Poetry

Scott Kinder-Pyle 7-01-2011

The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,

Sarah Browning 6-03-2011

In our city we see them sometimes.

Sneha Abraham 4-01-2011

Touched your hem / A thousand times / A face just / Beyond my sight / Space between / Grace, grief

Joseph Ross 3-01-2011

This time they are the ones cauth, though they try to close their eyes.

Noel Julnes-Dehner 2-01-2011

My husband, he die
without water in desert.
Walking Saudi Arabia --
no jobs in Yemen
for policemen
from Somalia.

Rob Soley 1-01-2011

My strokes are halting, not like the imagined fluidity
of the monastic scribes, hunched, by candlelight,
over some ancient text, perhaps the Our Father,
being deftly rendered in the thin black liquid
of a gently dipped quill.
From their sublime to my ridiculous work
in colored calligraphy markers
purchased at the local drugstore.
But my text is the same, the Our Father;
except mine is printed on the inside jacket
of the pocket edition of a scriptural rosary book,
printed and published a mere forty years ago.

Temple Cone 12-01-2010

Bach wrote his solo cello suites as études, not for performance./
Imagine, the arpeggios of the first prelude, forever private, /

His friend Martha's making soup, because you still /
have to eat. Meanwhile, back in the Garden /

Jesse Nathan 9-01-2010

No, nothing,

she says, that is not God’s, and we approach
a crow ripping the entrails

of a truck-crushed fox, and the crow flees

Priscilla Atkins 8-01-2010

The hospital chaplain who sits in the room of a sick child
in Chicago and brings the child to God—not with words
but by her quiet presence.

Kevin Hadduck 7-01-2010

Over chatter of starlings and grackles,
you hear your father’s voice,
confident and constant as bee hum
in the backyard of your thoughts.

Richard Schiffman 6-01-2010

Somebody noticed this quaking purplish spray
hung incongruous on late-winter's bough,
and tied a festive bow of multicolored yarns
to cheer the anomalous blossoms,

Maryhelen Snyder 4-01-2010

The first thief and the second.

Mary Anne Reese 3-01-2010

Alb: A white liturgical tunic worn as prayer for a heart protected from all stain and washed in the Blood of the Lamb.

Richard Hoffman 2-01-2010

Because I lay on my back as a boy in the grass of the small yard behind our house watching clouds move and become faces, mostly,

David Denny 1-01-2010

Of all the saints, my Anthony,
I love you best. For you did
what I long to do: you walked away
from a life of comfort and ease,

Scott Cairns 12-01-2009

This is the Month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heav’ns eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,

John Gosslee 9-01-2009

The ram’s horn bellowed.
Fused with snapped spears and hatchet heads
nicked shields covered the field,

Nancy White 8-01-2009

that light kept me a year in its grip first
my feet caught fire then my blood
we moved at the edge of endlessness
headless handless mouthless mind-

Richard Schiffman 7-01-2009

To you who are lost today
like a needle in a haystack, reading this poem alone.
Alone, brother island, sister moon. The ocean is big,