Emerging Ideas

Lynne Goldsmith: Poems

Lynne Goldsmith’s first book, ‘Secondary Cicatrices’, won the 2018 Halcyon Poetry Prize, was a 2019 Finalist in the American Book Fest Awards, a 2020 Human Relations Indie Book Award Gold Winner and won a new Finalist Award in the International Book Awards. Her poetry has been published in Backchannels Journal, Spillway, Thimble Literary Magazine, Environmental Magazine, Red Planet Magazine, among others, with upcoming poems in Tiny Seed Literary Journal and Scotland’s 2020 Geopoetry Conference program. 

Sounds of Vibration

Bees know how to buzz
to open their targets’
release of pollen.

Beetles listen for the pop
that indicates a drought
for a tree suffering.

Corn seedling roots
lean towards a sound
like their own,
at 220 Hertz

while chili seedlings
hurry up their growth
if they sense nearby fennel,
the “enemy” they hear,
who slows development
of plant life not their own.

Gas bubbles, too, block the flow
from more air in xylem
turning to embolism
in two-way valves, maybe deadly
the burst, yet pines and Douglas fir
repair damage hourly
when water’s lacking.

Plants report impending danger.
True, they warn neighbors
by emitting chemicals.
They share their awarenesses
and are able to respond to touch.

Trees need the wind
to strengthen tissues.

Certain frequencies
increase mullein yields.

Other sounds for other plants
affect metabolism,
even gene mutation.

Plants can drive away their insects
to keep from being eaten—

vegetation’s lucky ones.

………………………..

Immortality

Hydra,
how do you stay the same?
No senescence, no loss in fertility,
you are out to bud, regenerate,
grow two heads if you must
if your fibers cross.

You just go on and on,
stem cells refreshing.

Reproducing
sexually or not,
you come from parent sponge.

Prokaryote can live inside you
to eat what you don’t want
and spit out what it is you crave.

You rip apart for sustenance,
a miracle for such a small thing.

…………………………..

Arms of the Milky Way Holding Stars

Trillions of galaxies surround the arms,
galaxies not consumed by ours
beyond the dark matter,
beyond our halo, our globular clusters.
Young massive stars brighten spirals,
having been born from nebulae
(clouds of gas and dust)
that collapse and collide—stars
webbed by arms’ gravity.
Density waves (another name
for curved rays of Milky Way),
formed from molecular clouds
of hydrogen. A living body,
they do not stay the same.
Stars and gas accelerate
towards them before
slowing and entering,
before moving away
in orbit or fading
from arms’ embrace
into dwarf stars,
or maybe, maybe
into lives of
supernovae.

………………………..

Textural Triangle

Who knew?—not me
of loam’s variations.

Like the soil,
I’ve been in the dark
about a pyramidal structure
released in diagrammatic form
by the
US Department of Agriculture.

Just another fact hidden
somewhere down in my
weighted ignorance.

But a perfect triangle flaunting
percentages of clay, sand, and silt
in determining categories of dirt:

such names as silt loam,
sandy clay, silty clay loam,
or loamy sand, and so they go.

How perfect the angles in the map
of what the earth feels like
and how it appears in admixtures.

I never knew
explanatory triangle existed
to fit the textures of what’s below my feet,

reminding me
of mathematical magnificence
touching, holding, the universe.

…………………………………….

Lynne Goldsmith’s first book, ‘Secondary Cicatrices’, won the 2018 Halcyon Poetry Prize, was a 2019 Finalist in the American Book Fest Awards, a 2020 Human Relations Indie Book Award Gold Winner and won a new Finalist Award in the International Book Awards. Her poetry has been published in Backchannels Journal, Spillway, Thimble Literary Magazine, Environmental Magazine, Red Planet Magazine, among others, with upcoming poems in Tiny Seed Literary Journal and Scotland’s 2020 Geopoetry Conference program.

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