Saturday, June 2, 2018

Three Poems by Joanna M. Weston

On the Hillside

fog creeps
into my eye sockets
nestles against jaw
blankets my ribs
in damp comfort

I rest on the moors
hear curlews
a distant crow
touch dewed grass
an open daisy
feel the crawl
of working ants
a spider's thread
and know myself
at one with earth

The Remains

there's nothing I can call my own
not the slant of moonlight
through midnight trees
nor the rise of dawn beyond the hills
not the flight of siskins
nor gossip of crows
only the words that fall onto the page
which is only paper that can be burned
no more and then there's nothing
left of mine at all

The Qualities of Herbs

the dandelion returns
faithfully each year

to the glory of bay
perhaps inspired by
angelica's magic

to be preserved by dill
protected by garlic

to the praise of fennel
while lily of the valley
flowers contendedly

with the wisdom of mint
the long life of sage
the devotion of a violet
and the courage of thyme

Joanna M. Weston is married, has one cat, multiple spiders, raccoons, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses.  Her middle-reader, Frame and The McGuire, was published by Tradewind Books in 2015, and her poetry collection, A Bedroom of Searchlights, was publish by Inanna Publications in 2016.  Her other books are listed on her blog at

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