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Posts Tagged ‘Paul Jones’

Brillig – Jones, Darcy, Robson, Weiss

Posted in Imagery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2026| Leave a Comment »

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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.
 . 
“Mom! You don’t do beards.”
“I do now.”
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Patricia Darcy
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❀    ❀    ❀
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En Passant
 . 
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.
 . 
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.
 . 
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
 . 
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.
 . 
Ed Robson
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❀    ❀    ❀
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Flashback
 . 
Does he recall their courtship?
His ardent bow. Her frenzied curtsies.
How she squeezed through metal mesh,
tore luminescent wing, to dance for him.
 . 
The green ballerina shimmered and twirled.
 . 
He demanded a tango, chased, caught her.
 . 
A singeing kiss. A fiery flutter. A crackle.
 . 
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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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.
 . 
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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Cloud and Moon – Brillig

Posted in Imagery, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 26, 2026| 4 Comments »

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[ 4 poems from Brillig ]
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Mooned
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Moon at my window wants to come in.
She has a beautiful black gown,
silky dark tresses gemmed with stars.
Moon-faced and pale with longing
she whispers with the tide
that slides up silent estuaries
 . 
I’m lonely up here all by myself.
Your astros came but wouldn’t play.
Frightened of my beauty they flew away.
 . 
What will I tell her, that my falling
silver hairs are mooncoins,
that my gray unkept robe is wolfskin
 . 
just right for me to howl her praises?
But, oh, she’s wise to me, too many
faded lovers already to take another on.
 . 
She slides a fan of cloud over her eyes
but just before, she winks at me.
Hey, poet, stay open for me another night.
 . 
Bradley R. Strahan
from Brillig, Winter/Spring 2026. Created by Deborah Doolittle.
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An Elegance of Swans
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The predawn green-grown lawn filled with swans,
snow-soft swells or so they seemed. Subtle
as first fall of frost, wings wind-weathered,
the flock massed on the grass. Moon-tethered,
they began to glow. Feathers supple,
at home here as if they’d never flown.
 . 
On this bright cold night,
one goose across the full moon.
Are we both alone?
 . 
Paul Jones
from Brillig, Winter/Spring 2026. Created by Deborah Doolittle.
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❀    ❀    ❀
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Interior Gear
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Travel before light.
Keep maps
of trails to overlooks
palm-sized, folded,
creases smoke-blackened.
 . 
By firelight,
get around to writing
those letters to people
who like you,
but you refused to believe.
 . 
Tell them absolute darkness
does not exist.
Everything moves.
Our bodies give off
infinitesimal radiation.
 . 
Rob Merritt
from Brillig, Winter/Spring 2026. Created by Deborah Doolittle.
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❀    ❀    ❀
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cloudbound
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an imagined collaboration of Lafcadio Hearn and Matt Snyder
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the place
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business trip
the departures board lists
my hometown
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of the issuing clouds . . .
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alma mater
I chat up the beggar
about his t-shirt
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graves on a mountain
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stones
in the fog
in the potter’s field
 . 
Matt Snyder
from Brillig, Winter/Spring 2026. Created by Deborah Doolittle.
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IMG_9468
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Brillig is created twice a year by Deborah Doolittle. Not only does she gather the poets and poems into a small universe where the lines can speak each other from dream into reality, but Deborah also prints and cuts and folds and glues to fabricate each small booklet that will become that season’s offering of Brillig. Each edition is a different theme, each episode is a different style of small hand-crafted booklet. Each creation of wordly imagery also joins with artistic imagery – woodcut, line drawing, collage – to unfold into the final amazing artifact within your hands. Marvelous!
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❁
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Hold a limited edition copy of Brillig in you own hands by using this order form. And consider submitting your own poetry for consideration: 3-5 previously unpublished poems, any subject, any style, 20 lines or fewer. Submit as a single .DOC attachment to brillig.mlm@gmail.com, or mail to BRILLIG: a micro lit mag / 103 Jean Circle / Jacksonville, NC 28540. Include a 3-4 sentence bio and postal address. And visit this earlier post featuring Brillig.
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Additional poetry at Verse and Image by:
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Matt Snyder
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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;
. . . . . 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
 . 
2020-11-03a Doughton Park Tree
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Poetry and Earth – Love, and

Posted in Ecopoetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2026| 4 Comments »

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[ poems by Connie Green, Kari Gunter-Seymour, 
Jenny Bates, Annie Woodford, Paul Jones]
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Song at Daybreak 
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Behind the mountains this morning
a soft curtain of pink, dawn dipping
into her palette, my soul the recipient
of her artistry, this small moment
that would not have occurred
had I not wakened early, wandered
sleep-deprived into the kitchen
and turned my face toward the ridges-
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those ridges that daily wait for me
to look up, to accept, if only
for a minute, the gift they offer
and have offered since the forces
of nature, the work of time pushed
them from plain to towering majesty,
our common stardust knitting mountain,
kitchen, aging woman into song notes that lift
and drift, the finite urging toward the infinite.
 . 
Connie Jordan Green
selected by Kari Gunter-Seymour. First appeared in Women Speak, Volume Eleven (Sheila Na Gig Editions 2025)
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This gorgeous Song at Daybreak by Connie Green reminds me that there is so much splendor and joy to be had if we let ourselves be still long enough to truly embrace all that the earth (and sky) has to offer, and that aging too is a gift, because it means we have been given so many more opportunities to stand in awe and wonder of it all.  — Kari Gunter-Seymour
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❀
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Ten Miles North of Lore City, Guernsey County, Ohio
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Oh, Salt Fork, I’ve come to hide
inside your autumn, walk
beneath the cathedral of your branches
become a meditative painting,
a Cézanne—your impressions
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revealed in planes of pigment,
the slow study of light,
pin oak and American beech awash
in swaths of topaz and carnelian,
the lake a reverie of reflections.
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The universe is out of whack, tremulous
in the pathos of floods, wildfires and drought.
Here, red squirrels wax comedic,
all bark, tuck and tumble, a white-tailed
snorting at their antics.
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Tangy pockets of mugwort
and mountain mint intoxicate my airways
weak-knee me into giggles.
Chickadees hip-hop branch to thicket,
their black caps adorably gangsta.
   . 
Above, an osprey chirps its tea-kettle whistle,
ascends, thrusts,  disappears,
returns, as if parleying ancestral maps
stored inside the lace of its bones.
Cricket songs stitch the afternoon.
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I don’t know how long your trails can hold
such abundance, your fervor of tints and textures
winding their way to my insides, transcendent
as a psalm, the rhythm of your balms and breezes
rumoring their promise of peace.
 . 
Kari Gunter-Seymour
First appeared in The Nature of Our Times (Paloma Press 2025)
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Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to submit a poem I love by poet Connie Green and one of my own as well, in honor of Earth Day. KG-S
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Connie Jordan Green lives on a farm in East Tennessee where she writes and gardens. She has published award-winning novels for young people, newspaper columns, poetry chapbooks and collections, most recently Nameless as the Minnows, Madville Publishing. Her poetry has been nominated for Pushcart Awards. She frequently teaches writing workshops.
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Kari Gunter-Seymour is the immediate past Poet Laureate of Ohio and author of three award-winning poetry collections, including Dirt Songs (EastOver Press, 2024) winner of the 2025 IPPY Bronze, NYC Big Book and Feathered Quill Awards. Her newest collection, What Teethes Within is forthcoming from University Press of Kentucky, August 2026. Her work has been featured in a variety of publications including the American Book Review, Poem-a-Day, World Literature Today and The New York Times.
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❀ ✿ ✾ ❁
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Virga
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Every raindrop panics me now
long before it arrives
I feel like an old Dog who hides
in the bathroom sniffing grey skies
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I go out walking anyway make
myself brave but I don’t really don’t want
it to rain
I want fear to evaporate like a virga
line I want to become a cloud dropped
full of reflection and affection
when I listen to rain I hear echoes
of your voice not in my ears anymore
asking under any circumstance
will you want to make love again?
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Jenny Bates
selected by Paul Jones
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✾
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Love Poem for the Appalachian Rainforest 
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The trees as rib cage, as sea-
bare branches tapping each other,
signing furiously the word
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for wind. Temperate rainforest
filled with broken trees,
bracken tinder. I pray
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for damp weather, fog, snow-
a proper frozen sojourn
among High Country clouds
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plumping moss & lichen.
To keep fire at bay.
Needle and loam, trees breathing
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wet breath against each other,
heavy enough to float, to form
their own ecology of hope.
 . 
Annie Woodford
selected by Paul Jones
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✾
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In the Cards
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Outside of Beaverdam, an old lady told the cards.
As close to a crone as the mountain side could grasp,
could hold there, cling-rooted and knotty as laurel.
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She was sour on life by now, hers, which had been hard,
and the mountain itself. “It must change,” she rasped.
Fingering the whirling figure, she hissed, “This is the World.”
 . 
“It’s in the past. Better that the dancer held a sword.”
The next up, the seemingly indifferent Four of Cups.
“Ignoring the gifts and threats of the sky and earth. Peril.
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That’s where we are now. In danger, but not acting. Bored
with it all. Not doing what we need to do.” She gasped,
“No not this! I would rather be telling the Devil,”
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as if she already had seen, but dare not disregard,
the next card, the future told by the Tower. The last.
“The end that comes to us all both good and evil.”
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Soon the storms came as they had never come before.
She and her house were washed away. Among the lost.
She saw but was not saved. Not found. Except her skull.
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Paul Jones
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Thanks for combining Poetry Month and Earth Day (all month long). These three poems are from the award winning anthology, Had I a Dove: Appalachian Poets on the Helene Flood, edited by Hilda Downer (Redhawk Publications 2025). Each of these poem connects human awareness and in some cases human agency in the face of the experience of the flood and what followed. The whole of the anthology is rich with the appreciation of nature during and due to climate based disaster. Besides the three poems attached, Virga by Jenny Bates, Love Poem for the Appalachian Rainforest by Annie Woodford, and In the Cards by me, the anthology holds many treasures. — Paul Jones
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We do not live in a Nuclear Age or an Information Age. We do not live in a Post-Industrial Age, a Post-Cold War Age, or a Post-Modern Age. We do not live in an Age of Anxiety or even a New Age. We live in an Age of Flowering Plants and an Age of Beetles. 
– Sue Hubbell, from Broadsides from the Other Orders
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Thank you for celebrating the month of April with International Earth Day (April 22) and National Poetry Month. Readers have selected poems that connect us to our planet and each other. If you have a poem that has rooted you to the earth and spread your branches into bright sky, please share! It can be a poem by your favorite writer, living or dead, a poem of your own, or both.
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Send a your poem(s) in the body of the email or as .DOC or .RTF to:
ecopoetry@griffinpoetry.com 
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Please include your comments or reaction to the poem. And publication acknowledgments if previously published.
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We will share one or two posts each week, multiple posts during the week of Earth Day, and we will keep sharing into May and beyond if you continue to respond!
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Feel free to invite others to send their favorite Earth Day poems. Perhaps some day we will be able to say we live in the Age of Connection.
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❁
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image: 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, 2022-05-17B
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