Butterfly glory clamors for your attention. I’m still a brown moth.   J. Pratt-Walter   6/22/2019

A baffled Dragonfly Floats and falls Floats and falls again Puzzled Closed minded Climbing up a Wall – a monolith Neither Evil nor kind Then down its weathered bricks Again to pavement Where rain Rises up in steam As a memory Of one long Sweltering…

A twelve month A waymarker A handful of gleanings The sound of her words expanding their meanings The winter that won’t end The greenest of greens The water on the highway The crisp, crisp blue There is only ever this: Unclench your fists

“Flutters of Growth” by Mandy Austin Cook it hurts. to peel back the cocoon wriggling past what’s safe into unknown adventure. but staying curled up into nothingness also delivers nothing. this is how you discover your ugly duckling so stretch through the pain with wobbly…

It’s a constant fight To keep the sun out Everyone opens blinds And I shut mine I can’t stand the heat I hate the pain The focus of heaven’s spotlight Burns me to the core No, not a vampire But might as well be I…

My love is not so loud as trumpet’s blaze, but mystery of leaf in Autumn’s haze.   I love you like the mountain turns to sand, as snowmelt, drop by drop, reforms the land. (this will be added to)   Jennifer Pratt-Walter 6/22/2019

They call it Chemical Valley The barbed wire fence Surrounding the millions of metal pipes In a plant that produces toxic air.   Just down the bumpy road And over the paved bridge Are manicured lawns where people live. To those passing by The blue…

If you listen you will hear them- calling, whispering, warning, across space… across time. listen & you can hear them- on the wind, riding waves, wrapped in music. listen they are right here celebrating, encouraging, guiding. if you listen.

Enigma Who are you? I still have no clue. Together for five years, I should know you by now but you’re my enigma.     (A shadorma consists of six lines with the syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5 respectively for each line.)

My father preferred a crunchwrap double-shelled taco or a Mexican pizza to whatever my mother had left for us in the crock pot. On the nights he didn’t eat, there was no question of where he’d been. It was the dietary equivalent of cheating, the…