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[ 4 poems from Brillig summer/fall 2026 ]
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Peas are Wild Things
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In their tangle, the disrepair of the world seems new.
I sleep, only in fits; they grow all night without sound.
They make a mesh for themselves and my children
find in the green tent trellis a place of refuge,
shade as soft as wood duck down where they lay down,
where crows, those sailing shadows, come closer.
These peas are wild things. yet, they build a civilization
without acknowledging the grief ahead of them:
the dry rattle at summer’s end, the killing encasement
by the first hard frost. At this moment, their shelter
is a place of grace, of freedom, of mysteries.
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Paul Jones
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❀    ❀    ❀
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New Trail
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Two days after my divorce is final I see a vision. Pepsodent
smile, red hair, overgrown beard, strong legs, ragged sorts,
scuffed leather boots. We’re trailwork volunteers. He’s worn
that insurmountable barrier ten years; doesn’t own a razor.
I can’t imagine a kiss.
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“Mom! You don’t do beards.”
“I do now.”
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Patricia Darcy
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En Passant
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Sodden he trudged through the downpour.
Whether heedless or hopeless, who knew?
In no hurry, his head down and dripping,
one more shower within the deluge.
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A girl in a green sedan passed him,
slowing down not to spray, turned aside,
“Would you like an umbrella?” she called to him.
“I’ve an extra” “Why, thank you,” he said.
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As the girl raised her window, the walker
opened her tiny shelter and waved.
She resumed her slow drive through the thunder,
and wondered what difference it made
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to reach out to a stranger in passing,
for her kindness left him no less wet.
Yet he stood a bit straighter beneath it
and began to take care where he stepped.
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Ed Robson
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Flashback
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Does he recall their courtship?
His ardent bow. Her frenzied curtsies.
How she squeezed through metal mesh,
tore luminescent wing, to dance for him.
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The green ballerina shimmered and twirled.
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He demanded a tango, chased, caught her.
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A singeing kiss. A fiery flutter. A crackle.
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Beholding cinders at dawn, does the candle
remember the moth?
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Jennifer Weiss
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I am standing at a long table heaped and strewn with books. A rank of glass doors on two sides of the room pours Sandhills light across the table, while darkness from old paneled and patterned walls pushes back, antique shadows in opposition. It is a room that has hosted Southern literary luminaries for dinners around that table, followed no doubt by fantastical conversations long into the night, but this morning’s luminaries are the books. Poetry books. New poetry books. Authors of those books hanging in the wings to see who will be attracted to these shining colorful seductive books, books, books. I pick one up.
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This book is smaller than most. Square. Slim. Hand crafted and oddly folded such that it opens itself into an organic creature in my hands. I read a poem. I exclaim, “Oh frabjous day!” A laugh behind my shoulder. I turn to find Deborah Doolittle, she whose book I am holding. She who has selected the poems in the book, curated and arranged, applied them to the pages that her own hands have also decorated, folded, sewn. Brilliant and big. I look forward to every new issue, and when I discover the envelope in my mailbox I know it will be another frabjous day.
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❀
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Paul Jones has been inducted in to the NCSU Computer Science Hall of Fame.
Patricia Darcy is partial to orange cats, crocheted cowls, and the Oxford comma.
Ed Robson celebrated his 73rd birthday by paragliding in Guatemala.
Jennifer Weiss is passionate about childhood literacy and reading to children out loud.
Also featured in the summer/fall 2026 edition of Brillig are J.T. Bryson, Peggy Heitmann, and Mary Spadoni.
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❀
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Also at Verse and Image by Paul Jones;
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Also at Verse and Image by Jennifer Weiss:
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or more poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
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If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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– Bill
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Saturday morning readers share:
Gene Hyde, Peter Venable
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Holy the Firm
– for Annie Dillard
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Falling like saffron flakes at my feet,
the glue holding the cover
of Annie Dillard’s Holy the Firm
comes undone,
the cover slipping free
as I sit in the car dealership,
my brakes being repaired
and my safety,
at least in this regard,
assured for a while.
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I gaze out the window
at the Blue Ridge,
thinking of Dillard’s
Countenance Divine
as it shone forth
on the clouded
Olympic Range,
while the same
God goes riding here,
oblivious to tourists and traffic
and human foibles,
of which we are legion.
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God sits at my feet,
in the dust of bookish glue,
and washes across this waiting room
filled with unwitting pilgrims,
infusing even indifferent souls
with sparks of silent prayer.
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Gene Hyde
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Originally appeared in a slightly different form in Amethyst Review. It was inspired by Annie Dillard’s book of the same name, and I dedicated it to her. I thought this might be a good time to share it.
– Gene
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Gene Hyde

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Read another of Gene’s poems at Salvation South . . . and listen to him read it to you:
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And here’s a poem by Gene at Verse and Image:
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Lazing On A Summer Afternoon
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Drifting in our wooded cocoon, oars at rest,
the cypress canopy shading noon’s full moon,
the pond smooth as glass, dragonflies circle…
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You drop a pebble and concentric ripples
spread outwards across the lily-padded
surface, minnows schooling below
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and I look into your eyes—
deep dark pupils—and plunge
into your vortices, swirling and swooning…
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Peter Venable
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Peter Venable

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We are serving a life sentence–lifers–condemned to write verse. Guilty and glad about it! I am painfully aware of how ecology is being polluted by avārus-ology. Simply, nature is phenomenal. Blake’s To see a World in a Grain of Sand… I never have and never will use AI. Keep on “taking pictures and leaving footprints.”
Cheers – Peter
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❀    ❀    ❀    ❀    ❀
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
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4 poems by J.R. Solonche
all selections are from Vanity, Main Street Rag Enterprises, Edinboro PA
© 2026 J.R. Solonche
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❀
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Winter Oasis
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The woodpecker at
the suet cake must
be Yahweh to the birds,
for they have followed
his head’s pillar of fire
and are now harvesting
the manna falling from
the feeder to their feet.
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Nice Ice
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Covered in ice
from the storm,
the boulder, glinting
in the sunlight,
winks at a cloud as
sexily as a stone can.
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❀
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Zhao Li Stops
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to listen to the song of a bird
he has never heard before,
but it is not the song of a bird.
It is the song of two branches
rubbing together. “How did
that tree learn how to sing like
a bird I’ve never heard before?
Oh, it is the song of two
branches rubbing together
that I’ve never heard before,”
laughs Zhao Li.
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❀
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The Morning Was Weeping
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It did not brush away its tears.
The morning let its tears fall against the window.
The morning wanted me to ask why it wept.
The morning wanted me to comfort it.
It wanted me to console it.
The morning wanted my sympathy.
I did not ask why it wept.
I did not comfort it.
I did not console it.
The sun came out.
I went out to learn the sun’s sympathy,
which is also called wisdom.
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❀    ❀    ❀
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Old Zhao Li has written many books of poetry. He has been writing poetry since he was very young. Now Zhao Li is quite old but he just can’t stop writing poems. His hair is gray, his eyes are gray, but grayness is no excuse. Oh, many times Zhao Li has tried to stop. He has pulled the covers over his head. He has refused to get out of bed. But then the morning sun sneaks beneath his shade. Then a bird sings through a crack in the window. Zhao Li can close his eyes, he can stick his fingers in his ears, but it is too late. The sun and the bird have already become a poem. Zhao Li sighs, sits up on the edge of the bed,  and writes it down.
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❀
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J.R. Solonche has also written many books of poetry. How young was he when he wrote his first poem? How old is he now, and still writing? Only the sun and the bird know. Maybe the moon, too. We, his readers, sigh, sit up on the edge of the bed, and open his new book. It is too late.
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❀
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Vanity, J.R. Solonche’s forty-somethingth book of poetry, is available from Main Street Rag.
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Other poems by J.R. Solonche featured at Verse & Image:
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❀    ❀    ❀    ❀    ❀
 . 
Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or more poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
 . 
Doughton Park Tree 2025-07-10
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