all its leaves fallen —
a tree we were
forbidden to climb
— paul m. |
whispers . . .
the hummingbird’s tongue
ripples the nectar
— Connie Donleycott |
| |
|
sunset moon
she pops seafroth bubbles
with her lips
— Linda Jeannette Ward |
just long enough
to leave an impression
dragonfly
— Yu Chang |
| |
|
one maple leaf . . .
end over end on the sand
without a trace
— William J. Higginson |
the sheep too
were always here
standing stones
— Ann K. Schwader |
| |
|
spring again
a taste of rust
in the harmonica
— Paul Pfleuger, Jr. |
no wind today —
the cottonwoods
speak in chickadee
— Billie Wilson |
| |
|
boyhood summer —
the hang time
of watermelon seeds
— Timothy Hawkes |
Flooded plain —
fence tops show which water
belongs to whom
— George Swede |
| |
|
last of the sunlight
cows bounding
downhill
— Carolyn Hall |
almost spring
noseprints
on every window
— Charlie Close |
| |
|
birdsong
my imaginary lover
alive again
— Yu Chang |
letter from Iraq
a birdsong spelled
phonetically
— Katherine Cudney |
| |
|
After the burial —
my eyes on the shadows
of everything
— George Swede |
incoming tide
a hermit crab wanders
among empty shells
— Kirsty Karkow |
| |
|
a salmon leaps
Grandpa starts to sing
with a brogue
— William Cullen, Jr. |
rings on a stump —
an inch
for my life
— Francis Masat |
| |
|
still wanting
to fly these feathers
of the dead owl
— Elizabeth Searle Lamb |
dead hamster —
my son invents
a religion
— George Dorsty |
| |
|
spring’s green light
I can smile
without wanting anything
— John Stevenson |
day’s end
the length of my fish
the length of my fathers fish
— Chad Lee Robinson |
| |
|
sunlight
through a snail shell
and the snail
— Katherine Cudney |
dry heat
a hawk corkscrews
the sky
— Tom Painting |
