Tag: poem

Coyotes

Solstice Series Selection Summer 2018

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…

A Tall One

Solstice Series Selection Summer 2018

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…

Of & To British Butterflies

Solstice Series Selection Summer 2018

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…

becoming more

long exposure of river rapids

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…

The Quickening of Salmon & Years

close up of water bubbling

From this island                to that isthmus. Here, an egg.                There, a fish. As quick as that. Never mind swimming upstream, breaking       the surface                even momentarily. None of that wild fervor. You will not have cause to travel (the need’s been excised) so loll & fatten,…

At the Coffee Shop

soap bubbles through glass

Outside, a window washer watches me watching him, works a rhythm, window after window, simulating a seamlessness, tipping his squeegee after every-other downward stroke, coercing the water to run like blood from each overlapping pass, though of course he can’t touch my shining smudges,…

askew in vexative disarray

light refracting through water in a hot tub

askew in vexative disarray disqualified from the marching band topsy-turvy trombone drool reveille with ill-fitting trousers reliability depends upon premature remorse a bug in the hand beats a bite on the skin tumbleweed tactility orthogonal the one missing glove made for a cold hand…

Big as the Earth

by Joe Bisicchia Accessible version: Yes, there’s an elephant in the room. Shall we ignore it? Wish it to just go away? Perhaps we should take it for a walk. Talk with it along the way. © 2018 Joe Bisicchia Joe Bisicchia was an…

Aftermath (Photograph, 1953)

swirled bark from fallen tree

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…

untitled cherita

by Stacia O’Connell Accessible version: I spent Sunday canning peaches, sugar-spiced songs swayed in the tangy-tart steam that filled the kitchen, a hazy backdrop for an afternoon matinee with a spoon. ©2018 by Stacia O’Connell Stacia O’Connell is a second life accidental poet, artist,…