the rotary dial

best new poetry in form

Weeds are not supposed to grow
but by degrees
some achieve a flower, although
no one sees.

From the May Issue


Nine/Eleven, Twenty-Four/Seven

The sky is blue, but only after dawn
has come to rouse the children. Clouds are gray
when called upon to save a thirsty lawn
from fatal desiccation. Not a day

goes by without a crew of bureaucrats
on hand to check the status of the sod.
The greenest grass exists in habitats
beyond the stratosphere.
                                          If I were God,

there’d be no Sunday – only Saturdays,
for recreation needs no day of rest –
and there would be no workday interphase
to water weekends down. Perhaps it’s best

that I am not the all-sufficient Master
who separates the morning from the gloam,
but would it be a terrible disaster
if now and then I felt I’d found a home?

Who knows. So here I am, again too much
the fussy planner, less inclined to do
than to consider. Patience is a crutch
for crippled minds that never follow through.


C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. His book of poems, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder, was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.