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"Genuine
poetry can communicate before it is understood." TS Eliot

Poetry

Three From Joanna M. Weston

PROPHET

Some
are called to be prophet,
to write songs on the sky,
to cry hurt and
flame
from sanctuary or street;
called to sing God’s words
across the
world's acrid music:
the song of return and home.

Prophets hold the
vision before the world,
crying again and again
"Return, return and be
loved,
for love is the first
and the last. Return."

Who heeds the
call to return?
Do you? Do I?
Are you singer? Listener?
One who burns
the words?
Or one who takes in the whole song.

CARVED IN
ROCK

Rock and shaping are one

The hand of the Sculptor
formed this
abiding place:
rock and I are one

DESERT JOURNEY

Back-ache and
blister,
tent and utensil-packing,
nights when the stones
of the day’s
walking
nudge sleep

Days when people
grate heart and spirit

Watching small
fires,
collecting daily bread,
complaining, giving thanks,
cleaning
worn pots,
eating from chipped plates,
looking askance at
neighbors,
caring for children:

This desert that we cross
to a land
promised.

Image by:Timo
Balk

Hymn of Autumn

by

Karen Kelsay

When the moon becomes a mellow pear
on twilight’s
bough, and stars swirl up like maple
leaves
before they’re swept into the dawn, I’ve often
walked this
garden where the voice of whippoorwills

would carry remnant melodies
across long, dusky
hours. At times I feel this eastern breeze has
lifted
me, somehow, beyond the soft-lit sloping fields
and conifer lined
hills. To lands where only goldenrod

has known me by my smile, and
dampness soothes
the head of every yellow aster bloom. Tonight, before

the morning’s crest of ruby will extend through broken
clouds, I whisper
prayers again to autumn:
take me there once
more.

the blink of an eye

by

Lafayette
Wattles

and I stood on the curb,
too many arms-lengths,
you, across
the street,
at the car door, and
they called me, then,
from over my
shoulder,
as they laughed, roughhousing

like the boys they’d been
all those years ago,
and I could feel
every moment
you and I ever shared,

could see in their smiles
the best of us,
and I turned back

to tell you, maybe
we’d just been looking
at the wrong
parts,
maybe we could make it
after all, and your name stood
in the
cave of my mouth,
ready to leap into

the space between us—
all those quiet arguments,
you with
your long
silence, me
with my insatiable
need to
understand—
but it never left the tongue,

because I looked for you,
as I have all this time,
I looked,
and you were gone.

THE MANDOLIN

by

Deborah E.
Richard

The little
five-year-old
with light brown hair
and radiant smile
plays a melodious
tune
on her mandolin
as she sings
her heart’s song
to the One
who
created it.

A GARLAND OF
VERSE

by

Ashutosh
Ghildiyal

Let me make a garland of verse
For words are all I have to
give
Let me create a new word
music
And elevate you to soaring realms

Where the milky white
clouds floating
Upon the lustrous night's canvas
Shall give testimonies of
your poetic grace
And words will join together in applause

Let me open
a bottle of our mutual wine
And sit by the door to our love street
On a dreamy morning
reminding you of me
While the music of the spheres plays along

And
while the music plays, let me also sing
With an eraser voice smoothly
dissolving
The frozen tears on your time-weary face
Through the distance
of the empty space

Then let me strike the chords of harmony
And
breathe poetic melodies in your jaded ears
And take you to a mind flight on
the word ship
Bound towards the port of our purple
sanctuary

Image
by:Robert Proksa

Because We Were Rushing to Catch the Bus

by

Laura Shovan

we did not notice the
rain.
Too late for umbrellas,
we ran down the sidewalk,
wishing we’d
taken the car.

Because we ran
under rain soaked trees,
the
children’s heads were damp
when I kissed them at the corner.

Because
the children were gone,
I walked home alone.
Dishes in the
sink
waiting.

Because of the dishes
I bent my head
before the
kitchen window.
A petal fell from my hair --

a pink thumbprint against
metal,
pink against the gray day,
pink against the absence of
children.
It shook me awake.

Because we were rushing to catch the
bus
I carried beauty, unknowing.

Image by: Billy Alexander

Moon Tales

by

Ankur Agarwal

I.

Harpooning the moon
there
was this little swatch
of algae, dark, green and wet,
the foot slipped,
sine die
and from then on
the moon’s been traveling
you know, round the
earth.

II.

I was sitting on
the uppermost bough, the
clouds
all dark and azure,
masturbating with the moonbeam
silver fine spray of
moonshine
heady with erotic silence all around.

III.

A blue tub
full of a blue dye,
all the vats out in the open
to gather honey, all
night out,
I only gone out to catch
the full moon on my lips,
but I took a wash and,
I
came out a washwoman to the next day’s sun.

Raspberry
Delight

by

Neil
Clemons

Gramps was first in the patch,
hands
darting into prickly green,
snaring and easing
bright reds
into a
small tin pail
as he softly hummed
raspberry delight.

Then it was
me standing alone
beneath mid-day sun
looking for one more
red of any
shade
to fill my little box so I could claim
my first earned dime and
hum
raspberry delight.

Strange how life goes full circle—
now I’m
the gramps deftly picking
bright reds while the littles
eat two of every
three
any-colored juicies they reach
and all together we hum
raspberry
delight.

Image by:Bob
Knight

Savior

by

Patricia
Haggard

And the Light shineth in the
darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.John 1:5

Tossed amid the violent waves, my
ship
careens as if pushed by giant hands.
Awash in the brutal sea
of trials, no stars,
no land, no light. Was this tempest forecast?
Did I
choose to sail into this brawl?
The waves overwhelm and I begin to
sink.
Drenched, exhausted, alone-the navy void
beckons. As water gushes
over the gunwale, the ship
lists. And I stare down to where rest
awaits.
But, one last time, I look up-
and a beacon unveils itself.
The
lighthouse I have ached for,
appears.
The light reaches out and
guides me home.

Image by: Emiel
Henning

Glossary of an Optimist

by

Karen O'Leary

breeze--nature’s
refreshment
freedom--casting off limits
journey--path to
dreams
justice--fair solutions
inspired--anything is
possible
magenta--bright new day
magic--golden moments
mountain--hill
worth climbing
mystery--joy to be discovered
peace--inner
acceptance
sailing--alive and free
servant--ticket for
hope
soar--riding a rainbow
soul--heart linked to God
sparkle--smiles
and laughter
sprinkle--dusting of faith
vision--July in
January
water--cleansing rain
whirlwind--time of
opportunity

(Image by Eduardo
Shafer)

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