Category: Issue 21.2

seventh summer
we measure his height
in sunflowers

summer sun
coming out of his shell
on the last day of camp

rolling blackouts
cicadas ratchet
up the heat

end of summer thunder slow and far away

 

summer rain
the pink love note
bleeds into my pocket

the slow sinking
of the wishing coin
summer’s end

 

 

straightening
the dog-eared pages
end of summer

 

rising tide
the clammer’s skiff
begins to stir

end of summer
the cracked face
of a display mannequin

 

ashfall
the dead
of summer

 

not just blowing smoke climate change

global warming
the delicate oars
of this lifeboat

day lily
the thing is
you think you have time

Harvest moon their wedding rings tucked away one inside the other

not so long ago
though it looks like ages
dandelion seeds

corn-tasseled sundown
gang tags
on the grain train

fall fair
the caramel apple angle
of the sun

 

morning chill
the last of the basil
fills a vase

 

game over
small birds gather
on the bleachers

playground leaves the rattle of hometown ghosts

 

All Hallows Eve
a ninja races
a fried egg

morning
an egg cracks
from the inside

 

tattered leaves
the voting line
grows longer

 

wind chimes the odds of repetition

 

she denies it all
wind through the tips
of pines

 

an autumn leaf
flutters back to zero
on the hopscotch court

wind through razor wire
a small girl cradles
a wooden doll

 

aftershocks…
the segue from rescue
to recovery

when home
isn’t
owl echoes

autumn surf
a flutter of terns almost lands
then lifts away

 

cloudless sky
a sloop tugs on its
mooring lines

wind-blown sea foam
a toddler in gum boots
briefly disappears

sunset bells slipping light into the sea

 

river at dusk –
an otter melts
into the silence

adoption papers
the aloe vera
flowering

 

bumper to bumper wildflowers along the interstate

 

twilight clamour
a cohort of cockatoos
return to roost

 

the ringing
of far-off bells
autumn dusk

sliver moon
a door opens
at dawn

 

 

the hurry-up
in a squirrel’s tail
autumn chill

autumn evening—
the man at animal rescue
has a kind voice

 

total eclipse
a little boy covers
his dog’s eyes

 

 

 

(Originally published on Hedgerow #131)

 

day’s end
one last thing the dog
needs to sniff

new quarantine
a teakettle
starts to scream

deserted office
a fly circles
the water cooler

drinking fountain
I wait for the wasp
to finish

one person
per cafe table
each left to their own devices

 

home alone
I change
Siri’s gender

 

spending time
with an old friend
copper beech

dappled lichen
an empty nest at the end
of quarantine

lockdown lifted
the old man kicks a pebble
down the road

long illness
seeded too late
sweet peas

 

the day nurse
weighs her every word . . .
cloud shadows

years balancing
on the edge
of words

a son’s silence is
weighing on her
first day of winter

 

way too much
to tell you
waning moon

 

day after day
the hints we miss
mountain cranberry

 

in the sanctuary
of a fallen oak
jack-in-the-pulpit

office mistletoe
in the teeth of
his comb over

 

carillon
a measure of dawn
strikes the cobbled square

 

reading scores –
the musician’s hands
take flight

upturned empties
cap every gatepost
farmer’s thrift

 

moonshine
answering the loon
as a loon

picture perfect day
glossing over
the road kill

graffiti wall
 a passing dog
  leaves his mark

wharf bird commotion
a sea lion
rolls over

in the narrative of rain blackbird song

 

wild berries
gathering
what the birds missed

sun through
the suet cage
deep winter

snow saucer
my daughter and I
spin through winter

short day—
the smell of wet mittens
drying by the fire

prairie sky
just big enough
to hold the stars

Painted Desert
the colors of sunset
all day

 

 

blazing sun
my wife watering
the kids

solemn nods
of pampas grass–
late summer

 

craft store
a regiment of plastic buddhas
in the garden aisle

 

koi pond
the things I have yet
to outgrow

on a field trip
all their craning necks—
turtles on a log

 

dragonfly between raindrops dragonfly

 

woodland undertones fiddlehead ferns

I say one thing
but you hear another
hummingbird moth

reminding me
of life’s taste –
hummingbird

cataract surgery
all the shades of blue
in a soap bubble

 

the more they are the less they are wild flowers

 

chrysanthemum

the

slowness

of

dusk

old chihuahua
what can you teach me
about the dew

all I see are moonsets
spread over the morning field

 

 

(Note: This is a tan renga by Kala Ramesh and Billie

The Triumph of Art

“To be an artist is to fail,” Samuel Beckett said.

Valentine’s Day
my love poem
gushes too much