Poet’s corner: This talk of tanagers and trees

If I remember the lake yesterday, the tanager/ deep in the woods, it feels like a memory/ lost in a series of new ones, each singular event/ simply a tanager in a tree. 

There’s something to be said for banality,/ the way it keeps everything on a level plane,/ one cliché blithely following another/ like cows heading toward the pasture.

follow sun/ breaking through sky-edged mountains/ into the heart of a stone fruit

A saturated meadow,/ Sun-shaped and jewel-small,/ A circle scarcely wider/ Than the trees around were tall…

Downy Woodpecker, a small guy,/ pecks at big wood./ A storm is brewing/ and I’m still half a mile from Minerva Hinchey.

These forests/ This mountain/ These trees/ So many trees/ So many lives/ Lifetimes ago

These words in this poem by James Crews help us feel the energy and strength of the little coltsfoot flower rising up, or of the many other things in spring that appear overnight with color and vibrancy.

Seeds of Peace   these warriors of peace the unstoppable the brave with resilience they fight for the love of their families to defend their homes for the love of their land to defend their liberty   they stand against tyranny facing not with th … (read more)

Snow falls lightly/ as if no fires rage/ across the world.

Thank you for drawing the crow/ outside my window./ Thank you for drawing the wrinkled bittersweet berries/ brightening the blighted ash.

When I look for wisdom tonight/ I find aphorism in the mountain’s white ridge,/ shining in moonlight like a possible/ future to have faith in.

I’ve always admired poems that take the mundane events of our lives and imbue them with a luster that lingers nearby, but that often goes unnoticed.

Did I dream when we were young and full of hope, we’d always dance all night, work all day without a sign of weariness?

THROUGH THE WILDERNESS by Toussaint St. Negritude Through the wilderness of my freedom through territories uncharted for corporate consumption through cogent dreams and cosmic streams I have climbed to find my Star House high amongst the peaks of an ever- … (read more)

Late August There is this; the evening falls soonerin late August.In late August there is a chillonce the sun has lowered.The scent of the grasses is burnished,the pleas of the cicadas, plaintive.The cycle, always the cycle;don’t despair, wear what manife … (read more)