Lynn Gilbert
Pine Row Issue No. 10 Spring 2025 - Featured Poet
T'AI CHI RETREAT, NEW MEXICO
When mist clears
from the mountain,
far doors open.
Tumbling: water through stream rocks,
swallowtails through the aspen grove.
Dark round leaves
cup rainwater—
tiny mirrors on the path.
Pine needles:
quiet walking.
Whirring in the underbrush
without song, color, or
movement: quail?
Wind whooshes overhead, yet
dust lies quiet among our tents.
Thunder over the next ridge,
then dark clouds,
then first splats in the dust.
After ritual or feast,
ammonia odor of the latrine.
Dark discs stippled
flat against grey mist:
aspen tips at dawn.
In one movement the squirrel
leaps from safe bough to safe bough.
From wherever you sit
on the morning grass,
one diamond shines brightest.
About the poem: as shared by the poet
From the Desk of the Poet:
At this stage of my writing career I have published or had accepted 126 poems but no chapbook or volume of verse. I've been sending out two chapbooks recently, each with its own theme; the book ms. probably needs revising. Time is pressing: I will be 86 in April if I don't get wiped out driving I-35 in Austin, where I live. The first verse I can remember writing was circa 1950; I got going on writing in earnest in 1981 and have been actively submitting only since August, 2022. Most of my publications date from the last two years, including two Pushcart nominations.
Lynn D. Gilbert's poems have appeared in Arboreal, Blue Unicorn (Pushcart nomination), Consequence, The Good Life Review, Light, Mezzo Cammin, Southwestern American Literature, and elsewhere. Her poetry volume has been a finalist in the Gerald Cable and Off the Grid Press book contests. A founding editor of Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, she lives in a suburb of Austin and reads poetry submissions for Third Wednesday journal.
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