August Weeds

Kate Williamson

What is it
about weeds
when the faucets
of heaven turn off
and earth turns to dust
they find their own
when azaleas die
out of thirst
What is it?

What is it
about weeds
lets them thrive
green leaf and stem
yellow butter`cup`like
flower`​up overnight
as though to say
Owners Gone!

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A Running`Tide

They say
a tide runs
but I wonder
where it goes
when it lopes
off to the west
leaving behind
kelp in the sand
mussels on rocks
for the sea`gulls
to peck`over in
frenzied feasts
sandy bubbles
for clammers
to dig up for
big pots of

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Marlane Wurzback

Blueberries hang
like fat little ornaments
on the bright green shrubs
reminding me of Christmas
after 48 years of gathering
sleighs & bells & angels
each with a story

It is a good thing
they do not ripen all
at once or we would never
be able to keep up with them
before the neighborhood
birds cleaned them up
one berry at a time

During August I’ll
pick a gallon every week
to bag & toss in the freezer
Purple ornaments to sweeten
the gray days of winter Gifts
from bright green shrubs
that keep on giving

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Angela Alexander

has found
a shady place
out on the deck
his tennis ball
just within
his reach

The ball
the greatest
of his treasures
forever guarded
against a hand
other than
my own

He’d swim
across a river
could I throw it
that far to fetch it
and then drop it
at my feet to
throw again

But should
you go for it
although asleep
he’ll nip your hand
just hard enough
you remember
It’s his ball

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On Temptation

Benjamin Iddouche

The bluish light
of day’s dawning
reveals a wild rabbit
munching clover
in the backyard

Her white pelt
suggests an escape
from domestication
or perhaps simply
a just liberation

A few feet away
stand carrot rows
El Dorado for Buggs
for whom clover
was for the bees

Isn’t it curious
how wild things
will tempt the tame
and tame things
tempt the wild

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Deportee’s Lament

Robert Motherwell

I was working
picking your apples
from high up your ladder
in your vast orchard
of endless trees

If not picking
I drove your sprayer
wearing your protective
suit & your gas`mask
down endless rows

If not spraying
I pruned your trees
cutting off water`shoots
on your heavy limbs
in endless supply

Where were you
when they found me
neck`deep in your labors
then hauled me away
to endless obscurity?

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Love Eclipsed


Just sitting here
awaiting the eclipse
as America considers
raising its eyes to the sun
to see the moon pass
in front of the light
to reveal the dark

Isn’t it ironic how
blind we already are
to the shadows cast on
our hearts Biases learned
in childhood reinforced
by the tribal attitudes
of our social peers

Our fear of others
who look act believe
different from our norms
fear that finds expression in
the barriers that separate
us into our isolations
of sheer arrogance

What but our pride
keeps the light of Love
from illuminating our lives
Greatness come from making
others larger than they are
more than what we are
dogs gnawing bones

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On Water

Yvonne Jacquette

In August
even the weeds
are dying in the yard
Our Island is surrounded
by the sea yet water
to nurture earth
is still scarce

Like islands
the garden boxes
shine emerald green
in a sea of brown stubble
the thick stems bent
with the weight
of their fruit

A little water
will go a long way
when carefully metered
By such means the Negev
has become an orchard
High deserts acres
of lush alfalfa

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Kevin Umaña

Lying bare`chested
on my back on a gurney
in a small room in Imagery
a technician squeezes gel
onto my warm belly

I stare at the ceiling
covered with snap`shots
of Hawaiian beach scenes
surf`boards & outriggers
old turtles & pelicans

My grandfather died
when Mama was a child
from a ruptured aneurysm
leaving a family to Oma
to raise on her own

I feel the steel ball
glide sternum to navel
then rib`cage to rib`cage
now holding my breath
then letting it release

The technician says
nothing of what he sees
‘I think we’ve got enough!’
And I’d have to concur
A new day is enough

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The Old Watch

Andrew Weatherly

we told the time
by hands on the clock
big hand & little hand
in the tiny circle

The days
on our calendars
full of appointments
in hourly increments
business lunches

The watch
would wind itself
so long as we moved
hour followed hours
and so the years
the months

The wrist
now stands free
its gold`watch boxed
in a forgotten drawer
We tell time again
by shadows

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Paul Klee – Woman with Tomato

The spring garden
has all gone to seed
the garden boxes where
row`on`row of potatoes
greened and blossomed
where peas climbed
up the tall trellises

And the cauliflower
sheltered their heads
with elephant`ear leaves
beside the bolted spinach
beside the wilted lettuce
given up to the heat
of the summer sun

The empty boxes
sit soil`spent now
schoolyard sandboxes
children gone to holiday
the forgotten sweaters 
of pale leaf & vine
left behind to say

It’s tomato`time!

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Old Friends

Wax Art by Jody B

He has his truth
and I have mine

Here we’ve come
to our conclusions

We no longer talk
of right or wrong

Agreeing that talk
is not productive

Simply up`sets us
wounds the peace

Started with religion
moved on to politics

Sex is still fair`game
we’re both impotent

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