Frederick Livingston lives in the liminal space between sustainable agriculture, experiential education and peacebuilding. His poems have appeared in literary magazines, scientific journals, public parks and bathroom stalls. Compelled by the power of metaphor to shape culture, he strive to plant seeds for a more fruitful world.
The Moon Rose
Joshua Tree, California
the moon rose slowly bloomed the moon petunia soon bluebell too violet and marigold the mountain thorns adorn slender twilight stem morning roots deep in night something more than an absence of light
Leaving Njombe, Tanzania
low breeze blows lemon leaves dreaming sideways through time I mistook these little green things for limes rains arrived on time a year ago today branches sway unburdened by fruit I promised to squeeze into open-fire pies sunflower humus for your blender if we slipped into next year yesterday the hole beside my courtyard is filled (god willing) by poles for wires known to be live I saw a crow dive too near “whoosh-bzapt-thump!” power of rivers separating us brought inside we’d live in light though endless night devouring all green things spring brings tomorrow I’ll walk past the tree full of unripe lemon-limes one last time wondering if in a year I’ll still taste sweet sour delicious unease of a new world becoming old and an old world becoming new