Poet’s corner: Cosmic streams and mountain dreams

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-emancipating consciousness. Through these constellations strewn within my soul here I have climbed to find my sanctuary housing all the juju this new day can hold. Through days clouded in the valleys of self-deceit through the darkest immobility of shacklin … (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)

TWO PIECES OF DRIFTWOODLet them find us, years from now, washed of color, eased of burden, elegantly perched side-by-side: Two pieces of driftwood at rest in the high desert. And when that day comes, in that ineluctable present, let them falsely imagine t … (read more)

OlderBy John Mahoney He used to be a lector,Today he could not walk the steps to the ambo.He used to work the clubhouse,In exchange for walking the fairways. The grocery aisle is long.Too long.He couldn’t walk it without the cart to lean on.It will take m … (read more)

Garden ~ April, 2020By Arlene Iris Distler Tugging at weeds on my kneesthe daylily bed, soil level,about to aim my trowelat a clump of pointed spearscradle of gold and pinktrumpets-to-be,when a toad, cameoed to the hiltwearing a knobby tilth of dark ochre … (read more)

How Difficult is It?   I wouldn’t have guessed you’d love this form. And take it back into a cell’s darkness. Even the super moon can’t reach you. Unless you dream that light is meant for you. I mean   it’s hard for me to think of so many men, green-suite … (read more)

The Usefulness of an Umbrella Few care about this ordinariness that spends summer days in the back of closets until a chiller wind whips in squalls and out of nowhere you are on a city street with the only person you can imagine sharing with, an uneven co … (read more)

Rorschach Test Shoulder blades of a house, one left, one right; both browned by afternoon suns. ~ ~ ~ Mouths of two bedroom windows, opened wide. ~ ~ ~ The outline of my grandparents, my grandma smelling like coffee and lavender soap, their shapes still p … (read more)

Excerpted from September 1, 1939         By W.H. Auden All I have is a voice To undo the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority Whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State … (read more)

Silver Solstice By Cindy Hill   Pale sun slides low across the silver sky and softly spins a thread of silver light to hold the force of day against the night, the all-entombing darkness to defy. Like mycorrhizal filaments through earth or water pulsing u … (read more)

Recognize             By Scudder Parker He stands by the rock wall and roses, stares across the valley at Northfield hills. Sometimes, it seems, he just comes to cry.   Our driveway, house, lawn where he waits, are on land clawed and leveled from rough pa … (read more)

Even Now   Even now, the lion sculpture at Frog Hollow,  the one made of so many old metal washers,  shines as best it can in the subdued light.  The water rushing over the falls sounds  its deep chords, playing off the wind  in the maple and linden trees … (read more)

Unlocking But it is not always quiet here. Things go on while we sleep the sleep of soldiers. Ancient branches crack and splinter into dust. Large wings snap open in spring like carpets splayed out over the railing. Granite splits apart at the seams and g … (read more)

Winter’s Delicate Solitude   This is the closing-in time of year: The weary earth rests, leans back and retires; Pine-quilted hills guard the brink of the world, Horizons now strangely attainable. The sky yawns, heavy-lidded and colored With sleep, and lo … (read more)

Winter Solstice   The dry rustle of leaves is what I remember, and the lateness of the hour — moon yet to appear. Something ending, something about to begin. Raven makes a different sound than owl, makes a different sound than snow falling not quite silen … (read more)