Tag: gratitude (Page 1 of 4)

corn in husks inside basket — Photo by Sakshi Mohapekar on Unsplash

Contentment

1 August 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Nancy Kay Peterson

Late August hint of fall hides in
the pulsing breeze, scented dusty green.
Each time the wind pauses, the sun asserts
its waning summer strength, toasting
the back of my flannel shirt.

We two sisters stand on the foot bridge that
spans the dry creek between our parents’ house
and garden, silently shucking corn.
Soft silk threads tear away easily
from ears stunted by drought.

Cob tips have broken through
their green shells. End kernels
not gnawed away are mahogany colored.
We snap off spoiled ends,
toss them over the bridge rails.

Remaining bright yellow half-cobs
fill bags to be carried inside
and cooked within the hour.
My hands are sticky with milk,
the sweet smell of new corn.

I could do this forever.

Nancy Kay Peterson’s poetry is in The Bluebird Word, Dash Literary Journal, Earth’s Daughters, Last Stanza, RavensPerch, Spank the Carp, Steam Ticket, and Tipton Poetry Journal. She co-published Main Channel Voices: A Dam Fine Literary Magazine (2004-2009). She authored two chapbooks, Belated Remembrance (2010) and Selling the Family (2021). See www.nancykaypeterson.com.

Next Time

1 July 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Brian Christopher Giddens

If I were to be granted reincarnation,
and the powers that be asked my opinion,
I’d choose to return as a Zinnia.

The flower dazzles in late summer,
when the earlier blooms are on life
support, parched and fading. The stem
stands tall and sturdy, not easily swayed
by a late season rainstorm. And the burst
of primary colors, whether orange, purple
or the sunniest of yellows, demand applause
from even the most cynical of gardeners.

Yes, bring me back as a Zinnia. Grace
me with a short, but brilliant life.

Brian Christopher Giddens writes fiction and poetry from his home in Seattle, where he lives with his husband, and Jasper the dog. Brian’s writing has been featured in The New York Times (Tiny Love Stories), Passager, The Bluebird Word, Rabble Review, Hyacinth Review, Roi Faineant, Amazine, Glimpse, and other publications.

I Want to Be Kinder to Myself

1 July 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Arvilla Fee

less like frozen snow that crunches underfoot
more like tender purple blooms of crocus,
their heady scent perfuming sun-warmed air

less like bare branches scraping windowpanes
more like robins hopping through new grass,
red chests puffed out with sacred song

less like blue lips, shivering in winter’s shadow
more like buds bursting green from apple trees,
a kaleidoscope of tulips reflected in my eyes

Arvilla Fee lives in Ohio, edits poetry for October Hill Magazine, and runs her own online magazine, Soul Poetry, Prose & Arts Magazine. She is a widely published author and has three published poetry books available on Amazon. For more info: https://www.soulpoetry7.com.

Wonder Makes Me More Alive

1 July 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Carolyn Chilton Casas

How is it possible two juvenile
cottontails know how to play leapfrog?
Through the window, spellbound
I watch as they run back and forth
across our lawn jumping over each other.

On the other side of the road, young alpacas
are sporting first haircuts.
Like wet cats, these animals
look so thin without their plush,
camel-colored and chocolate brown fur.
They remind me of the bendable Gumbys
we played with in grade school.

And this morning, after an early rain,
I witness vultures perched
on the tops of telephone poles
and eucalyptus trees in the distance,
wings spread wide to dry their feathers.

I can’t remember a time when my body
didn’t vibrate with curiosity.
As a young girl the woods called to me
and despite being cautioned,
I was lured to explore,
gathering birds’ nests and walnut-sized,
broken blue shells left by their babies,
digging up arrowheads,
discovering flowers I’d never before seen.

My heart holds a tenderness for living things.

To exist on this fascinating Earth
without a full measure
of reverence and wonder
would surely be a life half full.

Carolyn Chilton Casas’ poetry has appeared in journals such as Braided Way, Grateful Living, and One Earth Sangha and in anthologies including The Wonder of Small Things and Thin Spaces & Sacred Spaces. Her website is www.carolynchiltoncasas.com, and her newest book of poetry is Under the Same Sky.

Sudden Picnic

19 June 2026 / Editor

Poetry by James Penha

enjoy life my husband says poolside
as he sets down the sandwiches
and salad he invented to help me
set aside the diagnosis rendered
the day before by a no-nonsense
doctor who prescribed an inhaler
to help me breathe for the rest
of the life my husband wants me
to enjoy as long as we both have it

Expat New Yorker James Penha (he/him🌈) has lived for the past three decades in Indonesia. His story collection Queer As Folk Tales was published by Deep Desires Press. His chapbook of poems American Daguerreotypes is available for Kindle. Penha edits The New Verse News, an online journal of current-events poetry.

Joy

4 June 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Alexandra Newton Rios

As the sun sets red behind river birch, oak and elm
still copper and yellow only across their crowns
and the sky opens its spaces
I thank God for my legs,
for my eyes, for my heart
that still cross distances and open them
still feel sorrow
and have turned to transform
it into joy over and over –
as the day knows how to depart
and return full of possibility
over and over
as love knows how to forgive and rejoice
over and over.

Alexandra Newton Rios was raised in New York City, holds an MFA in English from the Writers’ Workshop and MFA in Translation in Comp. Lit. (University of Iowa). Nueva York Poetry Press recently published Poemas de Georgia/The Georgia Poems, one long poem to Georgia O’Keeffe. Mother of five children, she ran the New York City marathon in November 2025!

This morning

28 April 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Elizabeth L. Merrick

I wake up early for no reason,
sit down to breakfast
just as one moment it’s dark,
the next it’s not.

Orange rays land on the pine table,
catching the round loaf,
lighting up its fresh crust.

A small crockery pot of strawberry jam
is bathed in apricot.

The polished bread knife reflects
celestial sparks.

Silently I give thanks for this light
from unimaginably far away,
this bread provided by unknown hands,
this dawning moment.

Elizabeth L. Merrick’s poems have appeared in journals including Gramercy Review, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Rue Scribe, and Muddy River Poetry Review. She has also authored scientific research publications and a guidebook on Boston’s historic house museums. She lives in Somerville, Massachusetts. Read more at ElizabethLMerrickPoetry.com

On the Cusp of Spring

1 April 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Stacie Eirich

She walks the river slow, savors
the soft touch of air and glow
of sunlight on her skin. Listens
to the rush and ripple of water,
watches squirrels climb trees and ducks
forage grass for worms. Feels the gentleness
of the coming spring, a space
in her mind, heart, lungs, womb
opening for it, welcoming it.

She leans into
this brightness, inhales—time blooming
into bursts of birdsong and promises
of what the world can still mend
and create anew. This season
of beaming gold, of riotous laughter,
of gentleness, of tenderness. Care-born
from love, love for windswept wings,
branches bright in April’s light.

Winter’s shadow trailing behind
the cusp of spring, gathering
to carry her—into buoyant light, into a song
brilliant with hope, burgeoning with wonder
promising this time
will be softer, this time
will be easier.

She begins to believe this might be true
as she walks: listening, letting what we feel come
then releasing it, letting the glow
of sunlit cyan waters, the slow burn
of gold and blue and green settle
into her, allowing space
for spring to crack open
like a robin’s egg, breaking open
joy, beginning anew.

Stacie Eirich is a mother of two, poet and singer. Hope Like Sunlight (Bell Asteri Publishing, 2024), is her memoir benefitting St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital & Ronald McDonald House. Her poems have recently been published in The Poetry Lighthouse, Soul Poetry, and The Amazine. She lives in Texas. Read more at www.stacieeirich.com

Bunny in Brown Bear’s Coat

1 January 2026 / Editor

Poetry by Stephan Hermann

I own a coat
A big brown thing
Bought it off an old guy
In August
A few years back
When I lived in rain city.
Smelled like cigarettes
Cigarettes and dust
Dust and wear
Wear and tear.

That three dollar coat
Only one I brought with me
Back in August
When I first came here
Across the mountains.
Gets me through rain
Rain and wind
Wind and snow
Snow and snow and snow.

Stephan Hermann is a poet, creative, and student from the Pacific Northwest. Their poetry is inspired by their day to day happenings as a young, queer person navigating today’s world. When not writing, Hermann studies economics and music at Whitman College and plays desktop solitaire (rather poorly).

Poinsettias

29 December 2025 / Editor

Poetry by Kathy Pon

You wait three days on a pallet
for our return. I panic
about frost and your need
for a drink of water.
But when we open each box
red bracts burst and blaze
our home with your magic,
elegance draping each corner festive.
Our holiday breathes before us.

Years past, we drowned in excess,
gold garland and strings of blinking lights
crammed our Christmas house.
Sensory overload from rooms littered
with glittery noise that seemed
to muffle our seasonal joy.

When we found greenhouses bearing
your stalks, you brought us delight
in fields of matted crimson, candy cane
pinks and whipped-cream whites.
Your yellow-button flowers
seemed to smile at us.

Now, no need to shine up
these simple lives. Surrounded by quiet,
our orchard stitched in winter stillness,
we drink black coffee in the dark
of our winter bedroom, dogs dug in
blankets beside us — and you dance
in the hallway, poinsettia-children
lifting our spirits like a secret promise.
Each potted star radiates enough,
all the holiday we need.

Kathy Pon lives with her husband, a third-generation farmer, on an almond orchard in Central California. Her work has been featured in Passengers Journal, Canary, RockPaperPoem, The Closed Eye Open, and other places. Her chapbook, Orchard Language (Finishing Line Press) was published in October 2025.

Tag: gratitude (Page 1 of 4)

Contentment

Next Time

I Want to Be Kinder to Myself

Wonder Makes Me More Alive

Sudden Picnic

Joy

This morning

On the Cusp of Spring

Bunny in Brown Bear’s Coat

Poinsettias

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