The Bee by Edwin Curran, artist Angel Dominguez

The Bee
by Edwin Curran
Artist Angel Dominguez

The singing bee comes like a little ship,
And docks beside a rose for cargoed wine,
Its gossamer paddles spinning in the air
A little plane upon the flower vine.
It anchors in the bell upon its quest,
And lulls its motor in the crimson bower,
Then with its honey glides on to the west,
A tiny airplane stealing off a flower.

Its paddles fan the wind in silver singing,
A boom of music down the garden dells;
The honey monoplane with motors ringing,
Its gauze propellers purring like soft bells;
And so it dips and soars and dives and noses,
A little ship among the summer roses.


Tranquility by Michael Escoubas, Artist Lisa Maier

by Michael Escoubas
Artist Lisa Maier

It is first light
his favorite time of day
when the world is still
save for a twig-snap
by an awakening deer
or the slap of a beaver’s tail
yonder where the stream
bends and eddies into a pool.

Day emerges softly,
mosses, ferns, and wildflowers
perfume misty air with
breathless spices anointing life
in one unrepeatable moment
when man and Nature become
a single being- a warmth, a light,
a power, wrapped in Nature’s shawl.


A Moment

Cynical Wordsmith

I often forget
The discordant upheaval
That is utter happiness.
I can recall the feeling,
But to have it bled into me,
To have it
Shot into this body,
Is almost always unexpected.
The words slowly fill my heart,
And overflow freely
And the imaginative dreamscapes take shape,
And as I look around into the glazed over eyes,
I see them see me, for the first time in decades.
We didn’t know had passed yet
Because we forgot how to care about anything.
We look to the skies before we fall into impromptu graves
And feel that tremendous heat radiate off the Earth
And feel that weight of every hope for all that we could have done
And we watch as the world grows:
more bright,
more beautiful,
more incredible,
more happy.

And it’s gone. A moment,
Maybe two,
And it’s gone

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The Crescent Moon by Amy Lowell, Artist Joe Gilronan

The Crescent Moon
By Amy Lowell
Artist Joe Gilronan

Slipping softly through the sky
Little horned, happy moon,
Can you hear me up so high?
Will you come down soon?

On my nursery window-sill
Will you stay your steady flight?
And then float away with me
Through the summer night?

Brushing over tops of trees,
Playing hide and seek with stars,
Peeping up through shiny clouds
At Jupiter or Mars.

I shall fill my lap with roses
Gathered in the milky way,
All to carry home to mother.
Oh! what will she say!

Little rocking, sailing moon,
Do you hear me shout — Ahoy!
Just a little nearer, moon,
To please a little boy.