Sherri Steiner: On a Winter Dawn
A lone pigeon perched on the peak of the world
Watching the new day dawn.
For the former days had been gray and gloom
And he cooed all the golden on. Continue reading . . . “Sherri Steiner: On a Winter Dawn”
Michelle King: After the Poetry Reading
I.
We wove through the pines and our patches of pavement,
Till we found each other and 2 PM,
Arms loaded with ripened letters.
Then drops of grey slid down our shoulders. We clambered into the house. Continue reading . . . “Michelle King: After the Poetry Reading”
winter’s border wind
lilts through smoke-
weathered
attics, across façades Continue reading . . . “Renea McKenzie: echo and song”
And all that has passed before us: this day, this rain,
The sunshine and the green, green meadow,
Each flashing smile, each look of light
Is swallowed in this night of between; Continue reading . . . “Lori Hershberger: Interlude”
Poets have been silent
On the salty theme of cheese.
They prefer to bend the rhymes
Of mysteries such as these: Continue reading . . . “Sheila Petre: For Julia”
What if – when Christ ascended through the clouded sky
His frame was sown as particles of dust – Continue reading . . . “Richard Stoltzfoos: Pentecost”
Upon a summer fleece of woodland’s best,
I lay beneath a spiderweb,
Myriads of atoms all tumbling one on top of another
Reaching for the blue dawn’s spectrum and a midnight moon. Continue reading . . . “Michelle King: The Tree”
Sheila Petre: Upon Encountering God
The key to comprehension is reduction.
If a thought has got beyond you, tug it back
Lest its gist be lost in vastness
Or your spirit swung from fastness, Continue reading . . . “Sheila Petre: Upon Encountering God”
Lynn Michael Martin: And So We Sleep
And so we sleep, forgetting all that harms;
our sleep itself a praise to him who stands
a promise in the night, whose ageless hands
caress the children cradled in his arms. Continue reading . . . “Lynn Michael Martin: And So We Sleep”
Christopher Good: Eulogy for a Poet
These words will end in dust, as all things die.
Their paltry lines will crumble all apart—
Pray thee preserve them, artless though they lie. Continue reading . . . “Christopher Good: Eulogy for a Poet”
Leonard Nolt: The End of the Day
Let the day end
Let the shadows lengthen
Let the birds sing their last songs
As the wind slows Continue reading . . . “Leonard Nolt: The End of the Day”
I reach through the dark for the door,
Unsure
If it stands ajar, the edge too near my nose, Continue reading . . . “Sheila Petre: Against Hope”
Kenneth Godoy: Like a Brick Upon Everything
perhaps in the wither of the mother’s hand
now that she had taken cancer again,
or the silent scream of three birds Continue reading . . . “Kenneth Godoy: Like a Brick Upon Everything”
Lynn Michael Martin: I Saw the Daughters of Joy
I saw the daughters of joy today,
Dancing in the dew.
They shout and they tumble as they play Continue reading . . . “Lynn Michael Martin: I Saw the Daughters of Joy”
Light bleeds from the evening sky, and I know
Somewhere the morning dawns. The wind rises
Rustling the skirts of the brittle drought. Continue reading . . . “Lori Hershberger: Unforsaken”
Sheila Petre: Happily Ever Before
One summer, my lover made for me
A bicycle built for two.
Oh, the things that man can do! Continue reading . . . “Sheila Petre: Happily Ever Before “
Rebecca Weber: Arrival of Summer
I thought that it would take me by surprise:
A certain flash of knowing this is it.
It came in slow degrees of shimmered skies. Continue reading . . . “Rebecca Weber: Arrival of Summer”
Fair Ellen was my love, her hair
as gentle as a summer sky,
and I dared not look on her, or there Continue reading . . . “Hermann Miller: Fair Ellen”
Rebecca Weber: Lullaby to a Wide-awake Mind
It’s bedtime. I repeat: It’s time for bed.
High time to settle down to blessed sleep.
Oh, frowsy brain, do not lift up your head
But nod off gentle in the shadows—keep Continue reading . . . “Rebecca Weber: Lullaby to a Wide-awake Mind”
Roger Biehn: Dream of the Airy Mob
Every generation will see its ending days
and some will fancy them the end of the end
and kindle on altars mounded of brick chunks
and concrete lumps one gasoline soaked tower of flame Continue reading . . . “Roger Biehn: Dream of the Airy Mob”
