The Weekly Avocet – #708

I’m super excited to learn that my Poetry is featured in the opening pages of this week’s Weekly Avocet Magazine.

I hope you’ll let me know your thoughts.

June 28th, 2026

Hello to our Poets and Nature-lovers of The Avocet community:

perennials court honey bees

whispering in flower’s ear

flora sighs

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

A group of birds on the beachDescription automatically generated with medium confidence

Submitted by Edwina Kadera

Hey there.

I hope you’re doing well.

I’m sitting here at my desk with a great cup of coffee at hand, the windows thrown open to the crisp morning air, which we shouldn’t really have in June, listening to nature and the city waking all around me, while Chief Seeing Eye Dog Blue, snores softly on the bed.

The train goes by.

Ducks quack, annoyed that their quiet morning feeding time was interrupted.

Trash trucks and dumpsters clang and bang, while across the creek, geese take flight in a flurry of flapping wings and honking calls.

On the road, cars pass as the crows caw loudly with the morning news.

They see much, and they know that if mankind doesn’t stop destroying Mother Earth and Sister Wind, we will all eventually cease to exist.

Listen, if you’re able, to the sounds of the morning.

If you can, take a deep breath through your nose and smell the air as it fills your lungs and keeps you alive.

Does it smell good? Do you feel comfortable breathing it? Scent, after all, is rather particular.

Stick out your tongue. Taste the water. If we suddenly had no power source with which to pump and treat it, and you were forced to draw your water from a nearby creek, would you feel it was safe?

Look, if you’re able, at the morning sun as it rises, or in the evening as it sets.

What do you see? Do you see those pretty little speckles drifting effortlessly around it? Do you know you’re breathing them into your body?

Will they still seem pretty when they’re flowing through your bloodstream alongside the oxygen needed to keep you alive?

Reach out your hands–or some other part of your body–and touch the surface of your car.

What? You exclaim, “I just washed this last night! How can it be this dirty again already?”

What made it that way? What settled overnight, and what settles on you every time you walk out your door?

I could go on, but I think, hope, and pray that you will understand. Because if you don’t, we’re all damned.

Stop the madness. Keep Mother Earth beautiful.

I love you, Mother Earth, and I am sorry that the humans who live upon your wondrous surface do not care for you in the ways they should.

Some do. Though we are few and far between, we are trying, and I will keep doing my part until I can do it no longer.

(Note, this poetic essay was not planned. I simply sat down to do free flow writing to get the stiffness out of my fingers and the fog out of my brain. This is the result.

Then, my morning muse decided we needed a reference link. So, here’s a great link to a page which will, if you take the time to read it truly open your mind.

https://www.wri.org/insights/endangerment-finding-repeal-explained#main-content)

Keep Mother Earth Beautiful – Stay Alive

Patty L. Fletcher – Bristol, VA – patty.volunteer1@gmail.com

When Nature thrives, people prosper.

A Summer Shower

It is a soft rain, warm to the touch;

As soft and as warm as the breath of a summer day.

And I am here, alone, walking in the rain.

But I am not alone.

I am in the pleasant company of raindrops

And they are as playful as a summer breeze:

They rinse every leaf and every blade of grass.

They dance on my face and on my fingertips.

They splash and bubble in the street.

It is a soft and warm and enchanting summer rain

And it washes over me.

(WestWard Quarterly Summer 2015)

Jim Rainey – Orland Park, IL – jim.rainey@att.net

Set the Ego Aside

Violence it seems is in our DNA.

News tells the stories every day.

But I choose to hope

and know we can change.

It’s a matter of priority,

our thinking to rearrange.

When we set the ego aside

and open to the Truth,

love becomes the answer

and shows itself as proof.

Filled with joy of spirit,

the oneness changes us.

We want to protect, guard

and cultivate trust.

We stop to truly hear,

protect the rabbit and the deer.

We feed the good, care for the

needy, buoy the hopeless. Eva Marie Willis

Freed Energy

Summer, a Vivaldi season,

of warmth, beach time,

mountain hiking, biking,

vacations and picnics.

Become one with nature

again after hibernating indoors through the winter.

Friends are heading to

Sierra Vista, Arizona, soon

to enjoy the many hummingbirds

nearby. Like our human bodies,

the earth is an interconnected

living ecosystem. Embrace all.

Let the sunlight in, sweep

away the cobwebs, and

take in a deep, cleansing breath.

Eva Marie Willis – Phoenix, AZ – jwillis42@cox.net

Do You Raise Plants?

A wise man recently taught

me the answer is no.

You, or I, don’t raise plants.

What?

They raise themselves.

Plants have a job and

are fantastic at performing it.

Their job is to grow strong

and make seeds.

Our job is to provide the

necessary water, nutrients,

sun or shade, and weeding

and thinning. Then we

adopt patience and get out

of their way.

I have what must be an

especially tasty lantana

that is bare of leaves

and flowers on its bottom half.

I assume it is because the

cottontails munch on what

they can reach. But the plant

flowers near the top and continues

to grow. I’m not concerned;

everything needs to eat.

There is some evidence that

trees nurture younger,

smaller trees through the ground.

It’s peaceful coexistence.

Eva Marie Willis – Phoenix, AZ – jwillis42@cox.net

Want to feel good, watch this short video… (double click)

Tiny baby deer ran into her arms for help – and he never wanted to leave | Watch

waves sluice over seaweed

prodding it to tremble

tiny fish take cover

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

First Day of Summer

Ms. Summer

rejected worldly expectations.

She surprised us all

by beginning her season

with a cold, not hot

rainy, not sunny

windy, not calm

twenty-degrees-below-expectation arrival

and damn glad she blew everyone away. Denise Wilcox

Breakfast

Dressed in rufous feathers.

Crowned in crisp white stripes.

Miss Carolina Wren joined me.

Her breakfast of choice,

coral colored honeysuckle berries.

Mine, hot tea and toast.

Silent conversation

delighted us both. Denise Wilcox

Simple Gifts

How can a small patch of dirt,

Four feet by five,

Bestow such an abundance

Of joy?

I deliberately walk to the window

Each morning before breakfast

To feel a smile spread across my face

Like soft butter on toast.

Magenta, tangerine, ivory, pink, coral

Petals perch atop

Light green soaring stems.

Green, green, green

Fronds waft in the breeze.

Cosmos blossoms dance in delight.

Simple gifts.

Denise Wilcox – Fairfax, VA – dawwilcox@gmail.com

Beth Cash – Howes Cave, NY – bethjeancash@gmail.com

Joyful

Our resident Geese eggs should hatch

while we are traveling.

Bereft. We will miss

the Goslings arrival.

We return to watch Mama and Dada

flanking five walking,

fluffy babies.

Two sets of proud parents.

Beth Cash – Howes Cave, NY – bethjeancash@gmail.com

The Summer of the Baby Birds

Fuzzy tufted head

of a Baltimore Oriole.

White stripes, orange underside.

Clings to a shrub branch

while his mother brings him food.

He looks back at my grandchildren with interest.

Baby Hairy Woodpeckers

call all day for food

until I think their voices

should give out.

They come to the bird feeder,

four woodpecker minis.

The baby Eastern Phoebes

sit on the porch railing.

Their tails bobbing

like their mothers.

How do they learn

to move their tail that way?

Beth Cash – Howes Cave, NY – bethjeancash@gmail.com

“Is This a Waste of Time?”

The serious little girl

questions me as we collect rocks

on this sunlit day.

“Does it feel like a waste?”

“A little.”

“Are you enjoying

collecting rocks

and putting your fingers

in the deer prints in the mud?”

“Yes”

“Then, it is never a waste of time.”

Beth Cash – Howes Cave, NY – bethjeancash@gmail.com

Replenishment

Doors thrown open, windows raised

soft breezes filter through with sounds of

summer mirroring the rhythms of nature

The earth embraces us, allowing all to feel

more invigorated than any other season

It’s a celebration of sunlight and sweet fresh

air, newly-opened perfumed blooms, every day

a long vessel of light to drink from and nurture

us until drowsy

Winged amber bees pollinate gardens

helping them burst with delectable harvests

enriching us with seasonal bounty

Daily pace slows as the harmony of life unfolds,

offering joy and natural beauty

each dawn bringing a new spark of life

whispering hope, promising joy, freedom

and peaceful moments

Green vistas soothe the eye, its breath curls

into our lungs revitalizing the body as

songbirds share their musical trill

filling our soul

We revel in being outdoors

paying homage to the sun and natural

world, actively partaking in summer’s

fleeting joys, leaving its imprint

as days slowly spread before us

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

morning stillness

humidity coats air

birdsong fills it

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

Filling Our Senses

Woodpecker’s staccato tapping

honeyed air droning with insects

thrum of cicadas

katydids clicking

bees buzzing

mourning doves cooing

songbirds sharing their throaty trill

bullfrog emitting his rubbery croak

seagull screeching its plaintive cry

a cricket symphony chirping in unison

Hummingbird wings flash by

butterflies cartwheel in field and meadow

dragonflies flicker in knee high grasses

a garter snake basks in afternoon sun

horseshoe crabs scuttle in sandy shallows

tiny plankton gently wash ashore

air fills with twinkling fireflies in waning light

Tangy salt fills seaside air

nostrils inhale heady scent of lilacs in bloom

freshly cut grass is like sweetened breath

sudden downpour rinses away sweltering dust

the feel of a tree frog cupped in one’s palm

coolness of a shivery blanket of fog

touching kelp like old leather come alive

pawing damp sand searching for sea glass

low tide mud oozing delightfully through toes

springy texture of rain-moistened moss

Taste of wild blueberries upon the tongue

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

deep kettle pond

lively splash

trout leaps at fly

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

Mercurial Maneuvers

A bucket of high, unvarnished sunshine yellows the ground

The sky, shorn of clouds on a quiet summer afternoon, is

broken only by the hot noise of cicadas providing their

background lullaby

The heat’s intensity has trees holding their breath while the

still, honeyed air drones with the dance of bees

A basket of purple lobelia, plays host to an industrious spider

winding its silk around the hanger; its weaving shimmers in daylight

Birdsong has quelled to near silence

A pair of cottontail rabbits, regularly seen nibbling clover,

rest within the shade of a neatly-groomed row of arborvitae,

where they sleep nestled overnight

A resident gray squirrel, absent from his daily itinerary of

cruising through the yard and gardens, chooses respite in his

nest high up inside a massive oak

Soon, blessedly, twilight will roost among the treetops

The squirrel and rabbits will reappear as the mercury begins its

descent and birds will sing and call out to one another before

ending their day

A setting sun will balance itself upon the horizon leaching

gold into its salty depths, delivering it back in ripples along

the shore

A multitude of brightly lit stars will blaze high above

as the scorched earth slowly cools into velvety darkness Susan M. Surette

Hours by the Shore

Fog startles day awake, pressing inland like a damp

cloth upon fevered brow

rhythmic wash of ocean’s pulse softly undulates to shore,

like a meditative metronome

one lonely buoy bobbing in the bay, plays its mournful melody

while dinghies tug restlessly at moorings

Somewhere a screen door slaps open to mild saline breezes

filtering through

barnacle-studded stones rinse and repeat in gently slapping waves

Several horseshoe crabs left temporarily stranded ashore await

next incoming tide to sweep them back to where they came

Susan M. Surette – Cotuit, MA – suesurette@gmail.com

Among the Dunes

Heat shimmers above wind-driven dunes

–wandering tracts of waste–

desolate beneath midday glare.

Sand rolls and ripples beneath my feet;

I trace myriad fairy footprints of

lizards, spiders, beetles, and mice.

Their tracks end abruptly,

as if the tiny prey had been

whisked away by nighthawks, owls,

–or aliens from the deep-purple,

star-encrusted night.

Or, maybe, the dwellers of this land

know a secret and simply

tunnel their way deep

beneath the baking

heat.

Vaughn Neeld – Cañon City, CO – vaughnneeld@hotmail.com

Want to feel good, watch this short video… Love in the water

This poor seal thought he was going to die… then someone held him close | Watch

Light on Open Water

I keep thinking of light on open water.

The imperfect stillness of a windless day,

No shadows

No sun

The world above as

The world below

Harold Sneide – Indian Hills, CO – haroldsneide@comcast.net

Flower

It has grown straight up

Rising from rock and moisture

A spire of leaves

Crowned with a single flower

That bends with the weight of its opening.

Harold Sneide – Indian Hills, CO – haroldsneide@comcast.net

The wind has thrown

The wind has thrown a scattering of raindrops against the window.

This is not to be repeated.

Now the rain falls silently

Overflowing the gutters.

In an hour the window will dry,

Then the stones,

The grass will take longer.

The last traces of the water’s passing.

Harold Sneide – Indian Hills, CO – haroldsneide@comcast.net

sunset at the river’s edge – Meryl Smith – meryljbs@gmail.com

Please share The Weekly Avocet with all those you know who love Nature poetry. Please spread the word! Thank you!

Life by the river

Life by the river in a small coastal town

delights with ever-changing views

as we move through time

Summer hills of green and sparkling blue below

create a painting of the day

to hang on memory’s walls

Cloudy days can mute the colors into grey

On foggy days, hills disappear

The river ends in mist

Storms make whitecaps jump, rough waters churn the tides

The waters calm as winds die down

The surface shines like glass

When waters rise up high, the river wets the shore

It slowly crests on nearby streets

until pulled out to sea

At low tide rocks revealed peak out across the bay

And hidden island’s sandy banks

give birds an easy feast

River’s edge at night, serene and peaceful time

Hearing gentle, lapping waves calms

the tensions of the day

Sunset’s brilliant hues reflect on the water

till the sun melts into twilight

and evening calls me home

Meryl Smith – Rumson, NJ – meryljbs@gmail.com

Please be kind, write to each other…

Each Birth

Like a phoenix

my being has risen

from confronting

my own mortality

to a time after

to listen

to the voices

within my heart,

each day

a gift

to be unwrapped

sometimes with abandon,

sometimes with care,

often in remembrance.

If I could be a bird

I would choose to be an eagle.

It is not only

the hilltop and a mountain meadow

my eyes would seek…

but the deep tracks

that mark the soul

and a memory of things past…

a glimpse

beyond,

a night sky filled

with the silence

that separates

the stars.

There is repose

at night

in the sheltering wings

of loved ones,

the living

and the dead,

and the desire

later

for other worlds

to dream in.

Deenaz P. Coachbuilder

Icelandic Falls

Bruarfoss

cascading iceblue over

black volcanic bed

Seljalandsfoss

sixty-meter ribbon

mist and spray

A waving wall we walk behind

Gljufrabui

Plunging unseen in the grotto

spooning grace

and diffidence

Through the winter wren’s

emphatic chimes

the bubbled

invitation

Walt Franklin – Rexville, NY – franklinl3@yahoo.com

Arctic Char

The land gets larger on approach,

Deeper and more nuanced. Holaa River,

Broad and calm, accepts the fly

That links me to the char, directs me

Through the marsh and meadow

Toward the snow-capped mountains,

Through the bird life

Of a vibrant summer day.

The land rocks and boils with simple beauty

And a slide toward death. The char

Outnumber browns and salmon,

Feeding wisely on a tiny fly.

Icelandia absorbs my fresh excitement

Casting fur and feather to the bleika–

Silvery salmonid butter-toned and spotted,

Fighting as with sword and shield at net’s

Approach! Another char is captive,

Balanced for a moment in the hand–

A touch of sedge and glacier,

Drinking Holaa River deep and pure. Walt Franklin

Snipe & Tern

The common snipe of Arctic tundra

Lifts away in nuptial flight, a high broad

Circling for a mate, a whistling

From the long straight bill. The summer breezes

Winnow through a wide short tail,

The break from turf to sky repeatedly endlessly

As if for more than a struggle to survive,

As if to escape its earthbound ways.

The Arctic terns’ biannual migration

Tracks a dream-like course between the poles.

They nest colonially on the farthest rocks

And see more sun than any other creature.

Our horizons are extended with one bird,

With the body–white, with blackened crown

And carmine bill. It hovers gracefully

Over the waves–then slams the single capelin. Walt Franklin

Whimbrel Winds (Iceland)

A dark gyrfalcon at the Westfjords

Is like an Arctic sorcerer. I’m flown

Back to boyhood, sitting in amazement

At the picture of a white-phased hunter,

Wings spread like an angel’s on the wind.

The falcon’s dark or light morphology

Erases what we saw of witchcraft staged

At the chilling Holmavik museum.

The medieval fears of Iceland vent

Like the marshy steam at Reykholar.

The nesting redshank, tern and ptarmigan

Screech or mask themselves inside the refuge.

Tourists shield their heads, escape

The swoop of birds

As whimbrels cry melodiously.

Such mossy ground. Such whistling discontent!

The winds sweep bayward to a host of loons,

To the red-throated loons–no wizardry,

No necromantic talk for us. Just shrieking,

Yodeling, or quiet dabbling with their young. Walt Franklin

To Paint a Southern Bird

Ah, to be like John J. Audubon this winter

Painting at the easel, brush in hand, back then.

My pen-and-paper brain works overtime collecting

An experience in the threatened dwarf woods of the South.

The Florida scrub jay,

Pushed by ‘dozers and invasive life, is found

Only in its green-capped patch of sand and shrubs.

I heard the rattled squawk of the invisible

Stopping our quiet search on Christmas Eve.

I played my phone’s recording of the bird

And the jay came close as if to greet a friend.

Here–my gateway to the soul of central Florida,

To understanding of what’s been gained or lost

In this arid land, to better know

The lives endemic to this place.

There’s danger all around.

Democracy in shackles, power grabs and ignorance.

But the presence of this bird consoles me–

First, a singular appearance then a flock,

Familial, a crestless elegance of blue-white-tan,

Last season’s offspring on the job with nesting aid.

I’d follow in the steps

Of Audubon or William Bartram if I could,

Painting strokes of sunlight on these hours,

Bringing heartbeat to the frail life of a poem,

Grateful to an acorn-eater of the scrub.

Forty-five jays, four-hundred acres.

Shared with green-leafed rattlebox and rabbit-bells,

With snakeroot, sandtorch and gopher tortoise,

Homelands broken and degraded, given wings–

Bright moments hovering on a timeless day.

Walt Franklin – Rexville, NY – franklinl3@yahoo.com

Poetry is everywhere, in everyone…

Showcase your work in The Weekly Avocet.

Time to share up to four of your Summer themed poems for The Weekly Avocet, Summer photos (4), Summer haiku (up to 10),

and Saving Mother Earth Challenge poems.

Please read the guidelines before submitting

Please send your submission to angeldec24@hotmail.com

Please put (early or late) Summer/your last name in the subject line.

Please be kind and address your submission to me, Charles.

(Just so you know: I do not read work from a poet who doesn’t take the time

to address their submission to the editor, who they want to read their work.)

Please do not just send a poem, please write a few lines of hello. Please do not have all caps in the title of your poem.

There is no line limit per poem.

Please no religious references.

Please use single spaced lines.

Please remember, we welcome previously published poems.

Please put your name – town/state – email address under your poem. No Zip codes.

Please send your poem in both the body of an email and an attachment, no pdf file.

We look forward to reading and sharing your Summer submissions…

The Burning Question for us Earthlings is:

What are you/we going to do to stop or even just slow down Climate Change?

Do you feel like there is nothing you can do about climate change?

Well, there is, even if we all do small things it will make a great difference. Alice C. Hill (the David M. Rubenstein senior fellow for energy and the environment at the Council on Foreign Relations.) states the first thing we all need to do is not shy away from the subject. Talk about, write about, climate change to everyone you know and meet. Write to your congressperson and Senators. Let them know what you think and fear!

I want to have, at least, one Saving Mother Earth poem in each issue of The Weekly Avocet, so I am always looking for poems that address our most important issues of today, so please write about what you think and fear of the coming end of our world as we know it. A world our great grandkids will never know. A Mother Nature who is no longer kind.

But if we join together, maybe, just maybe, working together, we can make a difference to Save Mother Earth, the only home we have. Show you care. There are so many topics to write about when it comes to Climate Change. Please find one you are passionate about and write about it!

Write a Tell-off poem letting the world know what you are feeling about what is being done right before our eyes by those who claim to want what best for all of us. Think it out in your head, then put it down on the page, then fight with it, get your rage out, then send it to us to share, so you can see your voice, your words, being read, being heard…

The American Avocet

I watch unseen this large,

long-legged shorebird, with its pied plumage and a dash of red around its head and neck, scampering along the coastline searching to snatch-up some aquatic insect or a small invertebrate hidden beneath the brackish waters of this saltmarsh. I watch unseen it swing its odd, long, up-curved bill through the shallow, still waters, catching a tiny creature, trapping it in its bill, racing off to its nest to feed her four hatchings with this feast she found. I watch in awe as the male grows protective, fearlessly fending off an encroaching common black raven, attacking this intruder, striking at it with its bill. I watch in wonder as they swim as a family just days after the young ones are born, then back to the nest to rest where its kind flocks together in a community.

Charles Portolano – Fountain Hills, AZ – cportolano@hotmail.com

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We hope we provoked you; that you leave having experienced a complete emotional response to the poetry found in each issue of The Weekly Avocet. I want to thank our Poets for sharing their work with us this week. And “Thank you for reading, dear reader!”

Be well, see you next weekend,

Charles Portolano, Editor/Publisher and Vivian and Valerie Portolano, Co-Editors

of The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry and The Weekly Avocet, every weekend.

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