Archives for posts with tag: flying



IMAGE: “Icarus” by Henri Matisse (1943).


NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem, originally published by Obsession, 3 (Spring 2012), was inspired by a flight over Hampton Beach, New Hampshire, on an ultralight airplane with no cockpit.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: J.C. Elkin is an optimist, linguist, singer, traveler, theater critic and founder of the Broadneck Writers’ Workshop. Author of World Class: Poems Inspired by the ESL Classroom (Apprentice House 2014), her prose and poetry appear in such journals as Kansas City Voices, Kestrel, The Delmarva Review, Ducts, and Steam Ticket.

PHOTO: The author at Redwood Refuge, Muir Woods, Marin County, California (2009).

by Ann Menebroker 

Here’s the deal: a selfie in words.
The mind, a perfect drone, some 2000 feet up in the air,
is looking down. You are here
it says.
All around it are word-squatters, thought-whores
basically heading your way.
And there, in the center, is a miniature red
balloon with your name on it.
A buffalo nickel in a pickle jar.
Sadie Thompson yelling for deliverance.
Helen Keller writing in your hand.
Pardon all the little blunders.
Bring it down. Land the goddamned thing!

IMAGE: “Storm Below” by Jim Darling, available at C.A.V.E. Gallery (Venice, CA).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ann Menebroker never wrote a poem in her place of birth, Washington D.C. She continues to write them in her California environment, however.  Putting aside the usual, where she’s been published, how many books, all of that, she  prefers to say that on June 22, 2014, she read with three wonderful long time Sacramento friends, to a full house, and with a grateful heart.  The reading was introduced as “Tough Old Broads’ Poetry.”

Author portrait by Henry Denander.

by Rick Smith

The morning air bursts

with bird conversation

dialogue and incantation
debate and invitation.

Wren is drunk with company
and sudden purpose.

Next door,

in a cottonwood,

a mockingbird
a cell phone

ringing in the wild.
* * * * *
ghost wren

dreaming on a cable


and still

like a shadow

about to dart

into a windless space

flesh and fiber


the tension of wound steel

a cello in the night

an ordinary cello


in a windless room
* * * * *
Something dangerous,

a red-tailed hawk

and coming fast,

like wind

off Lake Michigan.
Wren, lost in dreams,

freezes, off-guard.

The hawk

snaps a yard rat

off a clothesline

not ten feet away.

disguises anxiety.
Wren breaks out

of dream time,

arguing with unruly ghosts
* * * * *
A grey wren

foolish enough

to believe in Indian summer

stares into a black

and gritty wind

shakes with every gust,

imagines a subtle hand

on a dimmer switch

in a night

slow descending.
When wren is absent

where does she go?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rick Smith began writing under the guidance of Michael Casey at Solebury School in Pennsylvania. Close family friendships and Carl Sandburg and Lenore Marshall also made a lasting impact on Rick’s life choices. He went on to study with Anthony Hecht at Bard College, George Starbuck, Marvin Bell and Frank Polite at the University of Iowa, and Sam Eisenstein at Los Angeles City College. His poems are published widely in anthologies and magazines such as New Letter, Onthebus, Blueline, Hanging Loose, Pinyon, Eclipse, Paper Street, Lummox, Rattle, Rhino and Main Street Rag. His book of poetry, Hard Landing, (Lummox Press, 2010), is a lyrical tribute to the mystical “wren,” a character with characteristics not unlike the human spirit.

Purchase HARD LANDING from Lummox Press or at

Listen to Rick Smith read “Little King” from the collection at youtube.


“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”


Illustration: “Sky and Water I” (1938), Woodcut by M.C. Escher

Note: I woke up thinking about this Escher illustration today and just had to find a way to include it. I often see Escher images when I have a migraine coming on — and hope that’s not the case today!