Saturday, October 24, 2009

350 : Chad Vogler

Growing up slowly from the departed

Plants that lined the rivers like lakes

An emergent wind carries the weight

Of our particular millstone

349 : Paulette C Turcotte

If I were to lie down in the moss with my ear to the goings on of the earth,

I would gladly tell you all that I hear. If I had my ear to the ground, if I were

once again lying in the moss, I would know the secrets of the earth and oh,

I would tell you. Who Listens? Who hears?

348 : Liesl Jobson

Before my newborn ears heard rivers,

a cipher stamped a number I now cannot forget.

I'm waiting for the goddess to whisper

my real name.

347 : Thanasis Maskaleris

…trying to block off, as in a nightmare, the new tumbleweeds–

plastic bags, billowing in the wind, descending on the littered shore.

How much longer will Persephone return, to bring her green Spring

to our choking Earth

346 : Adam Roberts


and change happens into you.

The ground is littered with stanzas.
A bicycle is a small thing that works.
As usual, you give me back myself.

345 : Maya Malhar

water deep blue, sky azure
air invigorating, crisp, pure.
newborn, bouncing, secure
end of an era

344 : Elaine Kahn

I could be crystallized
spread like a young
mother, I could buzz the
fungus clear off.

343 : Michelle Lyons

If a tree falls in the middle of our minds

Swearing he tried-- but could not find the forest

Will the temporal lobes still find the echo?

Oh riddle, don't die.

342 : Jessica Young

I picture how paper gives into fire, the way its flat edges curl
first reaching out, then folding into themselves.. Then I think
of the wisped sounds that are barely there, and yet are there.
The reaching out, the reaching

341 : Eric Linsker

I am in sands of snow.
In seeing I do not grow.
To the sea!

340 : Andy Peterson

last leaves
scatter form. the city tree
a a_eae eo__._e_.i_.__ee
i forget my hamburger

339 : Chris Balmer

after the beginning of our endlessness
you said
where is the place that holds our falling,

oh that day in the grass

338 : Carol Dorf

Marrow: Aquifer

Stygobites retreat from light in their aquatic universe.

When geologists pump out water to mine or to nourish cattle, every

creature that has evolved in the isolated calcrete aquifer dies.

337 : Anna Elena Eyre

Liquid Constituent

water webs currency

solar disinfection leaches

BPA tax-toxicity

336 : Toby Bielawski


Dear Alaska, visiting you when I was

Younger, I saw Mendenhall Glacier. Today,

I remember everything it said: we are

Visiting always.

335 : Erina Harris

At the birthday party for the sky we built the smoking tower.
"The sky is one and it shall have a candle!"..we cried over
and over...And then I turned and looked at you: "Whatever will we do
when it is two!"

334 : Glenn D'Alessio

A Crack in Glass Can Reach 3,000 Miles-per-hour

A crocodile swallows stones to dive deeper.
The Maldives are displaced by inhumanities’ weight
spreading fossilized plants and animal remains
across a fragile planet.

333 : Andy Hepner

I ate, I learned, I swam
I dove, I dove, I reaped
I survive

332 : Sidik Fofana

There we shall lay, scattered like ape skulls
Or clues in god's toolbox
Long gone the very matter that explained
What happened

331 : Sarah Bartlett

Oh no, it's the environment on lead
guitar. We cry Free Bird! Free Bird!
but it just stands there, watching
the orange flames.

330 : Cherie Spaulding

Body Worlds
(after the exhibit in Chicago)

Living lips
engorged with a thousand capillaries
must be kissed--

329 : Linda Lee Crosfield

Sun and moon take turns presiding
over this tiny sphere we live on
pushing light through to the darkest places
trusting we'll eventually see what we're doing.

328 : Deborah Gilchrist

the old woman stoops
softly plants a kiss and an ear
on the sleeping child
and weeps

327 : Pamela Porter

Windswept bluff, cusp of inlet and sea,

that bald eagle pair call to each other --

a fluttering song, an impossible music,

the tenderness of years.

326 : Greg Bachar

The little stone hits the big stone and bounces off.
The big stone doesn't move. Illumination is a pretty word.
We’re going to need a lot to move that stone.

325 : Aedan Hepner

Ohh little penguin

I hear much of your sadness

Your ice home has gone

324 : Alan Felsenthal

in a neglect of ladder,
a refuse of regard, habit
of matter to sift through slope,
inverted region.

323 : Coleman Hepner

..............................................Empty oceans are left. Forests, lifeless

.............. Nothing but trash and baking dirt. Ghosts haunt the waste land we once called home

............................................................Nothing left now

................................................How could we be so blind?

322 : Travis Carter

Changing exponentially
A most hideous metamorphosis
A majority of inhabitants unable to be bothered
A poem will help

321 : Elise Wang

We live because of these, she said, these things
that are still.
Budded in the tips of branches, wake
four-folded in the snow.

320 : Kevin Holden

Through time to black powder chrysalis blooming
In the brainstem, the trees of birds, or
The flame turns sand to glass and we hear only
Our own names.

319 : R. Scott Rideout


The balding man with the spaulding crayon
sits in the grass
by the banks of the mill river
and can never ever tell a lie

318 : Nancy Eaton


When I was born, the sun was setting in the west
and the moon was rising in the east.
Canada geese were gathering to fly south
for the winter.

317 : Rob MacDonald


Up from the dust of the west,

lightning sends a message

to the heavens, dots and dashes

for cover.

316 : Scott Mansfield

three days of cold wind and constant rain
makes me yearn for climate change
blue skies and sunshine

315 : Naomi Benaron


October chuffs to its end and still
heat pours from the sun’s chimney.
The train of global warming’s gone express –
destination: Auschwitz Earth.

314 : Robert Fitzgibbon

Kill yourselves
Kill yourselves
Kill yourselves

313 : Ellen Thurmond

Orange sky thick with grit.
Skeletal trees reaching for the space above the rubble
piled over Earth. Her bodies fragmented by fear
and a desire to be the god of all except one's self.

312 : JoAnn Balingit

Many Moons

“Many moons! Many moons!” he cries as he breaks from me,

face to the sky, small and running down the slope, arms wide.

“But I only see one moon—” “No! Many moons!” and

“Save the moons!” he cries.

311 : Leonora Zoninsein


moving from (living) the animal

we neither use our mind to care

a parody of proud inheritance

the habit at polluting

310 : Kristina England

The Ice Storm

took down trees, telephone lines.
Wires sparked against my car
as I followed the moonlight
home to you.

309 : Tony Barnstone

Planet Elegy

Out the plane window: rock outcrop hilltops with linguini-crazy roads,

fields between freeways and golf carts like lice in their bright green hair,

the sad, folded elephant skin of mountains, the sunset clouds spilled,

entrails of a gutted beast.

308 : Jill Darling

lift lament red petals against horns sound

the dramatic finish fall scattered

dances where orchestrated minus attention

falter or

307 : Dot Devota

H u m a n A c t i v i t y

to stop practically at
the present moment---what
bizarre, tasteless food
we've grown

306 : Soham Patel

Destinations towards home travel with us like coal resting inside the mountain does towards light

bulbs. We lounge back in the dark so to save energy. They say the answer is just one left turn away and

that if we all keep the lights off, Appalachia can stop coughing. The very trains that take the water to our

wells will have to wait back by the beach.

305 : Julie Mahfood

Going Coastal

fifteen years later, she’s living in vancouver

in montreal, weather reminiscent without

mountains, february bulbs. in the suburbs

umbrellas bloom

304 : Steve Caratzas

Before I forget again, leave me adrift
in more water than we know what to do with,
defenseless. Knee-deep, navel-deep, neck-deep:
the river's rising.

303 : Sarah Calhoun

This sky, a golden blister tasting like sulfur bombs and sweet molasses.
Reminds me of the caramels I used to put in your pockets.
Later I would watch you throw the wrappings on the ground.
I followed right behind.

302 : David Weinstock


To go forward, we sit backwards,
and pull with all our strength
hoping we can get from 387
back to 350.

301 : Sam Witt


All of this happens behind the Gods’ empty, empty pupil,
Look back over your shoulder //The polar ice caps are melting for good but tonight
////.//I’ll disappear into shelf after continental shelf of glacial ice collapsing: into 2 bodies,
yours and mine:

300 : Department of Posthumous Letters


The calculations came. We cut them
with baking soda. If "hit me" was a literal translation
of our hope to be lived in, then yes,
be literal.

299 : Daniel Smith

The mild summers temperature is low
I stepped outside to the chill of a cold rain
The climate has changed this year
It is July

298 : Sawako Nakayasu

"congratulations on your (ongoing) destruction"

that wave that bellows or roars or howls into itself

into gray lies in a white pocket in a metallic desert in a

blank sheet of paper burning

297 : Nicole Steinberg


Never mind this nixed nirvana; nourished by nitrous

nail polish, I’ll be nefarious in the netherworld: nude

& noxious in the nylon nest, numerating the nimbi of

nucleotides. (Neptune’s next.)

296 : Lisa R. Smith

faithful, silent witness to birth, struggle, death;

selfless, present, nuturing, protecting, giving as a best-imagined lover;

supple fortitude, untouching embrace, eternal memory;

arborial sentinel on lifelong watch

295 : Lauren Harrison

Poetry is
Poetry is
Poetry is

294 : Patria Rivera

First breath

From sea, salmon trail
calm river waters to spawn
in land of first breath—
now gone.

293 : Dimitri Basilakos

More on swans
      after poem 262

Twenty years ago by a man-made lake a swan took the shoe

off my foot. It didn't so much hiss as

choke to death. Whatever they tell us,

I wouldn't listen.

292 : Karen Wood Hepner

we went to the mall for sweaters and scented markers
and ate corn dogs and flirted
and drew on each other with our scented markers
naked like ghosts

291 : Erika Lorentzsen

dusk, a witness, sacrifices for an imagined city,

a place filled with many visions, a banquet, one life,

many, captive to its acts

of collective alarm.

290 : Barbara Sabol

El Nino?

Spooked by streets exuding fresh worm-pong washed over concrete
in a warm rain when here it is, almost Christmas. Red, blue, yellow bulbs
call from blooming bushes - lights and odd buds each announcing
its own strange holiness.

289 : Elizabeth Greene

So many homes are gone:
why do we change
the weather of this world
for cold cash?

288 : Paige Pancratz

Tell me again how it used to be,
how it's supposed to be.
Write your words as if you can
create safety.

287 : Mary Hutchins Harris

where is the tree, they will ask me,

where is the tree you climbed

and I will only be able to answer

where is the bird

286 : Aaron St. Pierre

Roses are blue
Violets are red
This is a love poem
Where we all end up

285 : Heather Berlowitz

*And Then the World Abruptly Ended
"I could get used to this global warming thing,"
she smiled and sighed, coyly removing

284 : Becca Klaver

Global Weirding

The gilded ship slashed & gashed,
oil oozing, mushy lifeboats out to sea --
& all along the sooty shores tourists trilling
Me Muh Me Me Me

283 : Emily Kendal Frey

Driving 1-5 down the grated
orange sky, grasshoppers frying on my fine
thigh hairs Do you or don't you
unbidden break?

282 : Libby Kramer

Shrinking, shirking;
there is no difference

281 : Sam Pereira

The Turkish Did It

Suddenly, gas fumes all the way from Istanbul

Penetrated my front door. It’s always the Turkish,

I wept in California, driving my Corvette

Across the Delaware.

280 : Richard Greenfield


I thought I reached the reservoir (gone) I felt North in my coat the mapped currents (gone)
in my pocket where I thought drought they the city thought druthers (gone) you greenlawn
bastards there will be no more (ok?) (gone) there will be no more

279 : Mary Jo Bang

Lions and Tigers: The Escaped Animal Was Bent to the Trainer’s Will

We put you in the circus. Was that a good idea? And now
There are so few of you. Why why why why why
Why why why why why why

278 : Giancarlo Campagna

we lift to our mouths plastic containers
stealing a living air while the black bear
gets a whiff of us eating ourselves into
a diet of remorse

277 : Lucile Barker

Always the catch in the throat
The cough that can’t escape
Just a slight hovering of a breath
Not taken

276 : Charles Denson

Single Eye

Horseshoe crab
breeding ground
for 350 million years—
time is running out

275 : Clare Ramsaran

dry trees crackle

with unconscious blossoming

slow sonnets fade and curl

dust echoes

274 : George Higgins

Clouds of jet fuel,
halos of warmth, radiate,
mimicking the orange sun that just set
in the Coliseum.

273 : Rick Benjamin

Whales singing out lust for Salt Water's body, bees' hum-drunk on even
the idea of honey, mosquito's high-pitched cry for human blood. I can
no longer make any claims for the sound of my own voice, though still
some days I can hear hear it's heart.

272 : Kristin Anderson

You didn't have time to carpool only
wanted to get home after soccer practice before
dark and relax. Because it was a Long Day. a deep breath.

271 : Kim Tingley

Along Route 9 wind turbines spin hypnotically over fields of sun-ripening corn.
On Vernon solar panel power flashes amber light where children cross, safely, to school.
These routes of beauty, congested with my own car’s emissions.
My children, our world, their future.

270 : Jeff Nagy

The elephant's trump won't, nor will the crane's
knotted crosshand like the heart's magnetic veins
palm, purple, orient it, tell the weathervanes
when the weather wanes.

269 : Valerie Roth

snow falls hard
cedars crack with anticipation
a fire burns to
invite warmth

268 : Joseph Cooper

Comes a night, a kind of choreography
When she is still a wet roadmap

A grizzly scene, fleeing
A fretted sun.

267 : Lynn Xu

The trees cried and sucked away.
The one unmixing night
From night. Song we woke to
Lay between us.

266 : Mike Puican

Late spring, hail

like espresso machines,

scent of glaciers

not far away.

265 : JoAnne Growney

The Spider

Spinner of intricate, twenty-inch silk food snares.

Twenty inches—not fifty or two hundred.

She knows the limits to her senses. Humans

keep building bigger webs.

264 : Ellen Grace Picker

the hair you grew long just so it could
sweep across your face on those brief fall days.
i've tried learning the slow way, i've tried
doing the hard way.

263 : David Peacock

our planet,
headed for an iceberg
black as coal

262 : Amanda Deutch

Coney Island Creek

A conference of swans on a polluted creek tells us
what to do. We don’t listen, afraid
of their hiss. A bite from a swan’s beak can
break a human’s arm.

261 : Scot Siegel


Raise your hand if you give a damn
about Global Climate Change
This could be the end of the world; or
The beginning of a new one. (Are we in it?)

260 : Joey Yearous-Algozin


I'm not
the right
kind of animal

259 : Robin Lim

Hummingbirds live only a few seasons, all of them outdoors.

The only way to catch a bird who can never stop trembling,

is to stand still and emit the odor of pollen, It makes absolutely no sense what

we humans sell our lives for.

258 : Margot Glasspiegel

The weatherman is missing hiding slightly off the chart
Telling clouds how to gather —
Where it’s going to rain
But not where you can hide.

257 : Brice Bogher

"So we'll go no more a-lekking," bubbled some chiclids.
"Lake Victoria's receded beneath a sandy lid."
"Who gives a thought to lekking?" Victoria snapped back,

then powdered up her bruises, and wore a turtleneck.

256 : Heidi Greco

jellyfish billow like leaky parachutes

starfish with too many legs scrabble

over each other, blanket the bottom

of a stagnant sea.

255 : Margaret Foley

Some Force for it

Indolent uncouth Willard willows, following Tortured peat hags finished with

Dancing Dybukim dycrasia, hiding her, hindering her greenest drapers of Babylon

give it one more tangled Dyne, simple rubbing belts, for tires and oak wheat wind, feet curling,

for not one of us can blame Dione

254 : Maureen Alsop


The cool field of grass, once where you loved. Watermark. The sky

never left your mind. And out to the hotpink sea the boats had gone. Doves

among the surefooted parakeets and finches shivered and sang. Goddamn. Where, in the weedgreen traces did you go.

253 : Monica Bergers

It had not been a regular kind of night, certainly. After supper, when
Joel and the others
would be finishing the work, corralling the chickens in the coop
leveling the marks
pocked and driven into the dirt by the horses and wagon,
old Brechka brought out the fiddle

252 : Penelope Scambly Schott

Climate Change in Portland, Oregon


This way-too-orange extravagance of fall,

after a winter too stormy, summer too hot,

and the two-legged citizenry of the planet,

too many of us, too foolish.

251 : Athena Kildegaard

Monarchs don't come anymore on their trek
to Michoacan, though the milkweed is thick.
I used to mark their arrival on the calendar.
Now I conjure ghosts.

250 : Danielle Gordon

Jonas brother's promise ring
Taken by the HIV man
Of too much sun, not enough bum
Ozone goodbye

249 : Marilyn Hazelton

at the hotel overlooking
the summer mountain
men discuss
their first TV

248 : Meghan Brinson

Cloisonne, enamel in a bee's cell cooked to hard glass.
Traditional colors: green, blue, brown, red. Metalsmiths shape
flowers, paisley, swans, leaves. What are we making
with our golden oven?

247 : S.A. Standish

the lakesurface freizes the fall sunlight into a thousand points
and materializes the silhouettes
of fishermen
seizing at the purple air in their lungs

246 : Emily Morgan Thompson

winding ivy searching white was reaching up.
something quiet and old inside it
made a beautiful lasting sound like kids
laughing in the yard.

245 : M. L. Williams

As pages dim with every blackening word
(write “coal,” write “oil”), our darker world feeds
A fever lies can’t cure -Not a fleeting blush,
A bleeding out.

244 : Linda Benninghoff

Polar Bear

Swimming from ice floe
to ice flow, the distance
gets longer, the white bear
shakes out its fur, reckons,
hangs onto what its lips can barely hold.

243 : Grace Savides

See them flee-

the air is far too warm here
the snow erodes the soul,
we give you back your head.

242 : Nick Vittum

Precipitous transmutation

Winters now are grey slush, summers grey rain. Slugs
flourish in the garden. Our grandchildren will cherish them
as naked escargot, in their homes in the Laurentian jungles,
the Amazon dessert.

241 : Don Brennan

Don't feel bad about our planet
She'll cool back down on her own
After a millenium without us around
She'll cool down.

240 : Kurt Heintz

Moon jellies in tides escaped from the Gulf's own Dead Zone
blocked our sight of the surface and boat from 30 feet below.
We originally thought, "Such nice warm seas." Witnessed:
astringent, pulsing, brainless regret.

239 : Ann E. Michael

Rescue & Losses

Suburbs saved the white-tails, scourged
the bobcat, spilled grass seed over farmland
over forest along the creek banks—
...................................crippled us all.

238 : Sue Chenette

At the rally

We listen politely, applaud each speaker and singer in turn,
smile at the young man who hands round the Kyotoplus petition.

Someone wears a polar bear costume, fleecy white ears
bobbing against a ragged sky.

237 : Cara Benson

The leap of the sparrow from the branch and the leap of the child to his mother’s


and the leap of the angel to the blue swirled earth

do not but worship the leap I make to you.

you, who I yet

236 : George Einar

AGAWA BAY, for Sue

Their toes mushed soft clumps of green lake weed as they walked barefoot hand in hand in the warm shallows of the beach of pebbles washed smooth by the waters of time.

Their shared gaze of reflection cast southward across the great lake to the vast deserts of Michigan, Wisconsin and the drifting sands of a paradise lost to the vaporizing indifference of the Sun’s rays.

The shared nightmare of a future lost to a waterless world of tortured baked clay, rock, sand and dust wrought discomfort and anxiety as the collective vision twisted and contorted their souls.

Awaking to one another, birdsong, the sweet smell of fresh cut Wisconsin clover realizing it’s not too late.

235 : Katerina Fretwell

Dear Earth, forgive us past, present
for paving, shrinking and trashing
your wild, finite, life-giving beauty.
We kneel and seed.

234 : Jane Lin

Spiders in the mesh, drowned then dried, contracted to a bud.
Leaf and needle, silt of the shingles, sludge and rain—rooftop
harvest discarded at the first frost. Crack of the hose coiled,
trickle of ice melt—

233 : Ruth Lepson

we were just beginning to understand
the animals, including ourselves --
the giant squid its enormous intelligence
as the Earth ended

232 : R. Joyce Heon

In Victorian homes the aspidistra grew
in chilly corners, dark and choked with
coal dust...But the aspidistra never was
a hothouse plant.

231 :

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230 : Ashley Trumbo

I think my fear comes from
chance of death and you'd
think shouldn't that be a way
to wake me up

229 : Brian Burch


Leaves fall, going from green to red to crumbling ash.

The ashes blow away.

No rain....No snow....No renewal next year.

228 : Peter J Slack

In the dead of space, temperature has no meaning
On earth the measure of a pleasant feeling
With precision detail in the bible of ASHREA 55
the world burns hot and the men grow cold

227 : Bruce Meyer

Fossil Hill, Rte. 6, Manitoulin Island

The blanket of their coral bed

is grey as ash.

Tomorrow, when we wake,

will our hands, too, be cold?

226 : Susan Baller-Shepard

Here's what we left to you, grandkids...

You, my darling cherubic sweet suckled
from ever sickening teat, the world once
safe, a waif, half of what it was, 'twas air
and beauty we missed most

225 : Kate Foley


brash stag's antler velvet camp
prodigal old lady..slipper and bag colours
dessicated..bleached blown
before it's time

224 : Elisa McCool

The Climate

Today we make the weather.

There isn’t much in a storm after all,

ready-made place where the tree had stood.

..........Suddenly I had a yard.

223 : L'Oréal Snell

affect &

222 : Stephen Chenette

Blow, says the conductor,
Sound your trumpet.
But my sound can't be pure
When the air isn't.

221 : Dan Gargiulo

Just a Kid Concerned for the Future of Heavy Metal

I love raging but when it’s hot
my dudes they sweat, I will get
new boring friends if they stink
and get more wet

220 : Andrea L. Watson

Along the gorge, leaves, snow-spent.
Only autumn's third sigh and already
wonder of another season so swollen,
so wanton.

219 : Bernadette Wagner

Short memory

Each spring a green gift arrives, a promise planted
in winter's cold, always delivered with
leaves and sprouts. How is it we forget our role

in the whole?

218 : Ally Harris

eschatology (redux)

.....not a human? Wagging

........round the brush. Water a chalice, rumor

..............with unusual emotion

217 : Alex Ryan Bauer

seasons when,
when i
sleep anxiously.

216 : Stephen Rodefer

The gods and scientists heap their shit
on Buffalo and we're out there scavinging
plastic trees and other excuses for our footprints
.....preferring the freighter to the plane debris

215 : Sarah Fletcher

So baby, do you know what you want for Christmas this year?
Maybe a trip to Snowshoe? --- I don't know Dad, can't we
just buy a wii instead? Then we can ski ALL year. And it's not
like they have real snow anyway...

214 : Mary Fifield

Three hundred fifty Maldivians in formation.
Placards raised, an archipelago, a nation, reduced
to pleading: World, Stop the Seas, Drop the Carbon Parts Per Million.

Save Our Island.

213 : Hannah Weber

I was moving plates and coffee mugs from the rinse water to the
sterilizing water, pulling my hands out fast because they were both

painful hot, when I saw in the first suds-filled basin, a set of
bubbles there floating in the middle of the water, which were
uniformly shaped

and in a straight little grid, so unnaturally perfect, I thought

it must be a sign.

212 : Matt Miller

Look closely at the maiden’s conical hat,
you find it is a hive for numerous tiny men.
Though industrious, they make an ugly
case for themselves.

211 : Livingston Miller

The past is future

And you who turn on the future
with a blank look, bend down and kiss
the earth, where we are is what we have
taken from it.

210 : John Sevcik

Buying at Low Tide

When sister-in-law and her husband bought their shore house
two blocks from the bay, it rode proud and dry, except for storms
at high tide. An island within an island, how will they be able
to buy high, sell low?

209 : Cralan Kelder

when i was a kid we had real winters, canals frozen
ice skating cold snow in these parts now
we're lucky for an x-mas day

208 : Noah Grossman

Jetties built into bodies of water can look like they’ve been there
forever. Installed to keep a beach from eroding or carve boat routes
in riverbeds. First developed in ancient India, sometimes jetties work.

207 : Penn Kemp

“Embrace the whole green planet.
It is possible to be that large. The time
is come. It is not just possible.
It is necessary.”

206 : Wendy Morton

Here, the leaves clatter and fall.
Do they know the seas die? The icecaps melt?
They are indifferent,
beautiful in their death.

205 : Margo Berdeshevsky


Paris but not what trees were blooming then, when she hung under their fallen nail parings do

cherry trees bloom in April, yes, I’ll tell her, but these times do we know what is about to open,

the hand, the cannon, the heart, I send her mad Van Gogh’s marroniers instead, did he even

mistake their fists for stars?

204 : Lisa Pasold

oh and the same curiously Italianate French sound of the bees, coming, again—stand still at the circle of their hives. spring, moving towards us all, a serif curling against the stern stripped font of winter. when they stop (how soon?)

we will have no place for language.

203 : Rosemary Clewes

Out of Sync

On moonless nights I fear
we are cratering this overheated world.
Like gods we stride the Earth, angling
for immortality before our prime.

202 : Sara Nolan

a wake
in the weather it's not
a dry leaf but drier

201 : Victoria Fenner

don't fear the scorching sun
it need not burn
if gently approached as

200 : Geoffrey Cruickshank-Hagenbuckle

On Evening’s Ocarina

Doves coo

Night birds mew

The owl of Thought

Fingers stops . . .

199 : Emily Liebowitz

Oh! The end of the world!

Edging crumble working over
End eating, growing margined
Blank slacking, dusting over
Mapped courtyards

198 : Nkrumah Jones

Your Thirst

My hand's dirty from building you thirsty cars that suck the oil from distant sandy bars.

I wash with the ancient glacial font blessed from traveled and recessive atmospheres that now evaporate like insense.

I capture winds off Michigan; debride the rusty wounds and grow crops where angry metal plants once stood.

But now you want my water . . .

197 : Phil Boiarski


The migratory patterns of the birds and herds
vary for the very first time. Polar bears drown.
Extremes are how the earth gets the world
to pay attention.

196 : Pam Bernard

Too Little Too Late

I have lived through much in sleep, and all that was, still is:
guilt's cunning rhetoric, the inscrutable lure of regret.
If you asked which world is not there when I turn
to look, I'd tell you: this one.

195 : Nate Pritts


Can I still wake up joyous in the tomorrow morning of tomorrow & write

an effusive blurting: “O good morning &, yes, what a big bright sun &, yes,

trees & leaves & O untroubled sky & O lovely day, lovely lovely day!”

Or do I write it not effusive, not joyous?

194 : Meghan Smith

Plotting Soil

White crumbs on black are familiar. Understood,
Earth is richer in salt and pepper, can nurture
November orchids. Next, mercury beads will birth
cacti with thermometer thorns.

193 : Rhiannon Dickerson

The Exact Dimensions

The coffin man had asked for directions
many times but found all the map keys broken,
all the waterways empty, the whales
at the zoo unfriendly.

192 : Demosthenes Agrafiotis

κομμένο κρεμμύδι,διαφορικό 'εντεχνου..αιτιατού
το ένα παιδί το δαγκώνει,το άλλο το μασάει, το τρίτο το φτύνει
φανταστό ή ονειρεμένο ,κούραση μέσα..και έξω

191 : Nick Urban

Boiling Makes Not Beauty

Thirsting in the badlands, we get sick
on ugly water.
Mud-choked and sun-spent, we cannot
find the spring.

190 : Brenda Juarez

Celestial caustic soup envelops, chokes, and burns
Get the point, there's no return
Unless you mother the Mother

189 : Megan M. Garr

That we all stand alone at the top of the apparent world.
Try stem, try light, some if not all of the solemn expanse.
And exit the proper nouns of direction and importance,
inches by inches.

188 : Marilyn Kallet

My Southern mother was terrified of snow, she’d call me long-distance
...At college, in those days a hefty bill. I’ve lost her, but not the alarm
......In her voice—what would she think now, of Boston without heavy
.........coats, price of melting too high—

187 : Taryn Schwilling

eustatic runoff....running
inward ....rise up
glacial .before the risen

186 : Marilyn Hacker

ice cuneiforms
rain's plural calligraphies
alphabets of sand


185 : Kathleen Kirk

Red Nasturtium

Why should suffering suffuse us with shame?
Ecstasy if seen as the red
nasturtium hidden deep under round leaves.
Blush turned outward, we could also unfold.

184 : Susan Gubernat

Polar bear dragged down by his wet coat,
the ice fisherman finds an abyss, too wide
for his deft instruments to pierce. Pond carp
flap along the shore.

183 : Margaret Ross


We manage tide. We thread the water through these sieves we sit upon to solve it. We unravel
what the sea thrusts knotted on us, combing current from the waves, distill the node
the spiders sift for, pluck the crystal to resolve and claim
our prize, our salt sparkling.

182 : Kit Kennedy

Turn down the thermostat, honey.

Sidetracked by the occasional kiss and tickle

cavalier and unaware, how do we survive

no bee, no ice.

181 : Judith Terzi

what if?
mirror of pine in Sierra lake
traces of us linger in snow--
beside the creek, rust of aspen--
what if, what if?

180 : Kaethe Schwehn

when you say body of water

you mean containment, here

we mean the way the groaning 



179 : Caitlin Harrison

when i go:

my soul a flash of starlings,

risen up, wind-battered,

into that far sky- grey, familiar.

178 : Jennifer K. Dick

a rage

for some defining order rusted

bodies adhere to stone, ........displacements

become fallen stars, crystalline spiked glass, windblown.

177 : Amanda Nadelberg

Other Things, Trees for Example

At least in this bright lifetime

we'll get to know the forest and

the moon and what about the moon,

a window into

176 : Meghan Yates

Cricket Wings

Bend and chime in fields of tombstones.
 Where I walk afraid,
         they mate and sing.

175 : Sarah Campbell

Is That Us Acting?

Cowering under a cloud

Of news

While over there overflows

174 : Joe Fassler

The oven! No, not left running, too late to turn back:
Forget the phantom, drive up the cold hill onward,
The engine drowns the mind's faint itch, it's fine;
The house won't bloom to flames.

173 : Kathleen O'Toole

 Act now or watch

these wetlands shrink as farm waste sieves

into the bay,  and new droughts drive

spawning crabs farther and farther upstream.

172 : Agueybana Leon

Climate Action Boogie for the Struggle

Papi, your body is like an iceberg: white and large and cold.
And when you crash into me, I sink.  Above me, you begin
to melt.  Agueybana says: Papi, we have to stop this pesadilla.
We have to stop it now.

171 : Molly McDonald

A pale sky, pale water—how had I not noticed this before,

the relationship between lit screen and siren? (The clairvoyant here

who predicts the genders, dispositions of babies—the prediction of

turned into the predictability of.) Incoming.


170 : Gabriel Rocha

all the sudden a no-leaf tree
packed with birds, each bird
adjusting its body jitters

169 : Deborah Lawson Scott

The Oaks


Too many leaners caught in neighbors' arms,

centuries of not touching undone in a decade,

downies and red bellies nest in the hollows

of their ghostly hosts.


168 : Katherine Williams


Let's ask Vibrio:
Three degrees,

167 : Peg Quinn

Innocent, a bird smacked into glass
while we fly in formation
toward our end

166 : Pierre Joris

probity (nazah)


Lament its absence

among those who claim 

to govern.

165 : Abir Zaki

Change in nature,
be a song, be the cloud
and I will be the rain that was falling all through the long dark night
be the blowing wind...

164 : Claudia Kyalangalilwa

Mama, mama I don't want to go today

Just one more second, I promise!

Mama smiled and said

I'll die first

163 : Rosemund Handler

I am the oceans
I am the mountains
I am the deserts
save me

162 : Andrew Nance


Sequestered little joints broken from stemmata—shale, 
stigmaria, liquid storax drunk on antipodal staves—

from your own left earlobe: smelted laver assembling
from your own bowl of shadow

161 : Ron Alexander


white like the floes she seeks in an empty
arctic sea--her world melted--no icy
refuges for hunting, whelping, sleeping,
she swims to nowhere

160 : Kaveh Bassiri

He says, when the good news breaks
who will bring back
the glaciers under the sun.
And she says,

159 : Megaera Vittum Fitch

Let it come

Let there be again that taste
of bright wild air breathed of creatures
we walk in careful fear of, our power less,
our peace made

158 : Christopher Patrick Miller

A fify-mile ice shelf breaks clean from a perfect time
for unknowing.  Prattling swallows and impertinent, modern minds.
The figureless cold buoys and drifts
toward city light

157 : Anna Chinn

Make mine a long, cool drink
of saltwater. No, I am not kidding.
Please just fill the glass about 70%.
Yes, ice with that.

156 : Michael Medarno

Two Homeboys Summit Watching Outside Fresno




See that?

155 : Christian Hawkey

the yen tied to the dollar, the euro tied to the dollar,
the pound to the dollar, the dollar to gold, gold to oil,
oil to earth, earth to space, earth to space,
anyone, anyone

154 : Joan Fiset


Ice the floor
Moon above
Cold and colder

153 : Christine Lyons

Legacy, history, memory-- amnesia.

I think I'll miss the fall the most:

Scarves and mittens, your red nose.

The power of change.


152 : Kenyatta Rogers

Now the leaves hit the ground over the weekend.

All still green on Friday—still green on Saturday—

green on Sunday—blood fire on Monday morning.

More than the time of day.

151 : David Krieger

Change in Climate


The hawk circles, sounds a shrill cry.

Her cry pierces rock and moves tides.

Animals run, but we are still, frozen

Without tears….