EDITOR’S CHOICE: A Woodpecker on the Grass

EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD: bringing our favorite previously-published poems back to the front page.

Submitted by Shaun Clamp

A woodpecker on the grass
needling for worms
Shooting through the damp
green sea; its wing a mussel shell
blotched with barnacles
Its glistening spear

Photo credit: John James Audubon – Pileated Woodpecker


Submitted by Sinclair Andruska

As the bees buzz in harmony,
The sun glistens on peonies dew
White picket fenced streets, and
25 orange trees, all in their youth

The cool summer breeze calls
To anything willing to listen
Tall trees guide your path
You’ll no sooner miss them

They lead to the Garden
Where reality drifts away
Roses blush at first sight,
Pondering quietly, what you’ll say

Time in the Garden, where everything grows
Bees buzz around, yet nobody knows.

Photo credit:  Edouard Cortes – Chemin Sous Bois

For Beverly

Submitted by Maureen Sudlow.

I wanted to take your pain
toss it back in the face
of an uncaring universe
your eyes, so large
under that silken cap
your smile that always denied
what became unbearable
reminders of a small child
playing in our yard
so long ago
always in my heart

Photo credit: Alfred Sisley – Children Playing in the Fields

Gentle as All.

Submitted by Benny G.

From Papa’s old armchair, from his weather-worn porch,
Time passes softly, gentle as all.

I could blink through the sunlight, but days may pass by.
I could nap in the moonlight, by months may slip past.
A reverie a decade; a dream something longer.

Tobacco and a breeze as bitter as his coffee.
A hearty laugh and skin as golden as his wheat.

Somewhere in it all, he’s still here.
Denim and callouses.
Somewhere in it all, it isn’t lost on me.
Not anymore.

Photo credit: Edward Hopper – Clamdigger


EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD: Bringing our favorite previously-published poems back to the front page.

Submitted by Kim Whysall-Hammond

Poetry is the orphan of silence
Begging for attention
Word spaces and line breaks
Her crutches

Whatever the poem describes to you
Is  a shadow
A portion, a flavour
Of what the poet is trying to say

Photo credit: Leonardo da Vinci – Sketches

Ocean Waltz

Submitted by Josie Rozell

She danced to Beethoven’s archduke piano trio
wild and reckless
her calloused feet kissing the white sand
the crescendo of piano the crescent wave.
She didn’t care if any saw her;
no one was looking anyways
and she curated her own reality.
Sometimes she danced on tiptoe
when the occasion called for it
but more often than not it was full-fledged
arm flinging absurdities
calling to her the soul of the water
as the piano to her own.

Photo credit: Beach Scene Morning at Canoe Place A(n) William Merritt Chase


EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARD: bringing our favorite previously-published poems back to the front page.

Submitted by Sarah Connor

Passing through this doorway
is an act of remembering
and of forgetting. On this
threshold I stand poised
between the two.

 Back then, there were magic
doorways that led
to wonderlands. I dream
of passing through,
from this dull monochrome
to glorious technicolour.

Right now, time becomes space,
space becomes time:
the living room is full of my childhood;
somewhere in the kitchen
there’s a sleeping baby.

In an upstairs room,
my younger self is standing,
looking out across
another city. Waiting
for life to start.

My grandmother presses
a crumpled note
into my palm, and whispers
urgent wisdom.

Back then, there were dark
doorways that led
to underlands. I dream
of passing through,
from this mad technicolour
to the bleak purity
of black and white.

Photo Credit: Edward Hopper – Rooms by the Sea