Reflection After Sunrise

The solitary robin
sings his lonely heart out

perched on a poplar limb
on the verge of deep woods
he trills a bright morning blues

that throbs at his breast
longing for his love
his lost mate

who flew the nest
once the fledglings
took to wing

as the climbing cat
arrived and disrupted
love with hunger

I drove him away
with a stone that struck
inches above his head

for I know the robin’s loss
his broken life, feel it in
imagination’s heart in
my pulsing blood

      now that
      are gone

By Gene Gobel
August, 2017

solitary robin in tree

Photo of American Robin by Timothy Holle

Bird-Watching Myna

Truly social, sharing bird,
jumping at slightest instant,
chattering, varying-voice,
trying all possible chords
to perfect its inimitable call,
landed on a compound
with noisy wings.

Trudging aggressively,
raising commotion for
no good reason, no logic,
no syllogism.
Scouting around on restless
yellow legs, misleading
me with bright
yellow-encircled eyes.

Bird-watching through
clear, glass window,
of my modest home, I wished
to know their musical chatter
immensely and

By Thriveni C Mysore

Myna ruffling feathers

Thriveni C Mysore is a science teacher from Karnataka, India.
She loves Philosophy and finds solace in Nature Poetry.

Photo of Myna By Anton Croos, Wikimedia Commons

Hummingbird Conversations

Around the feeder ruby-throated
hummingbirds swoop flit hover
dance and fight and I wish
I could hear their
wingbeat conversations.
What would they tell me?

Do they discuss the weather
the local nest situation
compare the quality of spider silk
swap migration route stories
or point out their favorite flowers?
Do they have a pecking order
who goes first and why?

Maybe they talk about politics
or health insurance
immigration or crop prices
probably not though.
How would it feel to be
in the tiny jeweled body
buzzing around
unable to be still
always moving
a heart beating
six hundred times a minute.

If I could feel that I’d know
what it feels like to fly across
the Gulf of Mexico
hover swoop dive and
taste the nectar of a
hundred thousand

By Carol Carpenter

hummingbird with spread wings

Photo by the author


Marshmallow clouds squeezed onto a blueberry sky,
gray shadows surrounding each bear or elephant,
the happy creatures dance in slow motion as another
jet streams past, leaving its shooting startail behind.

Summer in Southwest Missouri. Dandelions roar
in my ears as I sit in an old lawn chair waiting
for lightning bugs to emerge from their daytime
hideaway among pale-moon irises and coral bell.

Blueberry gives way to ink, a warm breeze reveals
the Milky Way and an emptiness between stars.
Miles between us, pages torn from a lover’s notebook
strewn among galaxies that might have been ours.

Between us, the tail of a jet, an insect’s light,
the space where blueberries rot and love dies.

By Sheri Gabbert

dandelion field say Farewell to summer

Sheri Gabbert Author photoSheri Gabbert is a substitute teacher living in the Missouri Ozarks with her miniature schnauzer, Rilke. Her work has been published in Moon City Review, new graffiti, The Quotable, Rat’s Ass Review, Communicator’s League, Drunk Monkeys, Serving House Journal, Eunoia, Bindweed, 417Magazine, Street Buzz, and The Lawrence County Record.

Photo of dandelion field by Filip Fuxa

The Garden

I tire of the cold and rain
The garden calls to me
Lonely and forlorn, it awaits my arrival
Lovingly inviting me in

Pots of tender seedlings
Excited to be planted in perfect rows
Some demanding to be placed randomly
In an array of beautiful chaos

Kneeling, the soft earth gives in
And hugs my tired old legs
Lovingly cushioning my way
As I move from plant to plant

I place my fingers deep into welcoming earth
The soil remembers me
Giving way to my hands
Opening up to receive the soft roots

The sun warms my back
Bees greet me along the way
Alighting on each newly planted treat
Birds serenade from the branches above

Time passes too fast
As my labor of love continues on
The garden smiles back at me
It is good to be with my old friend again

By Ann Christine Tabaka

woman in her backyard garden

Tabaka Author PhotoAnn Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware. She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer. She loves gardening, cooking, and the ocean. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her poems have been published in numerous national and international poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies. Chris has been selected as the resident Haiku poet for Stanzaic Stylings.

Photo of garden by ammentorp