Gary Fincke: The Chernobyl Swallows
In April, near the anniversary Of catastrophe, barn swallows returned, Flying inside the exclusion zone to Nest in the radioactive ruins. Like disciples, the swaddled scientists Marveled. The work crews, … Continue reading
Jessica Bagwell: Study of an Olive Tree
Slick, ovalescent, stone
fruit, slung between leaves,
poised on the branch–waiting,
for warm hands
to pluck.
Joan E. Bauer | After a Sign in Joshua Tree: Tortoise Crossing
…this spring
at the crossroads of the Mojave & Colorado Deserts,
I found a magic scarf.
Margo Berdeshevsky: Here Is My Body
Invisible, on our lake, our dreamscape, the old blue heron lands.
Patricia A. Nugent: Healing Japan
I dreamed Peggy invited me to go to Japan with her. That’s all I remember, her asking me. I don’t know how I responded.
Deborah Bogen: Three poems by Yongbo Ma
…thunder is like a guarantee that everything exists,
that the wine will not sour,
that the season will turn again,
as it always has.
Video: Winter
Jamie Scott: “Winter is my third seasonal time-lapse film and the second collaboration with composer Jim Perkins. It is the culmination of 5 years of shooting across New York State … Continue reading
Stan Cox: As Climate Chaos Accelerates, Governments Avert Their Eyes
The Earth’s not just steadily warming; it’s heating up at an ever-faster pace.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: To the Marine Fog
Look, I might not have woken up early enough
to watch you hang your rags over the hedge,
or loiter in the yard’s waning night, but I’m here
now — so linger by my window a little.
Michael Simms: Snow
her father sitting alone in his underwear
having stripped off his blackened clothes
and leaving them on the back porch,
white skin of his legs, black dust on his face
Sara Teasdale: There Will Come Soft Rains
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white
Lisa Zimmerman: Loft
She returns as a red-winged blackbird or maybe
all three blackbirds swinging now on the feeder
James Crews: At the Monastery
I want to ask: Would you bow
to the blown-open peony, its petals
strewn like slips of silk in the grass
after last night’s storm?
Jean Toomer: Banking Coal
Somehow the fire was furnaced,
And then the time was ripe for some to say,
“Right banking of the furnace saves the coal.”
I’ve seen them set to work, each in his way
