A wilderness road so barren and yet so full, I was far from home,too deep in the vast whiteout expanse of Yellowstone,snow-mystified Douglas-firs or legions

I know, I know, the universe is so big that you can’t be significant.So, let’s go small. Let two grains of sand rest in your

How vexing to be like a tree plantedto produce sweet apples yet on whosegrafted branches crab apples grow I know it’s unlikely any other orchardhas

It’s summer and the monarchs are getting ready for their migration this fall. Here are two previously published poems about Monarch Butterflies. Butterfly by Harold

We are taking a break at Reformed Journal this week, so here are two previously published poems that capture the essence of summer. Blackberry Blood

You sayI should revere the fatherwho made my squint-eyed sister my enemy,birthing sons: chiseled-flint spearsto pierce my envious heart. I sayHe’s a trickster to rivalmy

She standson her hill’s heightsure to cause sensationa cinematic windsweeps her hair backlike a declaration echoingshore to shorethough you’ve chosenher & want to makeher glistenAt

Snow sieves over the lawnlike an angel’s torn eiderdownminus the comfort. I’m shaking packets of Fleischmann’sover warm water. “Set the yeastaside,” the family recipe says.

This mountain home weathers backwardsBrown winters, white springWater fills the airWraps the greenObscures, hides, conceals, dimsHand extended disappears I once met a friend at the