Black Bear

      by John Berry

 

One dog day down

Middle Road

A black bear

Crossed my path

Or I perhaps his

 

He seemed as unimpressed

With me

As I for the usual cows

Listlessly grazing

 

And the orchards steaming

In their poisons

 

All those green apples

 

He did not gawk

Or goggle

Or turn his head

Or slack his pace

 

That thirsty worthy soul

 

And when he reached

His place of rest

I suppose

 

He did not muse over

The meaning behind

Our encounter

 

Nor claw

His impressions of me

In the suffering ground

 

 

 

La Lune

     by John Berry

 

Tonight

I could read

The Love poem

You write

With my shoulders

In Shadow.

 

O moon

Ma lune adore

 

 

 

Bio:  John Berry’s work has been published in several journals and anthologies including; Vox Poetica, The Yellow Chair Review, Peeking Cat Poetry, Algebra for Owls, and Birdsong: A Celebration of Birds. Most recently, his poem The Day Before It’s Official appeared in Trumped: A Poet’s Speak Anthology, edited by John Roche. His second book of poems, Medicine,  is being released in June of  2017 by Foothills Publishing. A self-taught woodworker and promotor of all things poetry, John writes from his home in Winchester Virginia with his beloved spouse, Brenda, and their two yorkies, Molly and Lily. When he is not plying his trade as a carpenter, John hosts a monthly poetry open-mic and also presents a weekly internet tv show at www.winlifetv.com called The Sock Drawer Poetry Series, but can more likely be found, notebook in hand, writing. Currently in his second year of study with the Whitewinds/Featherstone Institute of Integrative Energy Medicine, and with master level training in Reiki, John looks forward to begin practicing energy medicine alongside his wife in her healing center, Sacred Celebrations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flying Like Finches

 

       by   F. E. Walls

 

My brother

took my small hands in his

swung me silently around

turning in our green yard

faster, faster

spinning like a top.

We were one person

balanced high above the summer street.

 

My mother's rose

a flash of violet,

the neighborhood a dizzy blur

as his brown feet

danced to the lip of concrete

holding the hillside back.

 

He did not stop twirling, twirling,

tripped, let me go

flying like finches

in my yellow dress.

 

 

Bio: F.E.Walls loves traveling & living in places as diverse as Wales & Botswana.  Her poems appear in Pontoon, Ekphrasis, damselfly press, Avocet, Strange Poetry among others, the writing text, Writing Across Cultures, & the anthology, Peace Poets v. 2. She blogs athttp://wordandimageworker.com.