By Elli Paionidou
Translated By Andrea Christofidou & Peter J. King
You strive to cling on to the baton
of integrity, like some heroic runner.
On the barren hill your sage…
of integrity, like some heroic runner.
On the barren hill your sage…
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- By Hannah LoweOr call it black shoe or call it china rose—
- By Elli PaionidouΣε ϑέλουμε να συντϱοϕεύεις τις στιγμές της γαλήνης
μα εσυ ϱίχνεις πετϱαδάϰια τους ϰαϱπούς σου
στα ϰατσ… - By Elli PaionidouTranslated By Peter J. King & Andrea ChristofidouWe want your company in peaceful moments
but you drop your cones at dusk
like little stones on hunted … - By Elli PaionidouΤο παραμύθι της ζωής σου
το χάραξες χωρίς εξάρσεις στο λείο φλοιό.
Σαν ήλιου κάλεσμα στην αμμουδιά, ο … - By Elli PaionidouTranslated By Peter J. King & Andrea ChristofidouYou carved into the smooth skin
the unexaggerated fable of your life.
Your fruit, like sunlight’s summons… - By Elli PaionidouΑγωνίζεσαι, σαν ηϱωιϰός δϱομέας,
να ϰϱατήσεις τη σϰυτάλη της αξιοπϱέπειας.
Στις γυμνές ανηϕοϱιές σοϕός… - By Hannah LoweShe smells it in the earth, whenever it rains.
Call it anamu or guine, mal pouri.
I see her boiling the… - By Carey SalernoI watched the first weeds burgeon and decided this was the summer
I wouldn’t stop them, every inch of … - By Nicole GonzalezTranslated By Nicole GonzalezIn the morning the flower
petal wakes up,
the flower petal yawns and
stretches,
the flower petal goes… - By Nicole GonzalezTranslated By Nicole GonzalezAbínígo ch’iłbaa hózhóní
ch’ínádzi’,
Bí ch’ilátahózhóón nídiich’ah
dóó ádík’as,
Tłeé’go ch’łbaahózhóní
ná… - By Emily DickinsonWe should not mind so small a flower
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the … - By Janiru LiyanageOur neighbor’s orange tree is in full bloom fat and overgrown and spilling
sun-bright fists over our… - By SapphoTranslated By Dan Beachy-Quicka tender girl plucking the tender flowers
- By SapphoTranslated By Dan Beachy-QuickI myself in summer hours wove together flowers
- By Jericho BrownAster. Nasturtium. Delphinium. We thought
Fingers in dirt meant it was our dirt, learning
Names in heat… - By Paul Laurence DunbarAs a quiet little seedling
Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
And this is what… - By Mei-mei Berssenbrugge1
A path through the woods winds along a stream that flows into the ocean.
I look up at new leaves on … - By Suzanne S. RancourtI can remember my father bringing home spruce gum.
He worked in the woods and filled his pockets
with … - By Emily Wilsonstripped batting of cloud
glimpsed ligaments
dusk coming up under
lithographic, nib-hatchings
instruments click
the fine-sprung locust
replicate dinge along hill-lines
tailings of umber, the rust smudge
There is still that hemmed ocean of oaks
the various reds, the somehow
silver cast over the...