Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #5                        Page 23
Table of


Maybe the problem is
we spend too much of our time
looking down at our feet or anyway
maybe just a little
ahead not far enough look
where it gets us
generations saddled with debt super bugs
bad food bad air ozone
oil slicks into the seas beaches the Gulf
tarred and feathered running
out of time and down hill
will we disappear
like the fleeting ghost of a dream
a jar of ashes
tossed in the wind

  Gregg Weatherby __


The icy footprints marking the yard
grow large and disappear
mounds of snow shrink in cold rain
what is left behind lingers
and the things we keep coming back to
St. Francis emerges
with the first green on the lawn
March evening’s wet snow gone
by afternoon as breezes shift south
maple sap rises
pushing gray branches into life
morning phoebe returns
the sun heads north
we turn the clocks ahead
and come full circle


©Aldo Vigliarolo
How can something come out of nothingness?

When the days warm and the nights still cold
we’d go to the sugarbush
in the hollow down the hill
and run the metal buckets back
through the snow and mud
dump them in the seemingly towering tank
on top of the heavy wooden sled
pulled by Ike and Bessie the old draft horses
icy water filling our boots sodden
mittens sagging
we didn’t mind
later as the light changed
we’d warm up in the sap house
smells of sweet steam and wood fire
boiling hot dogs
in one of the rows of evaporating pans
eating the thick syrup on the snow
a lifetime ago it seems
when there was white smoke
in the dark gray woods each spring
and the mark of heavy horseshoes
in the undisturbed snow
the unused dirt road

  Gregg Weatherby__


I don’t know about September
at the edge of the Gullfoss
I hear the last syllable as an echo
of the crashing glacier water
mixed with the sound of rain
huddled in my heavy clothes
for the long walk back

in May at the place of the law speaker
Thingvellir the place of truth
is a lonely place to stand
a rock overlooking
a rift in the earth
weeks before I begin my treatment

looking up the valley
the fault is what
a long zipper-like scar
the boundaries of stark black basalt
pulling apart sinking slowly
some day the icy sea

  Gregg Weatherby__