Greece, the heat of the day weighs your bones and makes your limbs heavy, pulling rest and sleep in to you naturally and peacefully. The ocean withdraws and then pushes forward to the land again and again like deep and dense breaths.

Daybook

abstract of yellow leaves and rippled water

Sunday — September clouds trail the hillsides, misty fingers and thighs Monday — pancakes a little burned, gold leaves spend all their luck on scent Tuesday — you, a splash of yellow – you, the sun in the brook, our legs twined like branches…

Josh

close up of curled leaves on twigs

Josh who once lived in this house “Josh!” I hear Dad call even before he’s standing. “Up!” he says, though he might have called, Josh! then, Fire! meaning, tend to the coal-stove. Up means move, boy. Downstairs he’s at the cooker rattling the gate,…

Folded Field Notes: MICROPLASTICS

plastic bottles floating on the Hudson River

Want to join us on a literary ecology adventure?

Low Tide

At low tide I walk the sandbar Far out to sea Out to islands Of gulls and cormorants Leaving distant dots of people on shore. Terns dart and swoop Sandpipers race the tide The sea breathes Each wave exhales into the next. Immersed in…

Wishbones Wins a National Award

We are thrilled to announce that Wishbones, haiku & senryu by Ben Moeller-Gaa with calligraphy by JS Graustein, has won The Haiku Foundation’s Touchstone Distinguished Book Award 2018. We would like to thank The Haiku Foundation for all they do to support English-language Japanese-form…