By Barbara Atkinson
A gentle rustling breeze
Breathing in my ear.
Singing an aroma,
A whisper I can hear.
The tenderest of lovers
Caressing with their leaves;
The rites of Spring’s flirtations
Gently tugging at my sleeve.
Long and stretched to greet them,
My body as a loom;
Trees weave their mysteries round me
In nature’s undulating womb.

By Jeanie Greensfelder
Seed! Teeth holes in the bird feed—
a delicious day turns to turmoil.
I shift from being benign to murder.
At the check-out counter, the woman
commiserates, offers her two cats.
Tonight I feel my green friends,
who raise kale, cabbage and cucumbers,
who compost and bake flax-laced crackers,
play You could’ve, You should’ve
as I lie awake thinking of the mouse
who thought he’d found heaven

By KH Solomon
I met her first along a darkened beach,
her softly shining face seen through the mist
as she cast silver highlights on the sea.
Since then I’ve come to know her manifest
and learned her many names,
and I have seen and seen her face again
in the faces of her daughters.
I have seen her in the pink-haired girl
in trendy clothes who fends off
oppressions of teen life
long enough to work hard
at things her own
— poetry and singing —
for it is her season of the waxing crescent.
I have seen her in a woman’s
child-like sense of …

By Ginny Conrow

Driving into town, I saw you, this morning,
a woman peddling her heart out:
white, lumpy thighs,
plain helmet,
inexpensive bike.
A good half course behind the sleek,
the muscular,
the swift, the experienced riders,
you peddled on,
and I blessed you in my heart.

From my kitchen window, I saw you,
late this afternoon,
your stride was painful,
determined,
slow,
barely a jog/walk.
The bored high school volunteers at our gate
merely glanced your way, thankful to be
relieved of their
lonely post at the furthest station
from the finish line.
I blessed you in my heart.

From my deck, I saw you, on the dirt road,
a single mile …

By Ginny Conrow
She wears a straightjacket, quite neatly hidden under an acceptable facade.
She wears a straightjacket, a perfect fit: snuggly and comfy from years of wear.
She wears a straightjacket. The straps are labeled: control, fear, shame, criticism, unmet expectations, guilt.
She wears a straightjacket, so very neatly hidden under a perfectly controlled, always acceptable facade.
No one knows…no one ever guesses…and she would never admit…beneath her facade, all she wants to do is… dance…create…and S O A R……..!
Ginny Conrow has worked in healthcare for over 30 years. She empathizes with the “midlifers” …

By Jeanie Greensfelder
A trajectory of decades crossed like a comet,
years falling like shuffled cards,
now you see them, now you don’t.
Among memories, wisps of me:
hanging by my legs from a trapeze,
pounding the sofa to see germs rise,
praying at age eight to wake up twenty-four,
seeing my father in a coma before he died,
deciding to die at sixty and never grow old,
leading the Pep Club, depressed, in tears,
being eloped from college at eighteen,
imagining my daughter’s third Christmas,
waking at twenty-four, wanting to be eight,
hearing the rabbi bless my second marriage,
communing with a Luna moth …

By Jean Gerard
It takes a dream to stir the heart
of woman’s love and longing.
It takes the night to wake her shades
of dulling memory and regret.
Next come the words to shine
a light on terms, mixed assignations:
mother daughter sister crone
goldilocks grandmother wolf
before the beautiful parade
files past, attenuated on life’s tilted
runways, dropping lace perfume
petals buttons snaps and ruffles
twirling back on youth and games
and dances and the wild rush
of marriage in-laws births
feeding bathing nurturing.
Then daughter’s teen-age bloom,
her eager risk and asking if and when
and how, and what am I? Are you?
Mixed signals, click of …

By Sonia Paz Baron-Vine
Driving in the rain
at night..
blurred colorful lights pass me by
holiday leftover
from diehard neighbors….
It is winter in Central California
and I am cold, I also cry easily
lately… because my son is sick…
It is hard to keep a cheerful face
when inside of me I have
this heavy heart…
You my oldest son,
once bright, witty, strong
now sad, sarcastic, weak
the cancer hurting you,
the chemo poisoning you,
And me…
praying to all the goddesses
in the middle of the park
away from everyone
crying under the rain
screaming to the winter’s
wind to ask mother earth
to heal you…
My tears are salty
they fall …

By Gina Carmen Turley
I wanted you to taste my life like I tasted yours.
The thought of your vibration sent music to my steps.
You and me and all of the family that waited for you-inside you were already mine.
Inside you were only a spirit.
Inside me- connection to spirit.
Baby Baby, where did you go?
Why did the blood spell out the failure of my body?
Was it my past?
Was it the hormones trapped in chemicals, torn with age, mixed up with emotions?
Who made this decision?
Was it DNA?
Was it God?
Was it my unconscious or …

Roses saved me this year. When the Home Owner’s Association gardener told me to cut the flowers, he didn’t realize that I’d deadhead and prune them, too. Those proved therapeutic steps. We enjoyed roses all summer long, and I shared them with condo neighbors.