Mindfulness
Some days are harder than others to love
in this life, but this morning I strike out
beneath a sky in free-fall hemorrhaging
a shade of blue that calls to mind the over-
flow of tidal pools in sunlit water as the sparse
earth eases into splendor, exorcising winter’s
grim ghosts from the sloping fields, braided
streams and the austere corridors of the wood-
lands, resurrecting the unquiet voices that
had died with them, and although I’ve grown
old here and most things in my life are now
beyond recapture, I find myself calling back
time, dumbfounded by the scents and colors
mingling about me, startling the senses and
upending the soul, leaving me with a longing
for tomorrow and whatever else comes after.
Hollowing
Nudged by an irksome wind,
the overhead branches extend
their contorted fingers to reclaim
what little light is left to this day
and to then fold and set it beneath
the dusky hedges of the under-
growth, and it seems as if winter’s
taken all grandeur from the world
and most living things have given
up on the earth as shadows close in
to create an even more foreboding
darkness knowing for certain that
there will be no soft settling
of stars or slow arcing moon to gape
upon tonight; rather only the winged
ghosts that choose to leave their
cryptic hieroglyphs of farewell
stitched across the morning snow.
John Muro is a resident of Connecticut and the author of three volumes of poetry. His latest collection, A Bountiful Silence, was released in 2025. John is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a three-time Best of the Net nominee and a Grantchester Award recipient. His poems, which are often inspired by the natural world, have appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Acumen, Belfast Review, Connecticut River Review, Delmarva, River Heron, Sky Island, the Valparaiso Review and elsewhere.
Some days are harder than others to love
in this life, but this morning I strike out
beneath a sky in free-fall hemorrhaging
a shade of blue that calls to mind the over-
flow of tidal pools in sunlit water as the sparse
earth eases into splendor, exorcising winter’s
grim ghosts from the sloping fields, braided
streams and the austere corridors of the wood-
lands, resurrecting the unquiet voices that
had died with them, and although I’ve grown
old here and most things in my life are now
beyond recapture, I find myself calling back
time, dumbfounded by the scents and colors
mingling about me, startling the senses and
upending the soul, leaving me with a longing
for tomorrow and whatever else comes after.
Hollowing
Nudged by an irksome wind,
the overhead branches extend
their contorted fingers to reclaim
what little light is left to this day
and to then fold and set it beneath
the dusky hedges of the under-
growth, and it seems as if winter’s
taken all grandeur from the world
and most living things have given
up on the earth as shadows close in
to create an even more foreboding
darkness knowing for certain that
there will be no soft settling
of stars or slow arcing moon to gape
upon tonight; rather only the winged
ghosts that choose to leave their
cryptic hieroglyphs of farewell
stitched across the morning snow.
John Muro is a resident of Connecticut and the author of three volumes of poetry. His latest collection, A Bountiful Silence, was released in 2025. John is a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a three-time Best of the Net nominee and a Grantchester Award recipient. His poems, which are often inspired by the natural world, have appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Acumen, Belfast Review, Connecticut River Review, Delmarva, River Heron, Sky Island, the Valparaiso Review and elsewhere.
