A Poem by Diane Webster

HERON REFLECTION

The blue heron flies
with its reflection
across the lake’s surface
until it lands ashore
and basks
its own shadow
as a trout briefly
springs from the water;
mirror shattered
by rippling splash
as the heron stealthily
steps into the rings
and waits with cape shadow
behind like grim reaper,
with twin image in front
ready to capture a lazy fish.



Diane Webster enjoys drives in the mountains where she looks for poetry ideas and opportunities to take pictures. Plus she tries to be vigilant of nature even when walking from the parking lot to work. She has had poetry accepted by "Rainbow Rose," "Illya's Honey," "The Old Red Kimono" and other literary magazines.

A Poem by Travis Laurence Naught

Mountain View

Born and raised in a valley
With spectacular views
Of three measured peaks
And limited line of sight
To a pair more

Without wonder now
That a spirit within
Has been rekindled
Yearning to find more
Surroundings of grandeur
Dripping with snow and ice



Travis Laurence Naught is a poet who happens to be a quadriplegic wheelchair user. He earned a bachelor's in psychology from Eastern Washington University in 2005. His first book collection, The Virgin Journals, was released by ASD Publishing in March of the 2012. It received an honorable mention in the biography/autobiography category at the 2012 San Francisco Book Festival and was used as curriculum in a disability studies course at EWUniversity. Other poems by him have been published online at http://www.deadmansreach.com, http://49writers.blogspot.com, http://www.pyrokinection.com/ and http://www.ravensbrew.com as well as in print in the 2012 Northwest Boulevard and The Easterner, both released by EWU. You can follow his daily update page online at www.facebook.com/TravisLaurenceNaught

A Poem by William G. Davies, Jr.

Days End

　

The sky pools

Like a melted

Orange Creamsicle

And the leaves

On the tree

A colony of ants

Fatted and lazy.

 

 

 

The author is 58 years old and considers himself a capable wordsmith.

He shares life with his wife of 38 years, Theresa.

William has published poems in Jellyfish Whispers and Pyrokinection

as well as the Cortland Review, The Blue Lyra Review and others.

A Poem by Connie L. Peters

Kids in a Storm

The sky glows yellow.
Wind gently ripples violets
and buttercups.

Rain pitter patters up the driveway.

 

My sister and I grab a blanket
and huddle together on the porch glider.
We grin, as first drops kiss our cheeks.
We giggle, as cool wind tickles our toes.

We squeal and laugh

as lightning flashes and thunder booms.
Rain taps, drums, pounds on the roof.

We breathe in freshly washed air

and adventure.

 

 

Connie L. Peters, poet, novelist and freelance writer, lives in Southwest Colorado. Her poetry, stories and articles have appeared in many national publications. Currently she writes regularly for The Pagosa Sun, presidentialprayerteam.com, and Adam Colwell’s Write Works. She has twenty-eight years writing experience and has been writing a poem a day since 2004. Samples of her poetry can be seen at enthusiasticsoul.blogspot.com.

Two Poems by Shellie Richards

Dusk

Two dark clouds hang in insolent protest

Barely enough to stake claim as remnants or to

beckon a second glance.

They are

all that remains

of the violent storm

Long abandoned by the impressive displays of their charcoal brethren…

Like two lovers who parted ways over dinner –

one who lost everything in the conversation and the other

who will march on feverishly without ever missing a beat.

Hundred Year Flood

After the rain everything was quiet like the

water swallowed up the sound and spit out silence.

As if the rushing waters had smothered everything in its path sucking the lifeblood out of

everything it touched -

and taking with it the voice of a city.

Shellie Richards’ work has previously appeared in Bartleby Snopes (Winner, story of the month, January 2012), theBelmont Literary Journal, The Chaffey Review, Vanderbilt University’s Tabula Rasa and Pyrokinection. She lives in Nashville with her husband and three children. She works at Vanderbilt University where she edits scientific papers for publication and is currently finishing an M.A. in English (writing). She has just completed writing her first novel.

Three Poems by JB Mulligan

 the woodchuck

The woodchuck like a lost purse
in the grass, feeding, unaware
in its pure, hungry meaning
of the meaning around it:
trees, me, sky, the grass,
all meaning, all relation
in a single point, chewing
away in late afternoon,
one center among many
drab galaxies of so many stars.





death of another moment

Sunlight powders the clouds of sunset.
Gray clots, white-capped, are bunched below
a powder-blue sky, above green mountains

and then it’s chill and dusk, a moment
gone in its happening, traces
scattered, pollen of loss.





dancing with god

Out in a wide field
standing on the feet
of the tall night
like a child on the shoes
of the looming distant father –
its hugeness is so strange
that the mask must be placed
by the loving terrified mind.
The small voice like a bird
among night branches
asks if it can dance on the sky.
There is no answer.
The body trembles with pulse
like a muted tambourine.
The moon seems to smile.
The song begins to grow.
The body is all it can know.



JBMulligan has had poems and stories in several hundred
magazines, including recently, Deronda Review, Red Rock Review,
Bluestem, Stone's Throw, Blue Unicorn, and Autumn Sky, and has had two
chapbooks published: The Stations of the Cross and THIS WAY TO THE
EGRESS, as well as appearing in the anthology Inside Out: A Gathering
of Poets.

A Poem by De Jackson

present

the jacaranda trees
and this sea soaked breeze
and these soft heart beats
all agree; right now is just
exactly the right place to be.

De Jackson is a parent, a poet and a Pro Crastinator (not necessarily in that order.) She pens ads for money, poems for love, and doodles turquoise in the margins of life because she can’t help herself. She has been known to commune with trees, and she breathes best with inky fingers and salty sea-soaked toes. De scribbles daily at www.whimsygizmo.wordpress.com.