Tag Archives: nature

Blackbird

. . . That day in the garden we heard

a bell-throated birdsong bounding

through the courtyard from St. Thomas’ Church,

a song so sharp it obliterated even the groan

of his wheelchair inching down the graveled path .

–Excerpt from “Blackbird” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016). First published in Wichita Falls Literary and Arts Review.

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How Language Lives

. . . During the long summer days,

the language of the sun

illuminates the human species,

sparked again in love affairs, birthing pains,

the lifelong counting of money,

the last flight of the sparrow.

–Excerpt from “How Language Lives” in Edges by Donna Pucciani (Purple Flag, Chicago, 2016).

Meltdown

…The clods of ice wander

listlessly on dark industrial waters

like lost sheep. They watch each other

decay in the oil-slick river …
–excerpt from “Meltdown” based on a photograph by X Woods, in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, Chicago 2013). Published in After Hours and Freshwater.

 

The secret of stillness

is elusive,

how the lilies cling to staunch stems,

how the roses, brown-edged

from the drought but uncomplaining,

let their heads droop gently down,

their hips holding them firm

until their last moisture

surrenders to the sun’s avarice . . .

–excerpt from “The secret of stillness” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). First published in Summerset Review.

Only because

. . . Matter rearranges itself,

readying for tomorrow’s storm,

forecast in red. Startled by thunder,

I drink the last electric years

from my cupped hands . . .

–excerpt from “Only because” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). First published in Acumen.

The Cranes

Fifty or a hundred commas

gather in the sky as if

they do not know to what sentence

they currently belong, and,

lacking syntax, wander so high

as to be almost invisible.

–excerpt from “The Cranes” in A Light Dusting of Breath by Donna Pucciani (virtual artists collective/purple flag, 2015). First published in Soundings East.

Lost Season

Soon grey-veined winter will burrow

into the violet heart of things,

camouflaged behind the shed

filled with garden tools. The ground

smells cold as an airport floor.

–Excerpt from “Lost Season” in Hanging Like Hope on the Equinox by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective, 2013). First published in Caveat Lector.