May Lines


All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!

Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

Winter Trees/ William Carlos Williams


calls like an echo of lake, or what makes lake

Joy/ Miller Oberman


two mallards drifting
one dunks for a snail

em dash
at dusk a wild goose
heading east

question mark
the length of silence
after a loon’s call

Birds Punctuate the Days/ Joyce Clement


open the tin of biscuits and spread on Boursin
cheese with herbs. take a bite.
hear the poem in your mouth.

Things To Do In The Kitchen/ Miriam Solan


next to it a picture of Jesus—

a digital, color photograph of the Lord
in his prime, robed and
though bearded

impossibly young and athletic, and—
as always—alone.

How to Get There/ Philip Levine


everything, in a place we knew, every thing, we knew, little and large and mine and ours, except horror, all of it, everything could flame up that quickly, could flare and be gone.

this beginning may have always meant this end/ Camille T. Dungy


many lost in the tumble so many feelings so many yellow and red so many
silver and gold so many blue and green so many green things so many grass
so many suns beat down so many heatstrokes so many city moves on
so many layers so many accumulations so many things a street a street remember

so many/ John Pluecker


If there is
a purpose, maybe there are too many of us
to see it, though we can, from a distance,
hear the dull thrum of generation’s industry,
feel its fleshly wheel churn the fire inside us, pushing
the world forward toward its ragged edge, rushing
like a swollen river into multitude and rank disorder.
Such abundance. We are gorged, engorging, and gorgeous.

Life is Beautiful/ Dorianne Laux


There are not enough jam jars to can this summer sky at night. I want to spread those little meteors on a hunk of still-warm bread this winter. Any trace left on the knife will make a kitchen sink like that evening air

Summer Haibun/ Aimee Nezhukumatathil


A line
Break could reflect
The way the sun breaks
Through the clouds or breakfast
Or, this rainbow begins here
And then’s over

Leg of Lamb/ Bernadette Mayer


Come to me at dawn or dusk, by foot, canoe or a single shell
To greet eagles, cranes, fox, trees…a ten-mile gorge of paradise

Stop seeking before or after life, for a paradise
Already in us, in each cell of being that is paradise

And the Old Man Speaks of Paradise: a Ghazal