Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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solar wind mill sips
blood and feathers
from bone China cups

condos crowd the shore
sand hills under the gulf
no margin for birds

gray skies
drench a slate ocean
dead zone

birds fade from view
a flock counted on fingers


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Ingrid Bruck is a retired library director who writes poems and grows wildflowers. Her first chapbook, Finding Stella Maris, was published this year.

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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sunlight
chisels dull edges
off night

pink haze
uncaps morning
river and hills

green spills
flowers
on the bank

in the current
trees and clouds
melt

end of day~
emerald corn fields
dipped in gold

day’s
sharp edges
filed away

shadow-tail
wraps the tree
fog

sleeping
under a wet blanket
the full moon


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Ingrid Bruck is a retired library director who writes poems and grows wildflowers. Her first chapbook, Finding Stella Maris, was published this year.

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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night-blooming cacti
wake in the dark
when people slumber
in muffled shadows

full buds inflate
bracts burst
perfume gusts
blooms unfold

fifty moon globes
fruit born of shade
hover on leaves
stretch in the moonlight

many-armed
white shivas
stroke the darkness
of summer

at first light
moonflower bounty
night magic
silently slips away


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Ingrid Bruck’s current work appears in Poetry Breakfast, Better Than Starbucks, Otata and Failed Haiku. Her debut chapbook, Finding Stella Maris by Flutter Press was released this year. Poetry website: www.ingridbruck.com

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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chipmunks skitter along the Taconic
busy
over the rocks
busy
flag tail raised
busy
the stream runs with chipmunks, rocks sing with chitter

brown wings splash
warm
shallows in sun
warm
brush tangled shade
warm
warbler splash bath in the Taconic

birds hopscotch on water
flit
skim the stream
flit
tree to bush
flit
catbirds hopscotch and fish the Taconic

the fifth ant after midnight crawls on me
crawls
I can’t sleep
crawls
strip my sheets
crawls
I wander the grounds, wrapped in sheets,
looking for another place to sleep



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Ingrid Bruck’s current work appears in Poetry Breakfast, Better Than Starbucks, Otata and Failed Haiku. Her debut chapbook, Finding Stella Maris by Flutter Press was released this year. Poetry website: www.ingridbruck.com

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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bejeweled soil
black frozen bare
in dead winter

brings gifts
scattered by wind
watered by sleet

sunlight unfolds
strands of green
topped by ice tears

flowers appear where
none grew before
wind blown light

cold January
white sparks
burn in the dark


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Ingrid Bruck’s current work appears in Poetry Breakfast, Better Than Starbucks, Otata and Failed Haiku. Her debut chapbook, Finding Stella Maris by Flutter Press was released this year. Poetry website: www.ingridbruck.com

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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*Ronka is a haiku form with five lines developed by a poet named Ronkawitz.


whistling

The house sings when strong wind blows.
Don’t dismiss a whistling house as defective
or explain away the sound with wind hole science
and don’t patch the gap under the door sill.
Leave alone this fluting dragon.

~

first butterfly

pink bindweed
violets in grass
bougainvillea and wisteria climb the wall
a white flutterby
another pale plum blossom

~

no doodle

In an island of shade on the ridge
I slip into morning birdsong
and weed my garden in rising heat
serenaded by cock – a – do – do,
a defective rooster lost his doodle

~

hunter with binoculars

I step from the outside shower
warm sun and breeze on bare skin
stricken by blue between clouds
a deep voice calls from a truck on the hilltop,
“lady, put something on”

~

crowing

crowing greets morning
roosters warn others away
barking dogs join the chorus
banter ricochets for miles
and echoes farm to farm

~

first frost

wind plucked leaves glide
against a low cloud ceiling,
set aloft, large yellow snowflakes
jitter and jive to inevitable ground
where grass and weeds wait to wear them

~

awaken

toads sleep under mud
snakes dormant under rocks
grass blades appear on the bare roadside
lone daffodil
trumpets spring


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Ingrid Bruck lives in Pennsylvania Amish country, a landscape that inhabits her poetry. She makes jam, grows wildflowers and enjoys reading and writing short form poetry. Current work appears in Failed Haiku, Otata, Haiku Journal and The Song Is...

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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Stella Maris
the ocean, my office
peace, my work

rain whistles
shakes the window
surf sounds inside

dawn
comes and goes
in haze

I expect nothing
sun breaks day
retreats

out of clouds
volcano explodes
horizon fades pink

(Soul Sisters Retreat, October 13-18, 2015, at Stella Maris Retreat House, Long Branch, NJ)


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Ingrid Bruck lives in Pennsylvania Amish country, a landscape that inhabits her writing. A retired library director, she writes short forms and poetry. Current work appears in Unbroken Journal, Eunoia, Peacock Journal, W.I.S.H and Entropy.

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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awake at dark
to greet the morning
seagulls and I

silence of dawn
east over the deep
we wait for sunrise

gulls flap at sun call
flit back and forth
skim the waves

yo-yos in the sky
wings skip the edges of swells
and dive for breakfast

nacreous sea reflects
pearlescent sky
mirrors of day

sky ripens red to pink
sea echoes pearl
singing the light

gulls ski the surf
drop in surging rollers
corks bob and float

quiet wait
for sun under water
to break free

plovers skitter
run into surf and fish
new waves push them back

birds run in and out
pan the shoreline
wet sand glistens

red orb swims water
mounts the sky
we watch

and catch a silver ribbon
cast from sea to shore
to Stella Maris


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Ingrid Bruck lives in the Amish country of Pennsylvania that inhabits her writing. Her favorite forms are haiku, haibun, senryu, rengay and short poems. Current work appears in Unbroken Journal, Halcyon Days, Quatrain.Fish, Under the Basho and Leaves of Ink.

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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Fall: Senryu

sun glitters
diamond dust on clouds
caramel on apples

half cloudy
sun skitters in the grass
and dives down a burrow

wind sweeps
clouds heap
blue floods through

crescent moon rises
tapestry needle
threads dusk

crickets sing
corn tassels and tobacco
evening gold

distant lightning
ignites the tapestry ~
a silent movie plays

xxxx

Summer: Senryu

yellow-black web weaver
carnivore hunts
I pick her tomato

goldfinch eats
petals of sunflower drop
loves me - loves me not

the walls and roof shake
Crepe Myrtle bends under the weight
of the downpour

fireflies
between moon-glow
summer tree stars

night secret
silver twins echo
moon flower

faint blush of sky
cicada shrill
cat moon grins sideways


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Ingrid Bruck is nature poet who lives in rural Amish country in Pennsylvania, a landscape that inhabits her writing. She likes writing Japanese short form and short poems. Current work appears in Mataroyshka Poetry, Halcyon Days and Quatrain.Fish

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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crowds bump shoulders
Mudsale mix in winter shades
black hues on denim

Amish next to English:
My People, plain and simple,
stick to their own

Old Order, black and white,
New Order, blossom colors,
a rainbow tinged black

summer reprieve
no heavy black winter coats,
black sweaters left home

sexes move in flocks,
boys with men, girls with women,
birds in migration

men and boys wear night,
add straw hats, red suspenders,
a flock of robins

females in public:
sneakers, apron, long plain dress,
cover hair on head

barefoot in home and field
many children, none to spare
many hands share work

all solids and blacks
patterns and prints saved for quilts
no ornamentation

youngsters and elders,
little fathers and mothers
shadows and flowers

they follow the sun
cars hit buggies and horses
out of time and place


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Ingrid Bruck, a poet/storyteller/retired library director, grew up in farm country across the river from Albany, New York and lives in rural Pennsylvania in Amish country. Her work has appeared in Howl of Sorrow: A Collection of Poems Inspired by Hurricane Sandy, Topography and Panoplyzine. She is a member of The International Women’s Writing Guild and a charter member of The Avocado Sisterhood.

Contributor: Ingrid Bruck

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granddaddy’s strong hands
accent from the wrong country
no one will hire him

nana’s able hands
fourth finger missing the tip
feeding the family

my father’s soft hands
blade of grass between his thumbs
whistles from the past

my mother’s smile
a gift to all her children
a warning slap

free city concert
Louie Armstrong plays the heat
Harlem doesn’t burn

some manicure lawns
but my family mows the weeds
two Americas


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Ingrid Bruck, a poet/storyteller/retired library director, grew up in farm country across the river from Albany, New York and lives in rural Pennsylvania in Amish country. Her work has appeared in Howl of Sorrow: A Collection of Poems Inspired by Hurricane Sandy, Topography and Panoplyzine. She is a member of The International Women’s Writing Guild and a charter member of The Avocado Sisterhood.