Michael Simms: Compost
fine white strands
of mycelium reach
into the cells of the woody stalk
and hard husk of sunflower
Amy Lowell: A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.
Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
George Drew: Drumming Armageddon
I, too, have friends dead from drugs,
guys I hung out with on my hometown streets
and in the war memorial park with wood railings
we kept falling off, too stoned to balance on.
Dawn Potter: Island Weather
headlights painting streaks of rain
on my pale window, and still
the torrent comes faster, faster—bluster, leak,
and squall.
Doug Anderson: Monsoon
Up river, the rich
are counting their gold
and hiring armies to protect them.
Molly Fisk: Devotion
The mergansers fly so close to the surface
their feet could touch it, banking up
from gray waves to paler sky
Robert Frost: In a Disused Graveyard
The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay
Video: Martha Redbone sings ‘Sleep Sleep Beauty Bright’ by William Blake
In an enchanting lyrical rendition of William Blake’s poem “Sleep Sleep Beauty Bright,” singer Martha Redbone blends rhythm, blues and soul with traditional Native American music.
Bhikshuni Ubbiri: A Voice Calling Back
84,000 daughters, all named Jiva, have died and been buried here in this boundless cemetery you call a world.
Christopher Bursk: The Necropolis of Tarquinius
We’d just discovered a new word—necropolis—
and now we wanted a city of the dead
of our own. But it was too hard digging life-size
trenches, so we settled for the flower garden
our mother wouldn’t need anymore.
Michael Simms: Tree of Life
God, like a lazy cop,
Never seems to be around
When you need Him
Gail Langstroth | Running: Christchurch / Pittsburgh
—we know
hate-bullets halt
prayer, unleash grief/
death
Leonore Wilson: Adder
beast,
lonely disciple —
what exegesis of the heart
did you prophesize
Patricia Jabbeh Wesley: Flying
When I grow up, I want to be a fish,
a big blue fish if I ever grow up.
