Issue 2:1 | Featured Artist | Jeffery Beam

By Jeffery Beam





This morning the world still


an owl flew off near the house

into the woods


            wings out-spread



                              free falling


Whoosh shook the dawn

                                                Breakneck rose the sun


Alarm sweetened the terrorized rain

the tender-waking other birds

quick as match-flicks

                                    condensed spheres of smoky twitter


            Royal owl


Cosmos in him









He sleeps the rugged deep sleep

that knows sleep as a rest and letting go

after the rock escarpment

climax of a climb -

the flightless sound birds make when

dirt bathes their parasitic skins -

the sleep that stills (a log they say)

yet gathers strength in

each extremity to twitch

with dreams from air.  The

sleep that mothers wish for

and fear in night's illness.


It comes so easily to him,

a scalawag, a mentor, and

a beast.  It rises rhythmically

near his loins.  And when through soft

and furry breath

sufficiently care dissipates,

the Lord Dog rises,

bows nobly to the sun, his charioteer,

and goes, off to the next mountain,

or gully, or pond just as humans do,

as around each turn

they find their unexpected life.









How still he stands

among the rash scrubbery

down in the flat wet

below the roadbed.


Pink eyes fearless.

Tail flashless in

stockaded stillness.


He turns, ambling away,

slipping into the bare tree tangle.

White shard.

Sheeny brightness.




Alain spots a deer:


Deer snow white deer,

in the middle of nowhere,

how did I find such a treasure?


Are you listening for

thank you letters?

For love?



Albino deer, farewell:


What did he leave?

What trail of almost goose

feathers impaled on the bushes?

A mind-candle, surely.

The pink underskin

of the world

radiant, fair.     





This is my lesson in humility.

My lesson in grief.

My lesson in the cruelty of the human heart, my own.

Trudging through deep southern snow:

finding both of your faces frozen in the white.

Sparrows still singing in the shrubbery.


I could not say it then.

I cannot say it now.

My heart split in two.

A tree limb weighted by ice.

A white             quiet and protective.

A white             dangerously warm.

My hands spiritless in the drifts.


Why do birds continue to sing?


Calycanthus floridus


This the month

when the dying God revives, winters fires

smothering springs flames, all

tumbling into summer's thickening


In the air Love's green nobility


Such melon anguish the sweet shrub makes

Its multi-cupped flowers opening

Little lotuses at the wood's edge

A remedy

to slay winter darkness


And in the air Love's green nobility

                        Love's     bright     coy     God





little: a Happy Hill Sutra         

for SF, TM, GW, JW


For all the Little People in the worlds (ours and theirs). 

All of us have not forgotten you.


I came to crush time to study you to teach.

The Buddha




Little enough said little enough thought little enough forgotten little enough


Porch's cold concrete bumble bee's raftered catacomb fog lifting


Bat mother in porch eave tell us your favorite supper


Incessant wren listen cars climbing the mountain one mouth feeding another


Doves weeping on boughs dawn rain


Gay feather in daylilies splinter in finger


In the dress shop peonies in the garden peonies in the mind one


My pockets empty wren hopping cricket death chicks cheeping no rain today


Mournful crow fireflies where are you Gods & Goddesses fern fronds


Two green grasshoppers bathroom's red walls you looking in mirror too


Wasp carrying green worm back again one minute here one minute gone Sisyphus or Sage


Negative space no Positive space on


Fingers aflame with spring water nothing lasts


Not this not that white shadows on the hemlock boughs


Too much said too much thought too much forgotten too much


One day a man came I am not he observe

                                                                                                            Jeffery Beam