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Avocet The Weekly

Issue No. 9

| February 13 - 2013


Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

Patch of Sun   Solitude and want accompany yet another winter holiday weekend. Snow too deep, house too quiet.    People somewhere else.   Sadness creeps toward me, attaches, upsets precarious balance I straddle this season of isolation. No novice to the power of darkness. my body veers from its well, Wants rescue. This celebrated day, almost slide into gloom. But there lie three valentines, in my care, caring for me. Thomasina, the Calico, curiously studies me, understands. Allows me to stroke her serenity. Olympia, my intense, beautiful lab, always within reach, snores lightly. Enjoys peace, suggestively. My spirits begin to lift.   One more soul. Spencer, newest family member.   So quiet. Need to explore: Check crate, wingback chair cushion, beneath the table. No. Proceed ‹til shoe bumps paw.  Nothing stirs. His sleep already legendary. I smooth warm, black fur. Three tranquil hearts strengthen mine. Spencer cornered the only patch of sun in the room. Must seize my own. when I forget their gift. Ria Meade olympia5@verizon.net “Life is always a tightrope or a feather bed. Give me the tightrope.”- Edith Wharton -2-

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Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

Spell of Silence Encouraged by winter’s first snowfall, I walk a forest path by moonlight and become an accidental witness to the unfolding of a soundless drama-patterns of light and shadow stretch across an unblemished sheet of white, lustrous beneath the magic of the moon. Enfolded by this stark beauty, I welcome the unexpected solace. Surrounded by winter-bare trees and their silent silhouettes, I ponder the wonder of unbidden gifts. Lou Roach louroach@centurytel.net “Poetry is ballet for the ear.” - John Logan

December Decoration   Just barely day fleece robbed and shearling shod scuffling across the slippery drive   -hunched against the cold to retrieve the paper There above neighboring  Darth Vader  Pines an ornament suspended among whispy pink winter clouds. The crescent moon.     Cleone T. Graham ophion22@gmail.com “Poetry is discovering the exhilarating rush choosing words that sing true as fine musical compositions.” – T. Kilgore Splake

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Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

                            Snow-Shoe Hare Transformed I smile when I see them—there, on the edge of the woods. Sun glinting on them like crystallized sugar cookies,  fan-shaped prints spread out across a snowy expanse.  Small front paws, tucked behind padded hind feet, leave tracks that confuse the eye as to their direction of travel. Gray shadows, deep from within each print, peek-out at the light. When warm spring rays melt the edges of these imprints, they expand like those of Sasquatch. I imagine a giant hare leaping in thickets behind my house. My legs tucked snuggly within his gigantic haunches,  he leaps with me on his back. Whether fleeing from predators, whose tracks follow close or racing in zigzag patterns of play, we dare to leave the trail, the ground, all security far behind. Risking everything, surrendering to passion, we bound like Icarus into giddy free-flight.

Barbara Bald river1@worldpath.net

“I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.” Henry David Thoreau

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Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

Early Winter Tapestry The early morning montage, knitting together a lingering moon glow, a slowly setting Selene’s sharpened scimitar, a fast dimming morning star and a sun just breaking the far horizon. Early light shows darkest jade pine needles amid the crystal encased limbs and boughs, each crystal reflecting the morning light as though from a gleaming diamond tiara, the shuttlecock speeds back and forth across the lightening yellow ribbons, across the lightening dun colored branches, across the few lingering orange-yellow leaves, across the deepest ochre and russet foliage of quaking aspens’ season’s final dancing leaves weaving each morning a more austere tapestry. Still earliest morning renews my faith, renews the forest’s contour and shapes, brings on the hope and dreams of a new day, encourages me to throw back the coverlet, to let the phantasms of night recede. I lower my feet into lamb’s wool slippers, I tie the obi around the heavy cotton robe.  Rising slowly to take up the steaming cup, to turn on the oven warming my morning bun, to turn the computer to the Times and Guardian, to read of what happened and what was only imagined, to read of this war and that uprising here and there, of this rebellion and that oncoming genocide, to ponder Sheinwold and Doonesbury, to wander through the arts and editorials, to take up the cudgel of another day, still there is the weaving of a new forest day, as I linger for a nonce over my steaming latte. Sam Doctors samdoctors@att.net “Choose only one master - Nature.” – Rembrandt

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Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

                  Cold

It surrounds you absolutely makes you want to not stand still in one place  runs your nose buttons your buttons zips your zippers sucks what little warmth  you had  makes your skin rise in tiny bumps  where once you had hair It makes a blue sky bluer a gray sky heavier makes the ground crunch exposed skin sting then grow numb then burn when it is thawed-there is a cold that feels like a tepid bath when brain cells shut down Climbers describe the cold of granite and steel feeling like fire where their spirit joins  with that of stone-the truest cold I know is to stand in winter at Glacier Point with white clouds pressed against Half-Dome’s flat face a freezing wind hitting the cliffs sending white mists straight up If you attach yourself to these fragile wraiths rising higher  ever colder still you ache into a crystalline state of iron ice  as though never having been mammalian or even burdened with warm blood at all Daniel Williams     yosepoet@msn.com “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” - Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Weekly Avocet - www.avocetreview.com

Month of the Cold Moon SUPPORT That is what the Indians call it, December, the time when time itself shortens with the day and lengthens  to the shortest

NATURE’S POETS!

day of the year.  

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In high desert the cold drops

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abruptly as the star-pricked dark extinguishes the extravagant  fan of peach and turquoise  sunset.   I am alone

STAY INFORMED To know it, that you are a poet, you must write, read other poets, subscribe, buy poetry collections, and bring poetry into the lives of those who don’t know of its beauty.

as a single hydrogen atom in the black bell of night ringing with the sound of stars—   not even a coyote to sing the moon with me.

M. Daphne Kutzer blackholepoet@gmail.com

“All my life through, the new sights of Nature made me rejoice like a child.” Marie Curie February 13, 2013 - Issue No. 9

SUBSCRIBE Please think about sending a subscription check for just $24 for four issues, (60 pages of pure poetry) (shipping in the USA) made out to: Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry Charles Portolano, Editor P.O. Box 19186 Fountain Hills, AZ 85269 Sample copy - $6 With your subscription, The Weekly Avocet, every Wednesday, is sent by e-mail to all the friends of the Avocet to read and enjoy nature

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ONE ONE of us From

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The Weekly Avocet of us every Wednesday, an e-mail of Nature Poetry lease read these two reviews

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for Charles Portolano’s book of poetry “The little, lingering, white lies we allow ourselves to live with.” 100 pages of poetry for only $10, plus $2.95 for shipping.

• Please send only one poem, per poet, per season. Let’s do winter-themed poetry for now. • Please no more than 38 lines per poem. • Please use single spaced lines.

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I love getting poems sent to my computer. What a great way to start any day. A wonderful website is Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac, every day one poem and lots of Art history. Please check it out: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ I start everyday reading it, great fun! Thank you for reading. Charles Portolano Editor of the Avocet


Issue No. 9