Joyous Dawn

Gray skies
That morph into blue
Sun reflecting
Off the morning dew

Sleepy eyes
Greet a new day
Nature awakening
In a colorful array

A golden glow
Explodes across all
The earth comes alive
To the bird’s call

Moments pass by
In the beat of a wing
A glorious dawn
And the joy it does bring

By Ann Christine Tabaka

bird singing from branch


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 bird singing by Sander Meertins

Mystery

It rises before my eyes—
an earthbound illusion—
roseate-hued, it spreads
and creates the eastern sky

our life-giving star
to our great good fortune
it is where it is
in the universe
or we would not be
where we are

I should be content
with knowledge resting in the unknown
but no, my restless mind wants to grasp
who or what guides hot heaven
that gives such diversity of life

such promise between
our first breath and last

By Gene Gobel
2 August, 2017

person watching sunrise over ocean

Photo by Patrick: pat138241

Eternal Summer

The dawn wakes to memories
of barefoot summers on cool green grass.

Swirling patterns in the coffee,
premonitions of days to come.
Visions rising from the fragrant steam,
filling the room with warm contentment.

Outside my window, the soft amber light of morning
filtered through trees imparts a dreamy
feeling, bestowing the day with hope.

A soft breeze stirs over the gardens as the
wildflowers raise their smiling faces to be kissed
by pollinators busy making morning rounds.

Shadows grow short as the day grows long.
I am drawn back to my coffee as I contemplate
peaceful moments, deep seated with the wish
of eternal summer.

By Ann Christine Tabaka

woman sitting by summer window


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 window by Vadim Georgiev

The Tip of This Floweret

Mornings are magic here. The whinny of a screech owl, the vibrations of bullfrogs. The garrulous squawk of the blue heron mingling with the wind chimes at the screen door. The song of my wood thrush (mine, you see) and twitters of other songbirds waking into the day. The sun hasn’t come over the ridge yet but there’s light on the pond and a soft light on my hives with its backdrop of Queen Anne’s lace. Their taproots reach deep into the earth. Holding on. For dear life. Stems, straight and strong, bend toward the sun. Dividing again and again, each one ends in a flower, and each flower bursts into flowerets. I follow a stem in my mind to arrive at the tip of one perfect tiny floweret.

So, so much here. Charles M. Schultz said that adversity is what makes you mature; the growing soul is watered best by the tears of sadness. I question my existence in this particular time and space. Often. On the path I’ve taken, a step either right or left could have sent me tangentially off, deeply angled from that moment. Every choice was met with yet another choice and of all the places I could have landed, I blossomed in this little nook and cranny of the world. I’ve harvested richness from adversity. This is where I belong today, stepping forward from a point of reality, not from some point of fantasy.

And so I listen to this bullfrog serenading me at first light. I watch this heron winging by, its prehistoric silhouette dark against the silver misted waters of the pond, from the tip of my floweret. There are no shortcuts to a different life and there is no retracing of steps, no turning back time. The measured hum of the bullfrog, leaving only echoes, and the pulsating wingbeats of the heron moving it only forward, tell me so. They are wise and that settles my heart.

Floweret of Queen Anne's Lace


Janice Sina, former biology teacher turned veterinary assistant, observes and writes about nature, human and otherwise. She lives in East Haddam, Connecticut, US, where she strives to tread lightly on this Earth with her husband, her pets, and several thousand honeybees. She is currently putting the finishing touches on her first book, Songlines in the Key of B. You can find out more at janicesina.com

Photo of Queen Anne’s Lace by the author.

Sipping Raindrops

By first light, we would
Taste rain in the wind
And watch clouds putter
Into frowns between sprinkles
We might even catch the moon
Pale and naked in his nightclothes
Either up too late or too early
For bed, suspended in the blue
Powder blush of daylight
And later, long after dusk
We’d delight in the peace
Of a colorless night lulling us
Into slumber hammocks
Until the moon would return
To chase us inside with his bright
Beams of confidence, flooding
Rooms through open windows
Like bold interrogation lights
sisters looking out window on a rainy day


I am an artist, hospice nurse and fiction author of two published novels, The Permanence of Waves and When Color Fades (LangMarc Publishing 2011/2013). Cien Pamieci, the Polish translation of When Color Fades was published by Proszynski Media (2013). My poetry has been published in Verse-Virtual poetry journal (2017) and by Transcendent Zero Press in Harbinger Asylum magazine (summer 2017). Sipping Raindrops, is from my collection called Raining Pears on Sunday.

Photo by Lane Erickson