Night Music, A Whale Song

Against the sail masts’ offbeat taps onto each other,
bay bells mixing in with tinny harbor chimes,
distant buoys throwing their soft moans to the wind,

all of them singing to the moon in a whale-like croon
that bellows love songs from the sea bed floor,

I am swept back to my first whale sighting,
the young humpback’s notes rippling out
before it hit the headland, its shroud of sound lost to sea.

Rocked by waves, stranded beneath the blue moon
at Point Bonita, everything turned a deadly quiet

where high winds once rammed ships cliff side––
dumping potatoes, lumber, cotton, and gold, all of it
sunk into the deep, unlike the ballooning beached corpse

in descending light, tonight its heft of ghost at my side,
pressing hard into me the tremendous weight of sea.

By Andrena Zawinski


Andrena Zawinski lives near Ballena Bay on Alameda island where, besides the regular stingrays floating by, an occasional seal wanders in under a boisterous Pacific Flyway. She has three full collections of poetry, the most recent LANDINGS from Kelsay Books. She is Features Editor at PoetryMagazine.com and runs a Women’s Poetry Salon in the San Francisco Bay Area.

…it is rain that grows the flowers, not thunder. —Rumi

Clarity

Finally,

after days of grey
it has burst open

with staggering brilliance,
almost breaking these dusty

window panes streaked
from winter’s storms;

our eyes

can barely take
this strain of light

uncluttered, flying free
from the solar universe,

landing with startling
clarity on our color

starved souls.

Unblemished
sun can stun

a dull life into
an arrhythmic fact

of a painless
heart attack.

Oh joy…

By Ruth C. Rehberg

willow with flowering bud in vase by window


Ruth lives in Alma Center, Wisconsin, USA

Photo by maya23k

Gratitude List

Let us give thanks for
sun etched cypress
lifting needled limbs
above white sage and driftwood,
low-tide exposed beach.

Walk in mindfulness
along gentle trail
beside wrinkled ocean,
incoming surf.
Pet passing dogs.
Dispense baked, tasty treats.

Meditate upon phalanx
of swooping pelicans,
golden-eyed heron,
trash-talking jays,
paranoid blackbirds.

Sit in silence
within a cathedral
of wind ruffled redwoods.
Feel an inchoate higher power
resurrect the soul, heal your heart.
Bless this bright day.

By Jennifer Lagier

Cypress Tree along California 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.

Daylight’s Break

Light emerges from
windows, an invitation
to a new day.
Like condensation rising
from bright emerald grasses
to form steam, yesterday’s
thoughts disappear
into the air. No one is up yet
except those early morning
travelers whose slamming
car doors and woes were
enveloped in the early dark.
It will quiet a while longer
before everyone else notices
and politely accepts
this welcome to be warmed.

By JD DeHart

house with lighted windows


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at jddehartpoetry.blogspot.com.

Blood Moon Haibun

Unlike the span of light from the harvest moon of Algonquin lore during the turn of leaves in October, this blood moon slips in on a gusty April wind in lingering twilight, ducks squawking at their brood beneath the blowsy clouds.

This blood moon enters without hysteria of prophetic revelation, or proffered theories for asteroids or meteorite storms—it is enough to be this big bright planet

in the Earth’s shadow
blood moon blazes red-orange
sunbeams at its edges

By Andrena Zawinski


Andrena Zawinski lives near Ballena Bay on Alameda island where, besides the regular stingrays floating by, an occasional seal wanders in under a boisterous Pacific Flyway. She has three full collections of poetry, the most recent LANDINGS from Kelsay Books. She is Features Editor at PoetryMagazine.com and runs a Women’s Poetry Salon in the San Francisco Bay Area.

…it is rain that grows the flowers, not thunder. —Rumi