By: Jim Brosnan

Along Muddy Banks

On a gray morning
in the early hours
after first light,

I follow a mile long
wooden boardwalk,
binoculars in hand,

sight a pair of white
egrets and an ibis
amidst thick reeds.

In an estuary six
hundred yards away
a teal-headed mallard

slices the water,
vanishes in a stand
of cattails—

dragonflies
whishing through
this aquatic refuge.

###

Forgotten Photo

I remember
the night
fragrant with dew,
sky yielding
to deep orange
in first light,
Venus
the morning star
slowly disappearing
as I rest my hand
on the porch railing—
memories
of a Vermont
sunrise,
bacon sizzling
over a campfire
on a chilly July
morning.

###

Searching Dreams

Silence beckons me
as receding daylight
abandons this stretch
of country road
glazed in moonlight
while junipers
glisten under
a January sky.
Perhaps you wander
a snow-covered field
in search of stars,
perhaps you leave
only a trace
in the soft charcoal
of a winter evening.
If only I knew where
I might find you
in the avenues
of my dreams.

###

The Passing of Years

Sometimes
at bedtime
I reach
for a pencil,
revise the refrain
of an unfinished
poem—
details once framed
in memory’s lens,
now recalled
by accident,
the moon’s reflection
now shining
on silent shadows
lamenting
days gone by—
details revealed
in a song
while yesterday
still lingers
in my memory.

###

Between Two Worlds

Serene thoughts return
to placid images
of watermelon sunsets,
a panoramic landscape—
open prairies covered
in western wheatgrass
and craggy mountains—
reaching skyward
where I study
the flight of an eagle
soaring over
snowcapped peaks—
I am seduced
by twilight’s scatter.

###

Rocky Mountain Lodge

On the edge of Bear Lake,
a sliding orange orb
disappears into cantaloupe.
In those brief twilight
moments, the Thunder Moon,
its face soon fully visible,
illuminates an idle rowboat,
a hostage at the end
of the pier. Nearby fireflies
dance in a grove of towering
Colorado spruce. We stare
at snowfields, brushstroked
mountaintops, silhouettes
etching jagged strands,
line graphs inscribed on pale
blue tapestry, a scene
reminiscent of summers spent
on a Maine lake, evenings
enjoyed in Thoreau’s spirit
where soft breezes tossed
branches of patient oaks
and maples, brushed my face
with a lock of your hair.

###

Jim Brosnan’s first poetry and original photography collection, Nameless Roads, was traditionally published in 2019 (Moon Pie Press). He has had over 600 poems published in the United States, Ireland, Canada, Wales, India, Singapore, and the UK. Jim is a Pushcart nominee, a finalist in the Blue Light Chapbook Competition, and has won several awards in the National Federation of Poetry Societies annual competitions including first place in 2021.