Providing grounds for the greening of human language.

 

 

 

 

One Leg Up by A. J. Huffman

Tuesday, June 11th, 2013

Flamingos frolic in the surfless still of the sea side morning’s pastoral.  Limbs and feathers paint a fantastical fan, this stretching before the sun. The water dopples, dolloped with pink reflections.  A mirror ed magic, reflexive of another dimension.  Alien in pastel tones of aggressive softness, they adamantly defend their rights to this dance. _____________________________________________________________________ […]

The Gardener Finds Out Death by Adam Greenwood

Wednesday, April 3rd, 2013

In Spring the gardener finds out death– What fruit tree limbs did not overwinter. Some stems twig and bud and bloom, Some stems splinter. I lost a limb some seasons back From my own flesh–my firstborn daughter. Time healed the break, but I still lack The apples of her laughter. __________________________________________________ Adam Greenwood lives with […]

An Ode to Coal by Lee Allred

Tuesday, February 19th, 2013

Black seams skitter Through mantled rock, Crisscrossing mountains. Encrusted veins of blackened heart Hide within its poisoning death Until exhumed by grave diggers, Faces black with toil-worn greed.   Black smoke bellows In high desert air, Seeding clouds. Sooted walls of blackened lung Hide within its poisoning death Until exhaled by grave fillers, Faces white […]

The Grey Tree by A.J. Huffman

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013

Even through the harsh blues of winter, it manages to breathe. Stretching its naked arms across the sky. A living smile. Waiting to be blessed by the sun. ___________________________________ For Huffman’s bio and links to additional poetry, go here. Photo by John Firth via Wikimedia Commons.

Dancing Sky by A.J. Huffman

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2013

The nightstorms are the worst. More terrifying. The sharp shocks of light. They leave a scar. Inside. A memory. An omen. To remember often. How much they look like cracks. ___________________________________ For Huffman’s bio and some additional poetry, go here. Photo by National Severe Storms Laboratory via Wikimedia Commons.

Crocodiles by A.J. Huffman

Monday, January 21st, 2013

At first it could be any shore. Rocky and a little dark maybe, but still intriguing. Then a flash of green throws your eyes off center. Then another. Until the ground you were about to walk is walking for you. Is waiting for you. With a million teeth hidden in a permanent smile. ___________________________________ A.J. […]

Pastoral by Jeremiah Burrow

Thursday, September 27th, 2012

Against an autumn background I fall again into pastures not mine, dispossessed. Through young woods I walk (the old giants have all been felled) and grow tired; the footpath is overgrown and hard to keep. I stop and rest upon an old pasture wall— where are the sheep, the range? I am this stone wall, […]

Cicada by Will Reger

Wednesday, September 26th, 2012

Cicada settles on the sidewalk to wait the final embrace of opossum’s maw or the sweet reduction of ants. The bulging eyes fold in on themselves, arthritic death clenches once nimble wings, and beetles rush to sip the cooling ichor of life, while dragonflies above dance the wake. And I walk by and by and […]

The Shooting Star by Will Reger

Wednesday, July 11th, 2012

_____________________________ Will Reger has contributed several poems to WIZ. You can find his bio here . Photo by Shane Anderson via Wikimedia Commons, courtesy of the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Berry Picking by Will Reger

Tuesday, July 10th, 2012

These are the woods Where my mother played, Her playhouse—an outline of Stones on the ground. Beside the creek Her father gardened,  But the water rose And spread his seeds  Among the trees. Summer was the time For berry picking. We each took a bucket, Walked into the woods And filled it with berries. The […]