Tanager

 

I spy you in April's newleaf green,

living scarlet, animate jewel,

living proof of love's sheer descent

from glorious onesong unity

to fearsome threefold life.

 

Fluttering, fragile,

you've conquered the day in your brilliance.

Let me look deeply;

give me the glory of your clear

bright image

to flash upon the silent heart

in darkest winter's dreams. 

 

 

 

by Richard Trant

 

 

 

*** previously published in The Sweet Annie & Sweet Peas Review, 2002 

Cherry Blossoms

She was tall enough

to reach their boughs,

bending; her golden locks

flowing earthward,

each pale silken petal

a canvas to her eyes

and a gentle face to caress.

All seemed motionless 

when she stopped to paint

their blossoms,

as if heaven had held its breath

and no birds sang,

and not a breath stirred through the trees

when she lifted her fingers

towards their leaves

so that not one would fall

from its branch.

And in her eyes I can see

the spring that once filled mine

and remember the arms

where not a joy or love

would ever be lost or forgotten.

       by Joseph Ostapiuk

Mama

Mama

look at what you did.

Inside I'm dead,

waiting, 

to be born again.

Mama

I'm no human being.

I don't know how to live.

I don't know how to love.

Blue eyes white hair black skin

Stare at me with hatred.

No joy

No love

I cry, I cut,

I lay to rest.

Inside I'm dead

Waiting   waiting

to be born again.

                           by Shanika Cuthbert

The Grove

Blueberries and vines over the fence

like wayward lines passing over the ridges and boundaries

and bleeding;

its skin holds the blood of the divine

and beyond it

the beige and tan fields swooping up and down

down in the valley floor,

the dry brittle grain,

exposed to the sun.

"One begins to wonder in times of greater discomfort."

The valley opens and closes for miles, 

only imagining its touch;

the distant ridge line

holds breathlessly still.

Its autumn leaves beginning to fall against the curtain

past the crimson red vines,

meandering through beside

the setting sun.

                        by Joseph Ostapiuk