$\"Looking$

Looking Down on Park City – Jim Baron<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

Incense answering a yearning
\nto fill here now with palpable
\nthis volume, my space decorated
\nin the land that harbors me<\/p>\n

I read of Vicuna, Chile
\nand persimmon marmalade, kaki –
\navocado on a breakfast table
\nvalidation – thoughts of the native –
\nwishing to be native – and traveler –
\nwithin, within, so valid<\/p>\n

Brown men in cowboy hats
\nand women in bowlers<\/p>\n

I’m braided in
\nmy own land here in the Americas but how
\nhere, incense, fruit, text and
\nalchemist moments<\/p>\n

~ Lady<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

$\"Leaf$

Leaf Rise – Smith<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

Odd lots of tertiary things
\nhappenings dress the vast black
\nof my interior thought
\nthe ornamented particulars
\nof my life<\/p>\n

Hanging over the elaborate taffrail
\npurposed rosaries are plucked
\nfrom musical notes
\nbounding a watery surface<\/p>\n

Decorations of devotion
\nscapulars draped from necks shush
\nand listen to soaring responsories<\/p>\n

~ Lady<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

$\"Bumble$

Bumble Boogie by Smith<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

The Brambles Give Themselves Away<\/p>\n

it is something to discover
\na good portion of the thorns
\ni have put up with all year
\nturn out to be multi-flora roses.
\nthey and the vines of grape
\nconspire in a huge cover-up.<\/p>\n

another fruit of my endeavors
\nare all these wild raspberries.
\ni enjoy several dozen of the red
\nvariety, sweet; there was just
\none of the black kind ripe
\nenough for all these miles,
\nand it tasted of you.<\/p>\n

~ Bree<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

$\"Mom$

Mom & Dad’s Pond – Tim Green<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

on high summer<\/p>\n

dealt no more the advance of wood warblers thru
\nthe new leaf, now its burdock and chickory. barn
\nswallows rent the tip of the ravine folding up wings.
\ntobacco flowers topped, the bottoms yellow like
\nstains they will make on an old white taffetta dress.
\nwheats so far gone now its all been processed. only
\ngods know what intrudes in the grass. far out terns–
\njust look at the shape! they make white noise around
\nthem, but mutable lines of type<\/p>\n

then abandon punctuation over the shrinking pond.
\nand the crickets sound like rattlesnakes. preludes
\nthe occasional, last of the night hawks announce
\nthru a slightly hooked upper lip, as the metronome of
\nus synchs up, walking on gravel. corn is tall and i am
\nwondering if it will keep track of our losing time.<\/p>\n

~ Bree<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

$\"New$

New Instructions, Please Read – Smith<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

Status Report 53<\/p>\n

Crickets and frogs sing their song
\noutside darkened window,
\nweave traffic tire hiss
\nwith swish of this
\nand modal trains far in the night
\nmoaning for softer sidings
\ndown track and back.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s magic in rising before the sun,
\na taste of space before time tang
\nto sit and sip and wait for light,
\nmind reminting maybe.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Smith, 8.9.2015<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

$\"Hope$

Hope – Smith<\/p><\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

Status Report 64<\/p>\n

That shimmy shimmer shake when light\u2019s at stake
\nand high tree leaves glitter glimmer please<\/p>\n

The little leaf laughter with its hint of leaf dance
\nwail wiggle wobble in happy happenstance<\/p>\n

\u2013 Smith<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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