From the magazine:The Weeds (Accidentally on Purpose)
By Carey Salerno
I watched the first weeds burgeon and decided this was the summer
I wouldn’t stop them, every inch of …
I wouldn’t stop them, every inch of …
Explore Poems: Trees & Flowers
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From the magazine:Ch’iłbaa hózhóní
By Nicole GonzalezTranslated By Nicole GonzalezAbínígo ch’iłbaa hózhóní
ch’ínádzi’,
Bí ch’ilátahózhóón nídiich’ah
dóó ádík’as,
Tłeé’go ch’łbaahózhóní
ná…From the magazine:Morning Flower
By Nicole GonzalezTranslated By Nicole GonzalezIn the morning the flower
petal wakes up,
the flower petal yawns and
stretches,
the flower petal goes…- By Emily DickinsonWe should not mind so small a flower
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the … From the magazine:Orange Tree
By Janiru LiyanageOur neighbor’s orange tree is in full bloom fat and overgrown and spilling
sun-bright fists over our…- By SapphoTranslated By Dan Beachy-Quicka tender girl plucking the tender flowers
- By SapphoTranslated By Dan Beachy-QuickI myself in summer hours wove together flowers
- By Jericho BrownAster. Nasturtium. Delphinium. We thought
Fingers in dirt meant it was our dirt, learning
Names in heat… - By Paul Laurence DunbarAs a quiet little seedling
Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
And this is what… From the magazine:Phusis
By Mei-mei Berssenbrugge1
A path through the woods winds along a stream that flows into the ocean.
I look up at new leaves on …- By Suzanne S. RancourtI can remember my father bringing home spruce gum.
He worked in the woods and filled his pockets
with … - By Emily Wilsonstripped batting of cloud
glimpsed ligaments
dusk coming up under
lithographic, nib-hatchings
instruments click
the fine-sprung locust
replicate dinge along hill-lines
tailings of umber, the rust smudge
There is still that hemmed ocean of oaks
the various reds, the somehow
silver cast over the... From the magazine:
Two Trees
By Angela BallI am drinking a tree. Not exactly.
Not as exactly as the branches
lay, self-sectioned, over the round space
they had shaded, till workers
piled them at the curb. Not as exactly
as I planted it, seventeen years
past. A fig. The map
of its leaf. Before...From the magazine:
Poetry
By Joseph O. LegaspiEvery morning I pull up the blinds,
Letting in the trees into the study.
Their seasonal shadows first hover
Then blend into subconsciousness.
They speak to the desk, assembled
Into a four-legged beast, yet remains
Kin in their kingdom of wilderness.
They conjure up each other at...From the magazine:
West Altadena
By Jessica AbughattasNeighbors
pass, two lines of smoke
in hooded sweatshirts,
from the sober living house
next door, as I stand in the front yard
watering dirt.
I ask little of the garden—
mere inspiration—working
my shovel into bare earth.
While witnesses in neckties
carry scriptures, county sheriff
circles the block.
A couple fights
in...- By CAConrad“don’t tell me it was
the wind!” Frank shouts
“THAT TREE
WAVED
AT ME!” From the magazine:
Story Problem
By Cole SwensenGiven: The trees along a river seem constantly in motion; perhaps it’s the rhythm inherent in their equidistant planting, inciting a sense of walking, or perhaps it’s the movement of the river itself, a visio-kinetic echo connected to the viewer....From the magazine:
Mid-Thirties Square Dance
By Elizabeth MetzgerWalking home God peeled a major eucalyptus to the ground.
Genuinely uncertain, he asked
Can a life be...From the magazine:
Late and Soon
By Elizabeth MetzgerHow much longer can we ignore the mushrooms?
Their shade is surprisingly matte
with no complexity. Why one is larger than another,
closer or farther apart,
I no longer think has any significance
for us
though so far we have let them live.
Part of me despises...- By Frances Ellen Watkins HarperWelcome children of the Spring,
In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
On the verdant plain and wold.
As a bright and joyous troop
From the breast of earth ye came
Fair and lovely are your cheeks,
With...