by Lauren Petersen
Prelude Concerto (Or, Vivaldi On My Mind) by Deborah Petersen The earth is awakening, come the vibrations An orchestration long overdue the crocus — violins daffodils — oboes yellow forsythias — bold trumpets lilacs — cellos strawberries — all winds and strings then, percussions — Let the barefootedness begin and the dance commence.
by Alys Caviness-Gober
The Web
by George W. Wolfe
The spider’s handiwork was
barely visible, a homespun
fishing net for gnats.
Anchored across the path, it
caught the corner of my eye.
The slightest nudge triggered
her attack, from repose to capture –
faster than thought.
The pond nearby trembles.
Insects scratch its surface,
distorting inverted shadows
sinking into morning.
Wide awake, I let desire
slumber, perceiving with an
infant’s reflective eye, a predator
of moments, poised on a quivering
thread of connectedness,
seizing each movement in the
web of becoming.
by John Caviness
Things I Know by Alys Caviness-Gober Realizing my je n'ais ce quoi has become literal because I don’t know what the future holds I don’t know what America will become I don’t know what else we can do (except try to survive) then Realizing there are things I know other Springs will bloom and we’ll note colorful flowers nodding hello and we’ll sway as bright green leaves dance above our heads and we’ll laugh as tall grasses rise teasingly and we’ll taste the sparkle of sunlight in the morning dew and we’ll hear cotton-clouds whisper across blue skies and we’ll feel the day lie upon us like a warm blanket and once again we’ll breathe in stars and moonshine
by Lauren Petersen
Interfaith Psalm 14
by George W. Wolfe
Listen to my symphony of solitude.
Sing the aria of evening as leaves shatter in the
wake of your stride,
Their rhythm is in step with the hills.
They tango with twilight, courting the shadows stretching
across the fields.
Let thoughts flee their shoreline, gliss across the pond
as the wind bullies its way through the forest.
Hum with the fireflies while darkness presses inward,
surrendering its presence to the moon.
Make a fallen oak your altar.
Lay upon it the sacrifice of speech, of breath, of
time and of thought,
Speak without sound, reach without moving,
feel without touching,
Remember by forgetting yourself in a radiance that
flows like the mercy of muted strings.
St. Gregory’s Abby
Three Rivers, Michigan
by Lauren Petersen
Nature’s Song by Marlene Million Winter’s gone, and all icy snowmelt glides and flows into crystal streams. Sun’s warmth shines upon April’s buds, bursting into youthful spring dreams. Fields, valleys are a green, lush richness, as refreshing rain drops ripen and nourish. Array of daisies, daffodils, and tulips dance in breezes, are fragrant and flourish. Robins and sparrows are sculpting nests, tweeting young prepare to leave, scout. Beneath eaves of safety from harm, fledglings flutter their wings, flying out. As small creeks ripple over mossy stone, butterflies flit, honey-bees buzz heartland. Crickets chirp under fresh-scented peonies, and spring’s rebirth is a chorus grand.
by Alys Caviness-Gober
Driving
by Alys Caviness-Gober
Sometimes I feel like I could drive forever,
passing beyond the rolling southern Indiana hills,
through memory-stabbing miles in Alabama
where history hangs sorrowfully,
an eternal fog of despair,
then Mississippi, patched with red earth
that makes my heart ache,
for the blood spilled and
for my old home in Georgia
~ always on my mind ~
then down to where the tall pines grow
like sentinels watching over
this Dorian gray portrait marred by evil,
then as the tall pines merge within
the cradling arms of the Grandpa trees,
the live oaks,
with branches caressing the earth and sky,
and mystic’s drapings of Spanish Moss swaying
~ beckoning ~
then,
then
I am home.
Audubon Park, New Orleans)
by Alys Caviness-Gober
by Alys Caviness-Gober
Sea Legs
by Alys Caviness-Gober
Like a sailor back to port
I find my sea legs don’t work on land
I focus on minutiae at my feet
just-birthed Spring flowers
draw my eyes from a tilting horizon
Their sweet faces smile up at me
some are old friends like Johnny Jump Ups
nameless new friends salute me bouyantly
Still wobbling, I must smile back
their colors infectious with joy
And then
when I finally look up again
I see my dearest Spanish Moss
gently floating on a southern breeze
welcoming me home from sea
(New Orleans)
by Alys Caviness-Gober
(New Orleans)
by Alys Caviness-Gober
by Alys Caviness-Gober