After Meditating On My Front Porch

I again realize that mindfulness is noticingstillness, how the inkon my paper has more than one color of black and feelsfluid as silk. And how the hard plastic wheelsof a stroller across the street,scraps the gravel, making soundslike crackling embers.It’s noticing the stillness of a solitary pine needle pulsing in the sighing wind. An eternal thing that must be […]

Chi

It felt like cupping a shapelessbubble, delicate as a stolen Robin’s egg,yet weightless and resting in nothingness. I should have known it was within me. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 […]

An Offering

It’s 6:30 pm, on a SeptemberSunday, too late to be calledsummer and the clouds are suddenly transformed into bands of energy, like a vulva, and the sky gods begin to birth,cinematically slow, an egg of fire,oozing from the space thatseparates the temporary fromendless beauty. A long time ago, people- not sodifferent than you and I- awaited this hour, as a […]