The event will include in person readings by Bruce Heard, Andrew You and Maja Trochimczyk and zoom readings, projected on the screen by other poets wishing to present their work. The following poets are featured in this issue: Daniel Abukuri, Lola AndrésSarah Baker, Bill Baynes, Byron Beynon, Michael Breuleux, Gregory Cecil, David Denny, David Dephy, Ziggy Edwards, Ken Fifer, Patty Dickson Pieczka, A. Dearborn Goldsmith, Rebekkah Gomez, W.C. Gosnell, Robert Haas, Alamgir Hashmi, Bruce Heard, Ken Holland, Henry Hughes, Sandra Irwin, Joanne Jagoda, Steven Larry Klein, Marie C. Lecrivain, Marta López-Luaces, tr. Valerie Martinez, Charlie McCurdy, Anna Maria Mickiewicz, Greg Moglia, Roman Montemorano, Cecil Morris, Pat Owen, Dan Raphael, Andrea Potos, Susan Rogers, David Rosenheim, Dennis Ross, Pamela Singer, Jack Tessoro, Maja Trochimczyk, Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia, and Andrew You.
Dr. Maja Trochimczyk is a Polish American poet, music historian, and photographer. She published ten books on music & culture and six volumes of poetry, e.g., Bright Skies. Selected Poems, 2022, and The Rainy Bread: More Poems from Exile (2021), about WWII experiences of Polish civilians. She edited five poetry anthologies: Chopin with Cherries (2010), Meditations on Divine Names (2012), Grateful Conversations (2018), We Are Here. Village Poets Anthology (2020) and Crystal Fire. Poems of Joy and Wisdom (2022). Her research and poems have appeared in numerous volumes of collected works, scholarly journals, and poetry periodicals in eleven countries. Trochimczyk is the founder of Moonrise Press, the sixth Poet-laureate of Sunland-Tujunga (2010-2012) and former Program Director of Village Poets (2010-2022). She has served as President of the California State Poetry Society and Managing Editor of California Quarterly since 2019.
THE GREAT WHITE EGRET
The silent movement that slips through angel hair
as if it were an illusion or a spirit,
is how the Great White Egret lands on a pond
And the paddles on boats gently moving water
from east to west, from north to south
are like the yellow, webbed feet keeping it afloat
The pond greets it with a gentle flow of waves,
a veneration of a familiar spirit, while the great
beauty of birds eyes hyacinths for a meal
The pond, like us, is eager to please a majestic visitor,
who gladly accepts all gifts in return for a view of
its angelic, white feathers, yellow eyes, harpoon-like bill
Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia, Half Moon Day, California
SILENT INTERVALS
A Bewick’s wren arrives in the
magnolia.
She is hidden between the waxy
leaves
and the white flowers. Is her
song
one of sorrow or cheer—or do we
merely hear the song we need?
Chuang Tzu describes the beauty
of a bird’s open-beaked melody;
yet in its closed-beak silence,
he says,
heaven and earth conjoin.
Clouds drift
overhead. A breeze ruffles the
leaves.
Change is coming. Perhaps it’s
already
here—hidden in the silent
intervals
where vanish the world’s sorrow
and cheer.
David Denny, Cupertino, California
YOU ARE GIVEN WHAT YOU ARE
Around me circle wild oaks:
like poets they sing in the wind.
Santa Anas may attack--
pommel, push or bend them aside,
yet still they softly sing, and
thus for centuries survive.
Around me stand those great ones,
haughtily whispering while
rain floods, hail and icicles slash,
and massive mud slides slither.
But I am not a great oak. Gales,
bugs, droughts and fires rip my limbs,
eat my leaves, wilt them, scorch them brown.
Wild oaks sing and survive. But
I am merely a spindly
Tabebuia, neither songster
nor muscular, majestic oak.
I didn't even choose to be a tree.
WHO I AM
I entered the forest alone,
drawn by something ancient,
a whisper beneath the trees.
There, hidden among the roots,
a cave yawned open—
dark, low, and silent.
I crawled forward,
hands on cold stone,
the weight of earth above me
and nothing ahead but mystery.
Until light—
a sliver, a scent,
the salt of becoming.
I emerged into brightness:
a beach stretched wide,
waves breathing against the shore,
rock formations like sentinels
carved by time and tide.
I stepped toward the water,
where the ocean met me slowly—
at my feet,
my ankles,
my legs,
my chest,
my breath—
until I was submerged.
Underwater,
I breathed.
I walked the ocean floor
through kelp beds swaying like cathedral curtains,
among sea otters twirling,
fish flickering like thoughts,
crabs scuttling between stones.
The sea was alive around me—
and within me.
It flowed through my skin,
my bones,
my being.
I did not resist.
I became rhythm.
I became stillness.
I became motion.
I became
Ebb & Flow.
Bruce Heard, Sacramento, California








