A Poem by Seth Jani

The Cottage Rows

 

 

The trees are just themselves,

Green and decisive,

And they have absolutely

Nothing to say.

The child walks beneath them

Following the line of shadows

With his hand.

No one can explain to him

How the trees change colors

Without being angry or sad,

How sap circulates through their bodies

And is transmuted into delicate

Drops of gold.

Those lush sentinels

Devoid of any ego or “I”

Are all it takes

To strike the heart with silence.

How then to tell him

That such miracles

Simply happen?

That the apples

Filling with sweetness

Are a plain and living truth?

 

 

Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has been published widely in such places as The Chiron ReviewPretty Owl PoetryEl Portal, Phantom DriftCommon Ground Review,The Hamilton Stone Review, Kaaterskill Basin Literary Journal  and Gravel.

His chapbook, In The House Magisterial, will be published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. Visit him at www.sethjani.com.

A Poem by Jeannie E. Roberts

Living the Miracle

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle;
you can live as if everything is a miracle. ―Albert Einstein

 

 

Today, I’ll live as if everything’s a miracle―

watch light dawning in waves of amber,

 

lengthening across hills and meadows,

observe maple leaves greening, widening

 

after spring rain, spot antennaria rising,

softening like toes of kittens, follow

 

danaus winging, gliding, landing

atop milkweed, regard solidago spiking,

 

tipping in golden refrain, revere osprey

ascending, diving through morning air,

 

honor robins feeding, behold life

burgeoning―for when we notice Nature’s

 

blessings, witness their divinity, every day

is nothing short of that.

 

 

 

Jeannie E. Roberts lives in an inspiring setting near Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, where she writes, draws and paints, and often photographs her natural surroundings. Her fifth book, The Wingspan of Things, a poetry chapbook, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. She has authored three poetry collections and one children’s book. Her most recent full-length poetry collection is Romp and Ceremony (Finishing Line Press, 2017). Her poems and photos appear in online magazines, print journals, and anthologies, including An Ariel Anthology, Bramble, Off the Coast, Portage Magazine, Quill & Parchment, Silver Birch Press, Verse-Virtual and elsewhere.

A Poem by Mark Jackley

THE MORNING AFTER FORECLOSURE

 

 

you who slowly open your eyes

neck bent forward

head slumped

like a construction crane

staring into a hole

without end it seems

want to believe there is

a blueprint somewhere something

livable will rise

 

 

Mark Jackley‘s work has appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, Natural Bridge and other journals. He is the author of several chapbooks, including Every Green Word (Finishing Line Press). His new book of poems On the Edge of a Very Small Town is available for free at chineseplums@gmail.com.

A Poem by Rachel Custer

Field

 

 

Summer day like a held breath, like held words

in a woman’s mouth, like a woman’s mouth stopped

by a chafed palm. Day like a chafed palm beneath

a work glove. A work glove hung from electric wire.

Electric wire pulsing above a house. Where there is

a house, there is a straight road beside a house,

and where there’s a straight road, there’s a road’s

end. What does the city know of the road’s end? City

a perfumed woman with crossed arms. City a man

faced seaward. City man never need to think about

roads, and who make money into roads, and who

make money out of living. Who pave a living over

dirt. What does the dirt know of a knot of streets?

Where every way becomes every other way, every

day leads to another day of chasing a road that never

lets day rest. Country a hard woman, city held to her

breast. Country a woman alone at the end of a way.

Eyes running hard from field to darkling wood,

from wood to the back lawn where her children play.

Here, where a woman’s breath makes a summer day.

Here, where a word held home is still thought good.

 

 

 

Rachel Custer‘s first full-length collection, The Temple She Became, is available from Five Oaks Press. Other work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Rattle, The American Journal of Poetry, B O D Y, [PANK], and DIALOGIST, among others.

A Poem by Kevin Dobbs

Nothingness

 

 

In art history class

My late brother Sam placed

 

On the overhead a photo

He’d taken of a small shack

 

In the middle of Death Valley

On which somebody had

 

Painted in white the word “It.”

Sam, filled with young-man

 

Resolve, declared to the full hall

That he and only he

 

Had found “It.” Everyone applauded.

I, thirty years later and

 

Filled with fear and angst,

Declare to humankind

 

That I have found “nothingness.”

I know this. It’s not in my mind.

 

It’s here in Qatar just across

The Persian Gulf from Iran. Not that I

 

Dislike Iran as does my government

Which distrusts any ancient culture

 

Whose women do not readily play

With its soldiers. Thousands are

 

Stationed just down the road

From Al Ruwais—or what I call

 

Nothingness—where they await

An official change in policy.

 

Don’t confuse this searing

Surface mining town with Hell.

 

Al Ruwais has decent hummus

With flat bread and cucumbers, a few

 

Children, a Shisha bar, some palm trees,

Open-pit grinding and crushing machines,

 

Chutes and sifters. Awash with

Powdery-white sand and minerals, Al Ruwais

 

Is the explosion of a trillion bones:

Know that this is what it is

 

And you will know nothingness.

 

 

 

Kevin Dobbs has lived in the USA, Japan, China, the UAE, and Qatar. He’s published poetry, fiction, and essays, internationally, in literary journals and anthologies. With poetry forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry and recent poetry in Painted bride Quarterly and Interlitq (The International Literary Quarterly), he’s placed poems in Chelsea, New York Quarterly, Carolina Quarterly, Poet Lore, Sou’wester, Gulf Stream, Faces in the Crowds (anthology, Tokyo), New Delta Review, Maverick Magazine, The Journal (England), Writer’s Forum, Florida Review, etc. His fiction and essays have appeared in Raritan: a Quarterly Review, Mid-American Review, Sou’wester, Beloit Fiction Journal, Bluestem (formerly Karamu), and many more. Besides writing, Kevin is a university professor and was involved for many years in labor and civil rights activities in Asia as well as NGO volunteer work. Currently, he lives in California, USA.

A Poem by Grace Hughes Chappell

Cotton

 

 

to look through

our long narrow window

is to see a rectangle of beyond

strangeness isolated:

your underwear drying, cotton,

my undershirt cotton, too,

skinny straps

back and front pinched to the line,

and only half of our double flowered sheet;

you love cotton, you said

uncharacteristically

rhapsodic one day:

the smell of cotton in the sun

how we see the wind—see the wind

pumping high ever back

back ever

a kid on a swing to come forward—

and how on the flowered sheet at midnight

cotton to cotton

on cotton we feel that sun

tangled in the wind

 

 

 

There are many things that make Grace want to get up in the morning: family and friends—sitting with them and talking—writing, singing classical choral music, cooking, that first morning cup of strong, sweet tea, working in the shade garden she made without knowing she would love it, a certain small town in northern California where she and her husband have an orchard—itʼs quite a list. Grace Hughes Chappell’s poems and other pieces of writing have been published in the Sunday SF Chronicle, the Richmond ReView, the Anderson Valley Advertiser and Short Fiction by Women, and online at Your Daily Poem, Haiku Journal, Eunoia, Every Day Poets, Tanka Journal, and Front Porch Review. She also writes the classical music program notes for the choral ensembles, Vox Dilecti and the San Francisco City Chorus—forty-two concerts and counting.

A Poem by Amy L. George

The Stopping Places

 

 

There’s a road on every tombstone.

 

A journey is traced

in a single dash

from when light enters eyes

to the moment it leaves.

 

The length of the trip

doesn’t matter as much

as the exits we take,

the shoulders we rest on,

the stars we gape at,

the hands we find to hold

at the stopping places.

 

It’s at the stopping places

where our breath catches in our throats

at scenic overlooks, as we inhale

the wildness of the world,

drink in sights and faces

in the warmth of the sun,

and sometimes,

clutch each other tightly,

as we are drenched in rain.

 

The road winds

onward,

stretching out before us.

 

Best travel light while we can.

 

 

 

Amy L. George holds an MFA in Creative Writing from National University. George is the author of The Stopping Places (forthcoming March 2018, Finishing Line Press), Desideratum (Finishing Line Press), and The Fragrance of Memory (Amsterdam Press). Her poetry has been published in various journals, such as Kyoto Journal, Pirene’s Fountain, Up the Staircase, and others. She teaches courses in fiction and poetry at Southwestern Assemblies of God University.