Waving Wheat

Solitary running………………moving forward,
Thoughts shift and break away into a
A meditative space of
Only the present moment.

Blooms of sunshine sprout from the earth
Like rays of deep-rooted truth.

A mantra of moving forward, past
Glowing waving wheat that
Lines the path I follow to
A blazing new day.

By Heather Gelb

Path uphill through golden wheat

Heather Gelb grew up hiking through the Colorado Rocky Mountains. She feels most fulfilled leaping from hilltop to hilltop, as she writes in her recently published memoir about her spiritual and physical journey from the heart of Africa to the heart of Israel, Hilltop to Hilltop. Her poetry has been published in such diverse works as Poetica Publishing, Stepping Stones, Jellyfish Whispers, Deronda Review, Green Panda Press, and Dead Snakes.

Photo by the author

As Above, So Below

Sweet meadow grass grows
Where forest used to be. Not all has gone to seed,
While all that is fallow awaits a time of need
To push through dirt, and rocks, and clay
Toward another greening of the day.

Even starlight cast over a midnight lake
Shimmering on rippling waves,
Beds down with ash and mud,
Mingles with fish and bones, and holds
A bit of universe tucked away in stones.

By Cynthia Sidrane

desert stream flows around white boulders

As a desert and mountain dweller and avid hiker, Cynthia Sidrane’s poetry and photography are reflections of the wild, remote and rugged beauty of Arizona deserts, and the Sky Island mountain ranges that rise like miracles from them. Her poems have been published online and in print, including two short-form poetry anthologies: “Pay Attention, A River of Stones,” and “A Blackbird Sings.”

Photo by the author


Quickly shadows come
on the window sill and over the
lilac tree.
Soon it is the song of the wind chimes
as birds fly low.
Crows talk and walk across the
vacant road. Flowers
get ready to lose their colour as petals
depart as butterflies would from their stems. The head
of a child is peering around some drapes while grownups
bring candles from the basement.
City cats curl under cars and bumblebees are still.
There is a sharp curve of the sky and a streak of shocking white
like a line across a blank chalkboard.
Doors and screens are closed, as pigeons and squirrels
cover their nests, blind to all but the pressing

By Allison Grayhurst

storm cloud over houses

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three times nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 1000 poems published in over 410 international journals. She has sixteen published books of poetry, seven collections and nine chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay. See her more of her work at www.allisongrayhurst.com.

Photo by helgidinson

Beach Bon Mot

“Whales,” a driftwood message
etched into sand
exposed by low tide
loudly pronounces.

Passersby marvel at
the spectacle of mother humpback
and her frisky calf
as they breach and blow
just beyond rocky shore.

Outside protected cove,
the disturbed ocean boils.
Migrating leviathans
spout umbrella spume,
lift giant fins, smirking grins,
roll above curling surf.

By Jennifer Lagier

Driftwood spells 'Whales' on beach

The author, Jennifer LagierJennifer Lagier has published ten books and in literary magazines. She taught with California Poets in the Schools, co-edits the Homestead Review, helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. Forthcoming books: Harbingers (Blue Light Press), Scene of the Crime (Evening Street Press), Camille Abroad (FutureCycle), Forthcoming: Like a B Movie (FutureCycle Press, 2018).Click here to visit her website. Photo by the author.


Baptism by fire,
baptism by water,

but who cannot say
renewal begins

with toes rooted
in muck-black dirt in Wisconsin

or soles pressed against
red cold clay and chert

by the bend overlooking the Mississippi,
or locked in the prairie sod

leaning into a gale
in Wyoming or slogging

through wet sand in Santa Cruz
after a storm in the Pacific,

blessed not from the top down
but from the bottom up,

hence from the whence we came,
not ephemeral, not liquid,

but blessings from the thick,
blessings from the firm

By Jeff Burt

Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California. He has work in Atticus Review, Per Contra, Clare Literary, and Clerestory.