Daniel Jabe

An arching bridge that spans a crystal streamAttracts attention. People tend to pause,To gaze beneath the surface and to dreamTheir silent dreams: a knight without a cause;A painter who has put away her brush;An old philosopher. The waters rushUnceasingly across the sun-flecked bedOf sunken leaves, . . . . Continue Reading »

The forest still is rich, if not as green,As flecks of gold and umber decorateThe canopy, and caterpillars crawlUp grasses tipped with ochre. ByzantineBrown-banded honeybees investigateThe beds of Black-eyed Susans. Pumpkins lollBeneath their broad-leaved vines. I see the Fall Arriving, and I feel . . . . Continue Reading »