Past & Present Pull

A very recent and honest poem for you, dear reader.

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Past & Present Pull

by Regan Smith

• • •

I’ve been feeling off balance lately, 
pieces of my mind scattered across the long ago. 

My summer skin warmed by the afternoon sun, 
beneath a butternut tree, 
it’s beautiful in this place I call home, 
though I’m trying to recollect parts of my mind; 
some subconsciously fastened to the past, 
where I try to pull and pry them back into 
the present’s possession. 

But I know
I must let my hands lay limp; 
grow into this new scene; 
I don’t need to have my whole 
life together in a moment, 
not every word needs to be
perfectly placed; sometimes
life looks like a string of stuttered words. 

I share compassion for others, 
but find that I rarely give myself
breathing room or space, 
that I crave control; 
but that’s not what will 
bring me to totality. 

Stress fractures have shown a 
break in my foundation
from placing too much weight on 
myself and myself alone, 
mixing today’s fruit with yesterday’s, 
spoiling it all. 

But I will begin again, 
starting a new season with 
no ties to yesteryear, 
beginning with a prayer
beneath this butternut tree.

Equinox

A short and sweet poem by Mark J. Mitchell pours out feelings of familiarity. It swells in my mind, allowing me to look out towards the horizon and reflect on how I spend my days, hours, minutes.

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Equinox

By Mark J. Mitchell

• • •

Nostalgia rains across split light.
Days drop to one side or the other
like rivers divided by a ridge.

Evening hovers beyond the gate.
It will finally arrive once
you’ve spent blinding hours looking west.

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Mark J. Mitchell’s latest novel, The Magic War is published by Loose Leaves Publishing. He studied writing at UC Santa Cruz under Raymond Carver and George Hitchcock. His work has appeared in the several anthologies and hundreds of periodicals. Three of his chapbooks— Three Visitors, Lent, 1999, and Artifacts and Relics—and the novel, Knight Prisoner are available. He lives with his wife, the activist Joan Juster and makes a living pointing out pretty things in San Francisco.

Photography by Farrah Emami.

Voices

I wanted to try my hand at some digital illustration and experiment with free verse. This poem is inspired by what manifests in my mind, a mess of beauty, darkness, and ultimately the light that brings contrast. It’s as though thoughts and experiences evaporate, condensing to clouds and expel rain in the form of dripping ink. This piece is titled, Voices.

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Voices

by Regan Smith

Second Home

I’ve been thinking about the connection between the mind, the body and ultimately its relation to our soul; I’m trying to make sense of their overlap, of the space that lives between them.

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Second Home

by Regan Smith

• • •

My mind has vacated, withdrawing up into the sky, to watch the world as a spectator; 
as the rain pours onto the earth below, I meditate in the heavy haze. 

Lungs lined with dew, skin saturated like petals in the morning; 
the bottom of my feet are met with sure footing by the absence, freedom found at this elevation. 

And as my body settles back with gravity, I steal a slice of this space, 
holding a reality that surpasses a daydream.

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Photography is by Farrah Emami.

Perhaps Tomorrow

Perhaps Tomorrow is a poem with intentionality laced within its contents. The paired photograph portrays an ethereal nostalgia; I truly believe the power of poetry and photography can bring forth emotion in such a unique way. Join me in welcoming Lou to the Introspective Collective guest author community, with this stunning work.

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Perhaps Tomorrow

By Lou Faber

• • •

Perhaps
tomorrow will be the day
when on stepping
out of bed
I will step out
of my body.
I will go into
the garden and pick
a chrysanthemum,
two daylilies, two 
or three Echinacea,
and odd bits
of reed and green.
I will take my ikebana dish
and stare at it
imagine each flower
just so, or so, or so.
Only when they
sing in harmony
do I place them
into the dish,
and step back
into my body.
I hear the garden
mourn the missing
blooms as I
remember my faded
childhood and walk
off toward noon.

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Louis Faber is a poet and retired attorney and college literature teacher, residing in Rochester, New York and Coconut Creek, Florida.  His work has previously appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle, Cold Mountain Review, Eureka Literary Magazine, among many others, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.  His book of poetry, The Right to Depart, was published by Plain View Press. He blogs daily at https://anoldwriter.com.

Photography is by Farrah Emami.

Northern Lights Over Yellowknife

Adrian Slonaker uses imagery and diction in a way that evokes an intimate experience with nature, particularly the Aurora Borealis. Reading this poem has me eager to plan a high-latitude excursion to catch this poetry play out in person. Let’s welcome Adrian and this beautiful piece to the Introspective Collective community + collection.

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Northern Lights Over Yellowknife

by Adrian Slonaker

• • •

Dazzling, zigzagging zests
of pearly-soft seafoam green, gracing
the homecoming of starlit blue-blackness
after its estival escape,
vibrating through shivery September air
over the delicious undulating dances of
the Great Slave Lake flirting with
defiantly rough noses, teeth and fingers of rock,
the pride of the Canadian Shield,
and more poplars and birches and willows than could be counted
in a score of tortoise's lifetimes.

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Zigzagging back and forth across the Canadian/US border, Adrian Slonaker works as a copywriter and copy editor and enjoys folk music, elderflower soda, spicy food challenges, wrestling and vintage suspense films. Adrian's work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in Pangolin Review, Aerodrome, and others.