by Jess Earl Mama told me that thunder is just the sound of angels bowling. The angel outside my window doesn’t have hands but maybe it just can’t bowl, like how Katie can’t eat peanut butter. The angel doesn’t look like the ones in Mama’s paintings; it looks like a…
by Marc Livanos I touch cool grittybay waters,full of blue-green wavestossing and rollingplayfully animated,as they crash against the shore. I taste saltiness,carried and flung ontwisting twirlingmisty sea breezes –briny, fishyforever saline. In this roux, the laughingcries of seagulls carrythe wisdom of the ages,as their mocking attitudetaunts me –dude, go home,…
by Rosemary Dunn Moeller Along Nantucket Sound at Dennisport where Swan River runs out into the sea, I watch buffleheads, far out from shore, who don’t know we’re cold today, the middle of winter, wind chill factor too low to watch for long. Sunshine’s brightest this afternoon when I step…
by Gil Hoy When you’re a bottle 29 years go by fast, Not necessarily so for a little girl. Through Hurricane Hugo The whipping winds The crashing rain The stones that missed You, you survived intact to tell the tale of an 8 year old girl who walked along the…
by Nancy Gerber It was a perfect day for the beach, the sky a cloudless powder blue, sand like blanched almonds, sea the color of smooth, green silk. Rows of white lounge chairs stood side by side, shaded by large, turquoise umbrellas. In the distance a gull dipped toward the…
by Gonzalinho da Costa For Father Pat Giordano, SJ The moon abides invisibly in a day painted white. At my shoulder a dark green shadow is floating, the sea. Breakers rush toward shore, roaring lions inside a wind tunnel. Peering within myself, I see bottomless water. Stillness enters the space…