Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst

Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst No country leads so softly to nowhere as those slow shoulders that curtain the horizon let us hold the sun at noon in this valley for morning will not come again. We will watch the trees grow up and the flowers stiffen and brightly dressedContinue reading “Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst”

Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem

Dubuque, Iowaby Eve Triem Travelers notice this town for its bricks,(warehouse and mill) sun-and-snow weatheredto apricot and dahlia. And then that it is a port,the streets in waves winding from a riverand flying the side of a hill, like gulls. They will climb the stair-sprayed hill—the hill, a ball-player’s arm swung up for a catch Continue reading “Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem”

Butter by Andrea Cohen

Butterby Andrea Cohen I’ve never seen the landof milk and honey, but at the Iowa State Fair I glimpseda cow fashioned of butter. It lived behind a windowin an icy room, beneath klieg lights. I filed past as one filespast a casket at a wake. It was that sad: a butter cowwithout a butter calf.Continue reading “Butter by Andrea Cohen”

New Zealand by James K. Baxter

New Zealandby James K. Baxter for Monte Holcroft These unshaped islands, on the sawyer’s bench,Wait for the chisel of the mind,Green canyons to the south, immense and passive,Penetrated rarely, seeded onlyBy the deer-culler’s shot, or else in the northTribes of the shark and the octopus,Mangroves, black hair on a boxer’s hand. The founding fathers withContinue reading “New Zealand by James K. Baxter”

Mana by Karlo Mila

Manaby Karlo Mila when you flow through my bodyI knowI am caught in the current of a riverlarger than the length of my own lifetimeit bends where we have all been beforesame rapidsother watersour veinsmy bloodI knowI am in the flowof something greater than my own self PHOTO: Kawarau River, New Zealand. Photo by Makalu,Continue reading “Mana by Karlo Mila”

Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace

Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace I am orchids fruit trees I can bear more than you think I am a river stone and I choose a ring made of pounamu to remind me PHOTO: River in New Zealand by David Mark, used by permission. NOTE: Pounamu (or “greenstone“) are several typesContinue reading “Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace”

The Winter by Dafdd ap Gwilym

The Winterby Dafdd ap Gwilym  Across North WalesThe snowflakes wander,A swarm of white bees.Over the woodsA cold veil lies.A load of chalkBows down the trees. No undergrowthWithout its wool,No field unsheeted;No path is leftThrough any field;On every stumpWhite flour is milled. Will someone tell meWhat angels liftPlanks in the flour-loftFloor of heavenShaking down dust?An angel’sContinue reading “The Winter by Dafdd ap Gwilym”

Only Exmoor by Kim Whysall-Hammond

Only Exmoorby Kim Whysall-Hammond Only Exmoor stretches out to embrace the whole sky in its immensityReflects its moods and colours, its nurture and destructionOnly the moor is as fickle as the sky Today the moor is swallowed as clouds subsume the uplandsYesterday it shed water like the clouds themselvesTomorrow it will shimmer with heat, dryContinue reading “Only Exmoor by Kim Whysall-Hammond”

Water Under the Bridge by Lynn White

Water Under the Bridgeby Lynn White The Canadian canoe submerged as we got intoo clumsily.The cushions, brought thoughtfully for comfortwere soakedalong with everything else.Then we discovered that we were unable to co-ordinateour paddlingso moving along the narrow canal in a straight linewas impossible.Thus we made slow progress.And then we came to the long tunnel.The signContinue reading “Water Under the Bridge by Lynn White”

On the Altiplano by Robert Coats

On the Altiplanoby Robert Coats Awake early, I saw the green flash as the sunrose behind the Cordillera de Chichas,glare of the Salar de Uyuni.After a simple breakfast we loaded up,my son in back with the three Argentinos,I up front with our Bolivian guide. Higher into the arid Andes on a gravel road,a snow-cloaked volcanoContinue reading “On the Altiplano by Robert Coats”