Category: harmony (Issue No. X)

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Kirsty Jones

Sycamore buds burst
tight twisted forms unfurling
in timeless rhythm

umbrella crowns – astounding
to think they held themselves so
small

spreading glorious now
to delight in the dancefloor crush
of another sultry summer

before curling
into themselves
to drift, decay
disintegrate

to soil
and root

and when the earth
warms itself once more

the sycamores
sway wildly
limbs outstretched

stronger
for all that came before.

Kirsty Jones

At-One-Ment

Susan P. Blevins

I am the soil beneath my feet,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
seamless merging of human,
vegetable, animal and mineral.

I am the birdsong all around me,
players in an avian symphony,
harmonies reconciling dissonance,
soul-song fresh and new as spring.

I am the woodland canopy
stretched out above my head,
clad in nascent tender green,
offering shelter, beauty, fruit

I am the warm and gentle air
that breathes me into divine harmony
far beyond the will of my creating,
time an abstract concept,
my only certainty, the now

Susan P. Blevins

Street Aria

Lisa Romano Licht

Your gold hoop earrings glint
in the sun’s glare, rival
your ebony hair, shiny
seal’s cap coiling
into a long ponytail.

A street-long snake of cars
intersection six lanes wide,
and you waiting
for the light to change.

I drive, inching forward,
stop where you stand.
Cars crawl by
white noise of the city:
No one is listening.

You pose, defiant,
body captive in tight jeans,
young curves suffocating.
A cigarette, your accessory.

With a glint
your knowing eyes
challenge all that pass;
impatient,
you shift your knapsack.

The light changes.
You strut uphill
toward the bus stop, surprisingly
graceful in platform shoes.

Suddenly, mid-street,
you sing.
Your clear, honeyed voice
rings out,
uplifting as a flock of birds gliding
over the sea of cars.

Melodious waves unbalance me,
so unexpected.
Like the stark sunlight, a cappella
so raw and sweet
it hurts.

I surrender, willing prisoner
of your voice,
spiral of joy
rising
until the light must change.

Lisa Romano Licht