The American Romantic in Rhineland
We hiked the steep hill to a shell
of what once was. A castle
topped the cliff as if conjured
by wizard rather than medieval
masons. As we climbed
we became conquerors,
Continue reading The American Romantic in Rhineland by Kory Wells
Fire Coming
Imagine
the taste of drought.
Dry dust coating the inside of your nose
and throat. Makes your eyes tear.
Blink. Cough. Continue reading Fire Coming by Ann Thornfield-Long
Admonition at the Crossroads
From the hard red road
straight to the edge of nowhere,
the vanished forest fading
into parallel poles and rigid wires,
from creeping darkness covering
a groundswell of sorrow—
lift your eyes.
Already the heavens shine
with turrets and clouds of majesty.
Already, tentative fingers of mercy
enter the field of vision.
A storm of miracles
is about to fall.
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Image credit: A road through the mountains (Den Belitsky)
God as Aldebaran, the Red Giant
I am seven again.
And there on the page is my first panic attack:
Someday, billions of years ahead—
Our sun’s anguished dying, engulfing
the whole solar system, illustrated in flames.
Continue reading God as Aldebaran, the Red Giant by Susan O’Dell Underwood
From a Long Line of Trees
When I hear those words, I recall my father’s story still resounding through the ages. My father, when he cradled a most precious baby, spoke of a gentle old carpenter from Nazareth, who had fashioned a manger from the same stock that I came from—strong acacia wood planed smooth until soft enough for the king of kings. When the carpenter was done, he cried out with great pride to his wife, Mary, Bring me our son. It is finished. It is finished… It is finished!
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Editor’s Comment and Image Credit: An acacia tree in a Kenyon sunset [wallpaperflare] and silhouettes of crosses [pngwing] are combined for spiritual symbolic effects.
After the Money Changers
Jesus tosses, turns
on his rolled-out mat,
feels Jeremiah’s dream
with the baskets of figs
in front of the temple,
the good ones and the bad.
Continue reading After the Money Changers by John C. Mannone
A Lasting Legacy
Maybe I can say that my snappish ways are bitchy
because I was abused as a child, that I wasn’t taught
how to be pleasant, that I have an abiding depression
which leaves me impatient and growly.
the space between my parents
1999
the space between my parents
used to be filled with love, warmth
and mirth, happiness
and occasional tales of sadness,
financial adversity (forgotten
when they held hands), and fights
(which used to be forgiven
when they kissed), or when they didn’t talk
but communicated through eyes
and loud bursts of laughter.
On the walls, there used to be doodles,
bits of colors, and paint.
There was no food, no money, just a hole
in the roof
but it was home
The First
I dreamed that God crafted a man in His own image
He toiled with earthly clay
An informal, undemanding material
His first endeavor appeared a mighty creation indeed
So…. He breathed life into the earthen golem
Stretched down
Raised up His construction to the heavens
For a stricter judgment
What He perceived
Displeased Him greatly
He spread His great hand
To permit His handiwork to plunge to the world below
Where it shattered into countless pieces
God sighed
Then stooped
To attempt once again
Cameo Dream State
A soldier ankle-deep in delta mud,
stares at a woman’s profile, her cameo
carved on the back of his Rolex.
Outbound currents reshuffle
diamond-winking gulf waves.
Passing clouds turn the sea salt-white.
A pod of bottlenose dolphins
spinning stories of the ancient