Poetry

Joel Kurz 4-01-2005

I have climbed out of the depths
where human ash and soil
comprise a pyramidal mound
covered by the green of life.

Here women, men, and children

Louise Murphy 3-01-2005

The earth is eating all the little birds.
It feasts, grows fat. Their eyes are stones, black jewels

we rattle in our pockets. Mouths are blurred

Janet W. Boatner 2-01-2005
1.
Outside the cathedral
I wept against a pillar of black stone
Richard Hoffman 1-01-2005
Hephaestos

No god at all, you do not
work the forge (conscripts
and captives, the poor, do that).
You work the till.

No one begins a man
and ends a god, and you
most certainly have always been
someone or another’s man.

Scott Cairns 11-01-2004
Availing space in which we live and move and come to glimpse the import of our being.


Availing space in which
we live and move and come
to glimpse the import of
our being. Opening
occasion of our brief,
expansive guess that when
we’re after meaning, more
is always likelier

Linda Mills Woolsey 10-01-2004
At the regional airport in Waco,


At the regional airport in Waco, on the third day
of the war, we stand barefoot, as if on sacred ground.
As each in turn is beckoned, we file mutely past
the metal box that peers into our carry-ons and coats,
examines our watches, our wallets, our shoes.

Jene Beardsley 9-01-2004
Untitled Normal Page

"…as if religion were a state of shock,
deep, peaceful shock, that…men like these
are driven into by the spectacle of reality."
—Peter Matthiessen in The Cloud Forest

Carol Hamilton 8-01-2004

He died in a munitions explosion

Ananda Robinson 7-01-2004
Blessed are those who wash their robes,

Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates. Outside are dogs and sorcerers and fornicators and murderers and idolaters.... - Revelation 22:14-15

Fredrick Zydek 6-01-2004

You must learn to say prayers

And shall I rise up

Marilyn Robertson 1-01-2004
Rain tick tocks in the downspouts.
Andrea Ayvazian 11-01-2003

If we dug a huge grave miles wide, miles deep

Cynthia Gustavson 9-01-2003

Hundreds of years growing on a steep hill, desolate, aging / despite scarce nourishment, they wait for history to recognize them.

Matt Humm 3-01-2003
for Ash Wednesday

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