By Joseph Dahut
Posted on
for Lucy
our hands extend,
these palms are wading pools –
the waters of God’s love. let
your spirit wade into our hands.
allow the still surface to flood
your soul. allow yourself
to bask in these holy shallows.
you are crying, and lovely.
you are smiling, and beautiful.
we look unto you, and love you,
as you shower in God’s graces.
By Devon Balwit
Posted on
Yet another storm shivers the trees,
reeling even the towering
sequoia. While walking the dog, I weep,
forced by icy wind
to abandon stoicism, your plane not yet
airborne. Once again,
I strip your sheets, reshelve books you never
opened, find, on the sill,…
...continue reading
By Mary Buchinger
Posted on
river city sky
spectrum of grey
ungiving surfaces
nothing immediate
available here
suspended
between cities
someone…
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By Diana Raab
Posted on
Do you know that feeling you get
when giving up
when you don’t care for another day,
when you realize you are your childhood
no matter how much you try to smother it?
As you wonder if anyone will care after you’ve departed
as you walk through the gate alone
in the same way you arrived. …
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By Penney Knightly
Posted on
I know the girl with the ashes in her hair,
the one with the dreams piled like logs, the one
who goes up in smoke because her daddy promised her the world
and who is gone, as fast as he came.
I know what it feels like to be those morphing feet,
those unseeding pumpkins, to return to a mouse from a stallion,
to pray and pray in someone’s locked room
that that someone, somewhere
will find you.
By Fritz Eifrig
Posted on
the sun licks brittle leaves,
golden shiver of revelation.
the lies I told myself pierce
this vale, our decayed gulf
stark yellow now.
cold resolution quickens,
birdless horizon unveiled,
shadows on clouded eyes.
breath leaves in spirals, blooming
chill tendrils along obscure paths.
flickering cressets now naked and unhooded,
blurred tales raked aside, false and fallen.
look: here
the stories of trees and stones, moss and salt;
a book of signs, sigils written with rain–
these were never hidden.
bared truth beneath a smile’s distraction;
there, waiting beside remembered footprints,
calling across the clearing between us
in the dying sunlight.
By Seth Jani
Posted on
Sometimes when I close my eyes
The landscape dissolves
And I am two-thirds the wind
And one-third a boy in the city.
You will find me among
The high-rises hiding leaves
In dim-lit corners,
Pulling the fire-alarms
And filling the halls
With painted flames.
You’d be scared
If they weren’t the color
Of bad ideas,
The ill-planned blues
That are easily distinguishable
From real ceruleans.
But still, plastic or not,
I am incredibly happy.
Beneath these trees
I never accomplish anything,
And I haven’t moved
In thirty years.