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…

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…

becoming more

what a good thing to be young and to call the creek behind your home ‘brother’ and to be fed by the same mouth and to spend the most fragile summer nights wondering how one becomes mighty and when — if ever — we learn how to swim in the bigness we will eventually become…

Watershed

poems by Jean L. French Forthcoming 30 May 2018: ISBN 978-1-61019-233-0 Global Edition: print $12 JEAN L. FRENCH is the daughter of a logger and a poet with the heart of a naturalist. The poems in Watershed reflect the push-pull between her two worlds, simultaneously celebrating and mourning the forces that shape life in the…

Excerpt from YARROW AND SMOKE

A poem from William O’Daly’s fourth collection — available to pre-order in Sustainable & Global Editions. Legacy Grandfather, these inland hills and the canyons we blasted with .22s shrink in the August sun. Housing tracts put a stop to our bullets; at night streetlights climb like the edge of a wave over sage crowded slopes….

Aftermath (Photograph, 1953)

She points past a pile of fallen trees—roots upturned, knowing the grey-clouded sky for the first time. She stands in their midst, the logs lying like a giant’s game of pick-up-sticks. The bank is eroded—smooth, weather beaten. The ground is soggy, and her knee-high rubber boots seem to sink even as she stands, still pointing…

With Love, Lorna

We’d done the shops, the vast light spacious shiny shops, we’d sat last night and drank halves of amber beer in a bar with high stools and reclaimed tables. We’d walked the long straight roads and felt the endless rain beat our umbrellas and splash our shoes. Sandstone buildings rose around us up into the grey sky and the pavements went on and on until they met the tangle of the motorway.

Save Our Trees

My city is one of the greenest in the country, known as ‘the outdoor city’ its pockets of green spaces and its close proximity to open countryside give it its semi rural feel. Sheffield straddles post industrialism with nature easily, perhaps because it has always mixed the two. Factories back onto the river. Parks and gardens over-look the busy town centre. And suburban streets are lined with trees, providing the name ‘the leafy suburbs’. But these streets have had a fight on their hands lately. One which they seem to be losing.

2018 Spring List

Folded Word is thrilled to announce our forthcoming titles from amazing poets this spring: WATERSHED – poems by Jean L. French, April 2018, ISBN 978-1-61019-233-0. A collection that explores the resilience of forest life through harvest, drought, and fire written by a logger’s daughter with a naturalist’s heart. YARROW AND SMOKE – poems by William…

Bird House Blind

by M.R. Baird I dwell in a house that is not mine; milk snow, lake effect, eagle overhead flies on with outstretched wings, open eyed, above the blinds, my hands grasping, the cold, trees fall, weather comes in again. This house is full of birds landing, temporary stop, then go, look over me to the…