Until the springtime of the garden’s well
when water whites as the sky’s eye
and curiosity as a nameless fruit
makes you remember
It will be light throughout the day
when the moon and stars are curtained
in blue, butterfly wing blue,
and petaled songs are brighter
than their evening selves
The hermit thrush will find your branch
and there sing to itself, as if your mind
mirrors. It lullabies the sun with green
lyrics, music green as the grove
where the bamboo measures itself
as the future’s flute
By Jonel Abellanosa
Jonel Abellanosa resides in Cebu City, the Philippines. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies including, Marsh Hawk Review, Rattle, Anglican Theological Review, Star*Line, Poetry Kanto, Spirit Fire Review, Rat’s Ass Review, The McNeese Review, GNU Journal and The Penman Review. He has three chapbooks, “Pictures of the Floating World” (Kind of a Hurricane Press), “The Freeflowing All” (Black Poppy Review) and “Meditations” (Alien Buddha Press). He is a Pushcart Prize and a Dwarf Stars Award nominee.
Photo of Hermit Thrush from All About Birds
Nights of Early Spring
Nights of early spring, when evening,
With its scent of wattle, earth-warming,
Yields to the deep sky of stars,
The gusting, freezing, wild wind.
The year awakes and, before bird-song,
Flowers, the strength of sunshine,
The emptiness of longing, emptiness
Of night, marks the turn.
By John Leonard
You walk down every wood-lane—
Always in spring, when blossoms lift
In the wind, finches call—
And this is your gift, straying
Apart; yet what do you have
For those who are not with you?
Their sight is as keen, but does not
See what you see, reckon
What you know, they,
And their knowledge, cannot be apart
From yours, must see
The boughs, smell the damp woods.
By John Leonard
John Leonard was born in the UK and came to Australia in 1991. He completed a PhD at the University of Queensland and was poetry editor of Overland from 2003 to 2007. He has five collections of poetry. His Think of the World: Collected Poems 1986-2016 is available from lulu.com. His poetry has been translated into French, Croatian, Spanish and Chinese and published in those versions. Read more of his work at John Leonard’s Literary Pages.
Photo of wood lane by satori
Weeks and weeks
Of rain after rain after rain
But today the sun has made
A triumphant return
And along with it
The electric extravagance
Of the grasses
The dazzling blue pageantry
Of the hawk-inhabited sky
And my heart’s invincible Wow!
By Buff Whitman-Bradley
The First Sunny Day in Weeks
Watching a northern harrier
Swooping and soaring
Circling and hovering and diving
Above the broad green marsh
And two white-tailed kites
Performing an intricate aerobatic duet
In the glittering afternoon air
We find it difficult to believe
That we are witnessing
Merely genetically encoded
Hunting and mating behavior
And not spontaneous tarantellas of wild elation
For the first sunny day in weeks
By Buff Whitman-Bradley
Buff Whitman-Bradley’s poetry has appeared in many print and online journals. He is the author of several volumes of poetry, most recently Cancer Cantata, poems written during his treatment for cancer in 2016. He lives with his wife Cynthia in northern California.
Photo of sunny grassland by Yuri Kravchenko
From ice melt to mayflies
to frogs splashing
and whirligig beetles
that dance circles
foxglove stands sentry
you shine in dappled light
call life to you
call fireflies in the dusk
midwife spring into summer.
dried fern and maple conceals shallow
pool for remaining salamanders
crickets sing in cold nights
damp hidden spirit
rises to meet air and shadow.
Under shooting stars
in a sky that flings
diamonds this moonless night
you are bowl of soft white snow
empty and full
like my heart.
By Elaine Reardon
Elaine is a poet, herbalist, educator, and a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators. Her chapbook,The Heart is a Nursery For Hope, published September 2016, recently won first honors from Flutter press as the top seller of 2016. Most recently Elaine’s poetry has been published by Three Drops from a Cauldron Journal, MASS Poet of the Moment, and poetrysuperhighway.com. Elaine lives tucked into the forest in Central Massachusetts and maintains a blog at elainereardon.wordpress.com
Photo of small pond in spring by Rudmer Zwerver
I have listened to these woods and there
is no arguing about countless layers sifting,
settling in their own time. No quarrel
about this resurrection of mosses and lichens
on dead wood, the broken rosary
of shelf fungi running the length of the dead
branch. No shouldering aside of sycamore’s
breadth blanketing the slender chinquapin.
Stone and spore lost in some time lapse
even as slender stemmed trilliums tip wine
cups heedless as to gray or green. Scrolls
the lot of them, veined messages beyond
the stripped cedar where the mountain
lion scratches shredded sentences
across the blank page of the moon.
By Pat Anthony
To read more of Pat Anthony’s poems please visit middlecreekcurrents.
Photo by Sian Cox