Partridge Breasted Aloe

She thrust her pointed daggers
upward and outward
concave deep green leaves
adorned with white spots
front and back.
Basks in winter sunshine.
from a center core at the base
spiny and plump
with white designs
on the spruce green leaves.

Winter is flowering season
one long stem bursts above
like a quiet barn swallow
shooting up from the center
of a rosette in the springtime
one salmon pink flower
fills my mornings with a delicate scent
no fragrance can match
the fragile beauty of her perfume.

Partridge Breast is a sun worshipper
thrives in the south-facing window
prefers to drink less in winter.

Partridge Breast is the Queen of my collection
succulents and cacti, my delights.
Partridge Breasted Aloe brings
a sense of peace to my home.
When spring rains turn towards
Summer’s cat-like days
my succulent friends spend their
vacation on my sun-drenched porch
where no grooming is necessary.

By Lynda McKinney Lambert, 2017

Lynda is the author of Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage, Available on and Walking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems (go to Author’s Page to
order this book). Visit her Website & Blog and her Author’s Page: She was nominated for “Best of the Net” for for her 2016-2017 Essay. First Snow, Lynda’s first Chapbook, is now ready for publication in 2018. Currently she is working on Star Signs: New and Seleectd Poems by Lynda
McKinney Lambert
. Expected publication is late 2018. Contact Lynda for more information.


Darkness lingers yet
as gusty winds blow wintry
cold beneath greyish skies

On brighter days in
pallid sun, dandelion
opens tender florets of gold

By Pauline Ann Walsh

 dandelion in snow

Ann Walsh is an educator, presently living in Dublin, who loves to write and to share with other writers. Contact her at

Photo of dandelion in snow by Leo Pichler Jr

Golden Rod

Downy gray plumes of seeds
On bending umber stems sway
In wind that blows snow
In a whirling cloud
Across the field, and

I pray to the Creator of all this,
Teach me to live like golden rod,
To want nothing more than to grow in rain,
Bloom in sun, bend in wind
And bear seed in snow.

By John Jacobson

goldenrod flowers in a field

John Jacobson lives and writes in the Catskill Mountains of New York. His writing has appeared in Kaatskill Life magazine and Mid Atlantic Fly Fishing Guide. He is working on a memoir about caregiving and nature.

Photo of Goldenrod flowers in a field by Ruud Morijn

Much to Say

There were pictures in the roots
of old oak trees

The leaf patterns whispered

Lady’s mantle collected dewdrops
of glistened poetry.

While above, gauzy puffs of clouds
scudded together in picture-book images.

Raindrops striking the pond
resonated in ripples of truth,

and echoes off the mountains
repeated stone messages over
and over.

Imprints of ferns etched into rocks,
told the solidity of frailness,

and unexpected wildflowers
spoke of life’s surprises.

Heartfelt conversations were held
between her and those deep woods.

I don’t know which of them had
the most to say.

By Sharon Harmon

old tree with massive roots

I have lived deep in the woods of Royalston, Massachusetts, USA, for the last 28 years. Every morning I awake to a beautiful natural setting which changes daily, keeping me tuned in to the many wonders around me and the ones yet to be discovered. I am a poet and a freelance writer who writes for The Uniquely Quabbin Magazine. Contact Sharon Ann Harmon Publishing.

Photo of tree by Mikhail Valeev

I consider

The end of winter, when the longer rains
contract and staccato eruptions cosmetize air
with tulip sounds and grassy dashes. Lacquered sun
melts my fixed stare, the frost tough to bite through.
Blessed stumble, gregarious gate, my dream of the woman
who knows how to mend the world. Her mango-scented
glance unravels my Teutonic structure. I had thought
I eschewed submission but her irresistible delivery
of scarlet underclothes behooves me to dance.
Adjacent to Earth’s be-ribboned roots I wait four
hours, heart to ground, for my next choreography.

They say, in our times, the bats die off, bees fall ill,
I hear the death cry of their drones while polar ice
caps soften. Am I wrong to idle in delirious love of
irises’ purple? Or does it constitute hope
to shore against my species’ juggernaut?

By Grace Marie Grafton

purple crocus in the snow

Grace Marie Grafton is the author of six collections of poetry, which can be reviewed on Amazon’s site. Grafton_Whimsey_CoverShe lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, with a redwood tree outside her kitchen door and a native live oak next to her deck. Nearby are red squirrels, raccoons, salamanders, and (never seen) mountain lions. Other of her nature poems can be found in Canary (online), Peacock Journal (online), Third Wednesday, Poecology and The Common Ground Review. Her book, Whimsy, Reticence and Laud: unruly sonnets, is rooted in her love of nature. She has taught for decades with CA Poets in the Schools, frequently taking her grade school students outdoors for their poetry lessons.

Photo of purple crocus by Gelia