Robin on the lawn. Three hops and stops to listen. Somewhere must be spring. Donal Mahoney

It’s not de rigueur to believe he’s there behind the sun, the stars, the moon watching us

Her corded belt python tight around a tiny waist makes her blooms bigger brighter as they unfold

It’s war plain and simple when I fill the feeder out in the sycamore with millet and niger

There are poems everywhere but you have to find them, a teacher told my class long ago. I was a kid sitting at a desk, cowlicks sprouting from my scalp,

Wally and Stan neighbors on the same block for 30 years never had a problem until Wally asked Stan over

It was her birthday. She was only five the dawn we went out to look at roses in Grandma’s garden

When will you understand it’s all about me. The world we live in whirls around my axis. Once you understand

Alvin didn’t want to be anybody else. He didn’t want to be himself either. Money wasn’t a problem.

Autumn and the leaves, crisp in the swirling air, are pheasant wings once more Donal Mahoney

Sleet on the turnpike in the middle of the night but I keep driving, both hands on the wheel, nowhere to pull off,

After the Spring rain a dove on a Dogwood branch preens like a starlet

Old lady on a park bench hunkered down babushka and shawl snow and wind dancing everywhere

The Downy is the smallest flicker but his arrival is uninvited and disturbs the hummingbirds circling in fury while he with bravado