Untouched
by Emily Gingrich
Where lake meets tree and tree meets sky,
Where ducks and seagulls wheel and cry—
The waves hum tunes to slumbering shores,
And lonesome breezes drift and sigh. Continue reading . . . “Emily Gingrich: Untouched”
Where lake meets tree and tree meets sky,
Where ducks and seagulls wheel and cry—
The waves hum tunes to slumbering shores,
And lonesome breezes drift and sigh. Continue reading . . . “Emily Gingrich: Untouched”
Steam hisses twists and turns
As asphalt burns
Another farmer’s field
A fertile fold that nurtured life Continue reading . . . “Gary Yoder: Hallowed Ground”
Claudia Lehman: Transfiguration
The muttering of some murderous flying thing
darkened the morning,
dropping fear like bombs, reminders of
the young blood on the borders in the north. Continue reading . . . “Claudia Lehman: Transfiguration”
For those who, fingering the rings in their pocket,
find it hard to enjoy the guinea pigs
I thank Thee for each quiet place between,
That place untouched by voice or phone or town,
A wood between the worlds, where dreams each scene,
Where waking find we Thee, and gladly drown. Continue reading . . . “Richard Stoltzfoos: Between”
Shannon Blank: The War Has Come Into My Bones Tonight
The war has entered
To my bones
And fever dreams
Attend in droves Continue reading . . . “Shannon Blank: The War Has Come Into My Bones Tonight”
Lori Hershberger: Evening Palette
The mountain swallowed the sun tonight
Tugged it down from the sooty sky,
Into the smoky red of horizon’s shade
And west into the shadows of Burma. Continue reading . . . “Lori Hershberger: Evening Palette”
What is man that you are mindful of him?
We, squeezing a too-broad name,
distillation down to swallowable size.
Little drops like lemon that sprout aches Continue reading . . . “Phoebe Anthus: Lemon Writing”
How is it that ye sought me?
—Jesus, Luke 2:49
We sought you sorrowing along the one-
day’s journey back to the Holy City
to find you seated in your Father’s house
astounding doctors of divinity Continue reading . . . “Josh Nisley: Quest”
What fog-fold forest softness
And breeze-brush touch tenderness!
O world beloved!
What earnest thrush-song Continue reading . . . “Gary Yoder: Spring”
Hazy green leaves poking into a
thick, insipid fog,
I rush past the lamps
flinging out gold in a flame Continue reading . . . “Marilla Hess: Urban”
In a story they read you,
long ago
The greenly grass grew
like your grandpa’s hair, Continue reading . . . “Phoebe Anthus: You Were Young”
Robert Eliot: A Raspberry Volunteer
Once ten feet off the ground
Where the limbs of a maple met,
A seed of a raspberry found
Its sturdiest resting place yet Continue reading . . . “Robert Eliot: A Raspberry Volunteer”
Sarah J. Martin: Evening Walk at the Sawmill
I walk through aisles of eight by eight,
Past stacks of sturdy six by six;
I breathe the scent of sacrifice
In sawdust, cedar bark, and sticks. Continue reading . . . “Sarah J. Martin: Evening Walk at the Sawmill”
After a lifetime of cricketing fun,
claiming shelter by leaf from the bird and the sun,
with adventure through many but malice by none, Continue reading . . . “Phoebe Anthus: Crickets”
Around me sit good faces with lines of
grace, crinkled hope, foreheads smooth—
grateful for community. I see workmanship soft
around the eyes like the smooth lip of a cup Continue reading . . . “Karen Yoder: Good Faces”
Sarah J. Martin: Island Moment
And here am I, scraggy, windblown, alone,
scoured by sun and rain and hail,
raising weary branches
and lifting my offering to the sky. Continue reading . . . “Sarah J. Martin: Island Moment”
In my father’s house,
I watched the sun take her course across the sky.
I roamed the woods with her ribboning creek,
And painted footprints on the floor.
My fingerprints frost the front door like a fragile vapor. Continue reading . . . “Michelle King: Memories”
Peace,
peace.
Surely the world is not ending,
cyclones are calming, wildfires are dying, songbirds are nesting, Continue reading . . . “Christopher Good: Fruition”
Sherri Steiner: On a Rainy Thursday
The cloudiness that shrouded every hour
Trips, topples, tumbles into every space
Unguarded by the keeper of the door.
The stress is struggling. I can feel the power Continue reading . . . “Sherri Steiner: On a Rainy Thursday”
Kenneth Godoy: close the window, my father said, because it might rain tonight
how do I get right with god?
I asked this to my father but the wind
blew trash onto mile-level
and the red sun made us squint. Continue reading . . . “Kenneth Godoy: close the window, my father said, because it might rain tonight”