Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘April Hike’ and other poems

By: Jim Brosnan

April Hike

Beyond the last
crusted snow mound,
an early morning
sunrise ignites
yellow forsythia
in vibrant hues
as I trudge along
woodland’s edge
past the hushed
eastern white pines
toward the bogs
where peepers sing
in unison. Indian
pipes poke through
decayed compost,
their curved white
bodies stark against
the muted brown
of pine needles—
spring awakening
nature on this
weekend morning.


Longing for Spring

Weeks of swirling
snow and subzero
fire blazed sunrises,
emptiness at noon
quiet evenings
without him—
absence for months.

She reflects on melting
snow cover, anticipates
shadows of snowdrops
on needle-covered moss,
a crowd of daffodils
dancing in a spring breeze,
sprays of forsythia blooms
like yellow snowflakes,
and a song emerging
from a red breasted body
signaling early spring.
She now hears him,
wonders where he’s been.


Treasured Moments, 1957

The scent of burning pine
permeates October air
as I lean against
a post and rail fence.
I mind walk
other Saturday
afternoon hikes
along New York /
New Haven rails
for the shrill whistle
of a locomotive
before we abandoned
stone bed,
traced hillside
clay trails
into stands of maples
and sassafras
where on mid-July days
we picked blueberries
on low bushes.
After descending
the gravel embankment
to the edge of a pond
bordered by cattails,
we scooped pollywogs
from stagnant water.



Sheets of gray fog
envelop shallow banks
of a sheltered harbor,
blanket the far end
of the wooden pier
in a translucent shroud.
Beyond stationary
silhouettes of sail masts
and a pulsating signal
from a distant lighthouse,
the remnant of sand
sculptures wash away.
Today I feel a fine mist,
remember an August
morning kiss when we
watched waves crest
and the summer sun
emerge from cumulus.



Thick bellowing
smoke plummets
Oregon woodland
as I hasten past
burning fir trees
to escape
an approaching
wildfire, the scent
of burning timber
my Jeep’s interior,
the radio tuned
to an emergency
channel broadcasting
evacuation directions
from a forest ranger.
Fearful of being trapped,
I descend the mountain
road with caution
and few possessions.


Unmailed Letter

Under a mandarin sky
devoid of cumulus,
I listen to the trill
of a yellow warbler
before embarking
on my daily hike
through open
wildflower meadows
where I observe
monarchs fluttering
over milkweed,
an encounter
where the ghost
of other summers
reveals your name,
reveals my phrases.


Jim Brosnan’s first poetry and original photography collection, Nameless Roads, was traditionally published in 2019 (Moon Pie Press). His second collection, Driving Long Distance, is forthcoming in 2023. He has had over 700 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 and two honorable mentions in 2022.

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