In Bayfield by Kenneth Pobo

In Bayfield by Kenneth Pobo The sun trips over a red rock and breaks. The Madeline Island ferry carries dusk shards. At night Bayfield shines little lights on Lake Superior. The town closes down. Wind makes me shiver even in June. The Lake is like my Aunt Stokesia, chilly even in summer, strong in anyContinue reading “In Bayfield by Kenneth Pobo”

Off A Side Road Near Staunton by Stanley Plumly

Off A Side Road Near Stauntonby Stanley Plumly Some nothing afternoon, no one anywhere,an early autumn stillness in the air,the kind of empty day you fill by taking inthe full size of the valley and its layers leadingslowly to the Blue Ridge, the quality of country,if you stand here long enough, you could stayfor, stepContinue reading “Off A Side Road Near Staunton by Stanley Plumly”

January in Detroit or Search for Tomorrow Starring Ken and Ann by Ken Mikolowski

January in Detroit or Search for Tomorrow Starring Ken and Ann by Ken Mikolowski I think it is interesting though not exactly amusing how we go from day to day with no money. How do we do it, friends ask, suspecting we really have some stash stacked away somewhere. But we certainly do not andContinue reading “January in Detroit or Search for Tomorrow Starring Ken and Ann by Ken Mikolowski”

New Year’s Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

New Year’s Haiku by Matsuo Bashō New Year’s Day— sun on every field is beloved PHOTO: Mount Fuji, the sun, and a field in Fujikawaguchiko, Yamanashi, Japan. Photo by Tampatra1, used by permission. NOTE: Mount Fuji is the highest mountain in Japan, standing 12,389.2 feet. An active stratovolcano, Mount Fuji last erupted from 1707 to 1708. The mountain standsContinue reading “New Year’s Haiku by Matsuo Bashō”

Federico García Lorca, Little Ballad of Three Rivers

Little Ballad of Three Riversby Federico García Lorca The Guadalquivir riverFlows between orange and olive.Two rivers of GranadaCome down from snow to wheat field. Ah, Love, the unreturning! The Guadalquivir riverHas banks of ruddy garnet.Two rivers of Granada—One weeps, and one is bloody. Ah, Love, lost in the air! Seville has a highwayFor stately sailing-vessels.ButContinue reading “Federico García Lorca, Little Ballad of Three Rivers”

Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka

Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka A smell of dried flounder broiling At lonely noon-time in my native village Houses, their shingled roofs Weighted down with stones… Frugal smell of dried flounder broiling This lonely noon-time in my native village. On the empty white road A snow-vendor from the mountains walks alone. SOURCE: Poetry, May 1956Continue reading “Native Village by Fuyuji Tanaka”

Christmas, Mexico by Conrad Hilberry

Christmas, Mexico by Conrad Hilberry December here, with sun and the faint smell of wood smoke in the air— a late September day. The jasmine drops a few last blooms; limes swell and ripen, one by one, outside the door. Dusk comes a little earlier. Here, we will have months or years to eat theContinue reading “Christmas, Mexico by Conrad Hilberry”

It rained last night by Kanchan Chatterjee

It rained last nightby Kanchan Chatterjee The plastic bins look new & the grass smells fresh& sparrows chirp . . . I’m missing the cobbled alleys ofDurbar Square, Kathmandu Sujata,when will you return? PHOTO: Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal. Photo by Richie Chan, used by permission.  NOTE: Kathmandu is the capital and largest city of Nepal, with a population ofContinue reading “It rained last night by Kanchan Chatterjee”

Strandhill Beach in May by M.J. Iuppa

Strandhill Beach in May                                  ~  Sligo, 2019by M.J. Iuppa Instantly my breath is lost in this Atlantic air, inits steady wind swirling around my figure as ifI could be worn down to bits of sand whispering off the dunes —I look back over my shoulderto see the Irish Sea, muscular and taut, risingin its infantry of waves,Continue reading “Strandhill Beach in May by M.J. Iuppa”

On the Osa by Anne Whitehouse

On the Osa by Anne Whitehouse I Into the forest, we follow a river up to a waterfall. Slowly twirling, green and yellow, leaves fall in the heavy air, and from on high a toucan trills thrillingly. Perched on a dead branch, backlit by the sky, we glimpse the bird in profile. Spider monkeys noisilyContinue reading “On the Osa by Anne Whitehouse”