Nightingale & Sparrow

Author: meganrusso

  • Declaration

    Declaration

    Megha Sood

    I draw that circle of protection around me
    keeping me safe,
    breathing in the shadows
    of simmering love
    and gulping the elixir
    the concoction of love;
    the reason for my sustenance,
    like those mahogany swinging in the wild.

    The nape of my neck
    feeling the apricity
    a warm embrace;
    as if the skin speaks of your love
    the warm undulation to which
    my heaving chest conforms
    a feeling so sublime.

    The symphony to which my breast syncopates
    you are carved inside my soul
    deeply seeded,
    like those endless moles
    which your gelid fingers counted
    in the frothy moonlight
    on my undulating back.

    As it rises and falls back with passion
    that smoldering aroma,
    of your breath interlaced with mine.
    It births a thousand poem
    those gyrating hips,
    in that naked moment
    when your heart
    called me, mine.

    Megha Sood

  • Enjoying Emerald Isle

    Enjoying Emerald Isle

    Catherine A. Coundjeris

    Days like poetry
    Stretch out forever
    In a shimmering light
    On summer beaches.
    The roar of the serf
    Lulling me to sleep.
    Shrimp for dinner on
    Every long summer day.
    Tortoise and dolphin pass by.
    Terns and ghost crabs
    Caught on film
    Pelicans making their daily journey
    From one side of the beach to the other.
    Contentment like the warm waves of air
    All around with sky and water.
    Time is liquid here
    And the heat a second skin.
    We wear next to nothing
    Morning, noon, and night,
    Swimming with the rays
    Both sunshine and fish.
    An occasional shark
    Six foot and gray,
    But mostly all together in one house
    Enjoying Emerald Isle.

    Catherine A. Coundjeris

  • Luminescent Two-step

    Heart of the Fire

    Essie Dee

    Shades of violet in the sky
    Sunset
    Iridescent patio lights
    Dance in a gentle breeze
    Cicadas and crickets sing love songs
    Before the bass kicks in
    Low and pulsing
    An engaged heartbeat
    Whoops of joy, glasses clink
    Cheers to a long weekend
    Campfire set, bodies sway
    Volume and bottle count steadily increase
    A few too many had
    Eyes meet through smokey haze
    Curve of lip, raised eyebrow
    A desired understanding
    An approach, flickers of light
    Cast shadows on his face, in her eyes
    Two move to the music
    Hands and forms press into one another
    In the background cheers erupt
    Acknowledging the inevitable
    But they do not hear
    Their song is heartbeat, quick breath and thoughts
    Of what may be on a sticky summer night

    Essie Dee

  • The Pottery Firing at Mata Ortiz: Mexico

    The Pottery Firing at Mata Ortiz: Mexico

    Janice S. Fuller

    The wind raged across the potter’s yard.
    I watched Olivia gather sawdust for the black pot’s bed.
    It settled gently on the nest.
    An onyx bridge joined two parts of her pot.

    I watched Olivia gather sawdust for the black pot’s bed.
    Anticipation burned in travelers at the site.
    An onyx bridge joined two parts of her pot,
    the twins were etched with matching birthmarks.

    Anticipation burned in travelers at the site.
    The wind was steady from the west.
    The twins were etched with matching birthmarks.
    Cottonwood piled high around the sacrificial mound.

    The wind was steady from the west.
    A pyre lit with diesel.
    Cottonwood piled high around the sacrificial mound.
    At first the fire resisted.

    A pyre lit with diesel.
    Flames lashed out like dragon’s breath.
    At first the fire resisted.
    The pot cured, came to life, a beauty born in heat.

    Flames lashed out like dragon’s breath.
    The fire died.
    The pot cured, came to life, a beauty born in heat.
    The wind raged across the potter’s yard.

    Janice S. Fuller

  • Playing with fire

    Playing with fire

    Martina Rimbaldo

    Hello
    It’s me again
    Coming out to play
    My favorite game
    And i always win
    Hello
    It’s the evil side
    You did not know
    You have hidden deep inside
    All along
    Hello
    I’m here to play with fire
    Approaching the fireplace
    Placed inside your soul
    To reveal your secrets to the world
    I want to make you look bad
    So bad
    Playing with fire
    Gets you nowhere
    It can’t kill the desire
    To go higher
    When you are falling prey
    You can’t pray it all away
    Hello

    I’m crawling out again
    Grabbing the last good grain that sprouts in you
    Hello
    I’m awakened to stay here
    For good

    Hello
    I’m here to play with fire
    Approaching the fireplace
    Placed inside your soul
    To reveal your secrets to the world
    I want to make you look bad
    So bad
    Playing with fire
    Gets you nowhere
    It can’t kill the desire
    To go higher
    When you are falling prey
    You can’t pray it all away

    Martina Rimbaldo

  • coolness

    coolness

    Constance Schultz

    heat she said I’m hot

    & everyone needs to just cool
    down in a lake

    on volcanic rock cooled into a smooth

    chair in all that soft sand they need to cool

    their cores no shoes/get away/dunk
    your hair/pause cool

    look at all the cooled blues/
    the hues the skies same

    as on the other side
    cooling & for good-

    ness sake don’t look
    at your cool cool cool phone & when

    you come out everyone/will still be cool

    as hot as it was look
    out for sand

    hornets & cactus hiding
    in disreputable places

    aware you are cool in just a swimsuit &
    can burn aware of cool/it is likely

    & cool you are/so cool &

    still sweat drips/all the people cool every one
    glows cooly but now you can just close
    your eyes & feel cool water of the lake
    see the sky watch out for cactus uncool & think

    how nice the a/c feels as you walk through

    Constance Schultz

  • A Break from Mowing

    A Break from Mowing

    Lannie Stabile

    august is always there, hot mouth on vitreous body
    & when its swollen death draws closer,
    what’s a boy to do with sweaty, augmenting limbs? He

    rides his bike to the local convenience store
    on ol’ Lee Road. It is there his quarters find 10
    ounces of air conditioning contained in syrup. It is
    there he savors every sweet sip from the

    bottle, just as his father taught him to do as an
    empty child. Drops coat his tortured tongue in vacation,
    every cool drip transfers to his burning throat, as he
    returns the “money back” lifeline to now cold lips.

    Lannie Stabile