Wednesday, 30 May 2012

Tanager by Thomas O'Dore

descending a forested ridge
where the valley slopes away
I look down upon one canopy
and up into another

from the lower swift and silent
a black fetched crimson arrow
pierce disappears into green wall
startle shot from a bur oak top
my intrusion \ launching flight
of the last scarlet tanager I have seen

where he went
where they’ve gone
six billion people
one scarlet tanager
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Sunday, 27 May 2012

The Days Dissolve by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

It kills me to lay here
as the days dissolve
and are tucked away.

I look at the stars
because they are nothing
like me. They are
bright and mystical.

I am more like the birds
flying off on tangents.


 Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, CA, USA
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Wednesday, 23 May 2012

haiku by Jeffrey Winke

café window view
the cycle of the stoplight

times my life


Jeffrey Winke, Wisconsin, USA
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Friday, 18 May 2012

Crossroads by Roger G Singer

I own the crossroads,
the place of left and right,
the straight and narrow,
high crested curved roads
and paths under rock gray
clouds in valleys
shared by yesterdays moon
and breezes quick and cool
with dust from boots
traveling in circles
and riding to lonely places
and diners filled with
searching and suspicions
and napkins with names
and wrong numbers
and a clock with one hand
over a door leading to
rainy steps and car lights
flashing at corners
where lipstick
and cigarettes point fingers
to the crossroads
of my life.






Roger G Singer, New York, USA
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Sunday, 13 May 2012

Dragonfly by Mark Sargeant

A view from an old bedroom window.
Watching a car drive away, laden with a life.
We know how events can change us irrevocably,
the music of our past chiming every hour
like a grandfather clock, chopping up the silence,
taking us back to when we thought we knew how to live.


Maybe it comes down to those moments
when we are present, when we pay attention to the world:
to the way the light catches the electric blue of the dragonfly,
hovering like an echo, both still and all movement,
the smell of the yellow gorse flowers catching in your throat,
the softness of your hand in mine.


When we are old and have less need to speak,
what will we best remember? The orchestras that shaped us,
or the birdsong sprinkled amongst the leaves?
And if our memories start to scatter into the wind
like dandelion clocks, what are we left with but our bodies,
holding onto each other in the night, our breath without words,
living our days looking towards the sun.




Mark Sargeant,Shropshire, UK
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Wednesday, 9 May 2012

The Silent Sky by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The sky is silent
and blue. There is a
shell-shaped cloud
carrying a crab-like
figure. The world is
out of sorts. There
is a deep silence
under the glare of
spring. Flowers bloom.
Earth is a beautiful
place. Humans
move back and forth.
In the silence
the dead rest.


Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Los Angeles, USA











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Sunday, 6 May 2012

Rolling by Andrea McBride

I used to roll down the hill in my backyard and now that I am a little older and braver I roll down the one at Memorial Park the one where the huge rock stands at the top I roll with my hands clasped arms raised above my head in praise my face tastes the earth, the sun blazes through my closed eyelids, the earth, the sky, the earth, the sky I don’t know in which direction I roll I only know gravity pulls me down I roll faster, faster-my brother is at the bottom already - I close my eyes tight and hope that tree root doesn’t jab me, I hope my way down the hill with my eyes closed, the earth, the sky, the earth, the wide open sky.



Andrea McBride, Florida, USA
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