The mutterings of war are in the north.
The winter has been bitter with our tears.
Now waken in the dark, and hear the rain
that pours down with the turning of the year. Continue reading . . . “Claudia Lehman: February 2022”
Lynn Michael Martin: The Soothsayer
For seven years I walked with demon guides,
divining deathless words for mortal men;
tales of dark wisdom they gave me besides,
draining my soul and filling it again
with darknesses of suffocating airs— Continue reading . . . “Lynn Michael Martin: The Soothsayer”
Such shrouds of darkness cloak our land.
I am but dust; my feeble hand
Sin, grief, and sorrow cannot bear;
True Christlike love I cannot share. Continue reading . . . “Melodie Dyck: Christ in Shoes”
It wasn’t sense that let you in,
O Lover of my Soul.
It isn’t chains that hold You there—
my soul is paper thin. Continue reading . . . “Sharilyn Martin: Paper Thin”
Light floods the vacant corridors
long since swept out
by darknesses—
and wakes a shivering ecstasy Continue reading . . . “Rebecca Weber: Golden Song”
Lynn Michael Martin: Matthew 26:38
“Tarry here,” he said, “and watch with me.”
I peered through darkness, past the olive trees
but saw no shadows on Gethsemane.
“Teacher, what is this thing that I might see?” Continue reading . . . “Lynn Michael Martin: Matthew 26:38”
Claudia Lehman: A Lament for the Sparrows
Unforgotten—and
how does that ease their falling?
Lured, they learn too late
the limits of wings Continue reading . . . “Claudia Lehman: A Lament for the Sparrows”
Rebecca Weber: When Spring Breaks Forth
Who would have thought, through winter’s icy dark,
That we would ever see the sun again;
That sap still tarried here beneath the bark
Of weathered trees, or that the wasted glen Continue reading . . . “Rebecca Weber: When Spring Breaks Forth”
Carolyn Kelshaw: The Wedding Gift
Another day. The bowl still rests
on the rosewood music chest.
As we pass, the air it holds
moves gently over strokes of gold Continue reading . . . “Carolyn Kelshaw: The Wedding Gift”
Lynn Michael Martin: Tonight Your Face Is Hidden, Yet I Know
Tonight your face is hidden, yet I know
that it is not for lack of presence, though
I search and see you not—for you are here;
for from your being must all being grow. Continue reading . . . “Lynn Michael Martin: Tonight Your Face Is Hidden, Yet I Know”
Magnified, sand resembles mollusks, spiraled
turret shells, milky stones, a transparent
nautilus, the small bones
in my inner ear. Heated, sand melts Continue reading . . . “Lynn Domina: Mosaic”
Each morning breaks the same,
Rising with a hunger that carves
Like the slanting fingers of sunlight cutting
Through the fog that shrouds the neighbor’s burnt field. Continue reading . . . “Lori Hershberger: Ritual”
Orange silk sunset, shot with shadow,
a thousand evenings, none the same
as any—or this—sky broken open,
oozing under the storm, Continue reading . . . “Claudia Lehman: Anniversary”
Nuggets, metaphor, promise, coins.
Thinka Inca. Kill thy neighbour,
make a killing. Little Golden Books,
first place, moments, an egg with carats. Continue reading . . . “Allan Lake: Gold Poem”
These melodic lines have a cutting edge.
They cut through years and wing me to a town
where a man gathers gentleness at a piano. Continue reading . . . “Peter Stiles: Cutting”
I brought my day to the doorposts
And pierced its ear at the dawn.
Earth sang and shouted for gladness, Continue reading . . . “Sherri Steiner: Daily”
Kenneth Godoy: When I Die Let My Death Be the Cry of the Earth
When I die let my death be the cry of the earth.
From it I have come. To it I will go. For it I have longed.
It compels me and I cannot escape it.
It is day again. It is night. What forces the dawn? Continue reading . . . “Kenneth Godoy: When I Die Let My Death Be the Cry of the Earth”
Little Miss Barefoot, running in December,
House warm, heart warm, if you only knew
How the very God of Love is brooding over you.
Free, you race in His embrace, Continue reading . . . “Sheila Petre: To My Children”
They find their King—and here they too are found;
The One they sought has hung their guiding star. Continue reading . . . “Marlene Brubacher: Quest”
Unknown, I walk along the brown dirt way
To a near-vacant town of well-known name.
Most folks who find this town will never stay,
For its inhabitants are hard to tame.
