Bird in a Tree

A bird singing in a tree

brought to mind

something I’d read

a study on reciprocity

how bird-song calls

the plants and trees to bloom

and how plants and trees call

the birds to sing their growing song.

The clouds too soak up moisture

from the earth in order to be—

floating around the world

dropping rain at the earth’s request.

So too the sun must need the moon

(because in the night I need to remember)

the moon would be a floating rock

if it weren’t reflecting sun.

I saw a black creek yesterday

reflecting a cloud full of pink light

I needed to see that

for my growing up.

It needs me to see it too—

for there is light known

and metaphor is born

when I see the sky

reflected in the earth’s eyes.

  © Linda Suddarth, 2011

Bird in a tree; photo by Tony Russell

The Early Sun

The early sun 

passing through the red-gray stems

of the river trees

casts long shadows into the snowfields.

The river is dark and shiny;

the buttes above shoulder the sky

and repeat a winter theme.

I love this quiet,

this lockdown of activity.

We should take the time to dream.

The only sound is the thrum of my truck engine,

the only movement 

is the heated air

escaping through my open truck window,

wavering the scene.

I’m glad I live in America,

where we have conquered fire

and have fuel to do much and build much,

and to view this winter morning.

The shadows are shortened;

now the sun is higher,

and the sycamore trunks show white

among the red-gray branches.

I shut down my truck

and listen to the quiet.

The shadows pulling back into the trees

make no sound.

Only the river going down has a voice,

rubbing frozen banks and islands in the way.

What a day!

- © Gerry Sackett, 2011

Sycamore; photo by Tony Russell

Valentine's Day

I am in love 

with my furnace. 

It warms 

and comforts me 

on dark days. 

Humming happily 

in the dim cellar,

it sings as it

dutifully springs to life 

with a whooshing sound 

just as I am about 

to don another sweater. 

But how can I 

express my love? 

A reserved pat in passing 

on my way 

to the laundry 

is all I have to offer.

© Peggy Latham, 2011

Grindstone

This forest chews lava, and exhales the whispers of glaciers...

Sipping from rock once fuming and flowing

Drawing from deep water pebble-pimpled silt, 

Splitting muck-mired cobbles of glacial mowing 

Benefacting cycles of rise and wilt... 

This forest chews lava, and exhales the whispers of glaciers...

                    © Devin Floyd, 2011

Rock and water; photo by Tony Russell

Open Mic at Rapunzel's

Notice

At our last meeting Jona Noelle suggested that people might enjoy the Open Mic Night held on the second Friday of each month (that would be this coming Friday, Feb. 11) at Rapunzel’s coffeehouse, located in The Packing Shed in Lovingston.  The Open Mic night is for people with all kinds of talents, including poets (“If you’ve got a talent, we’ve got a stage”), and starts at 8 pm, with signup starting @ 7:30.

  They also have a night, Friday, Feb. 25, designated specifically as “Poetry & Fiction Night,” likewise at 8 pm.

Here’s a link to the Rapunzel website:  http://www.rapunzelscoffee.com/