J. K. Durick- Two Poems

J. K. Durick is presently a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Steam Ticket, and Big River Poetry Review.

 

 

                                                        The Jesus Prayer

 

My mother would always say a Jesus prayer,

Not the one about mercy and being a sinner,

But a simpler one she learned from the nuns

At the cathedral school, part of that perfect

Childhood she was always telling us about.

 

It went, all for thee sweet Jesus, all for thee.

That was it, the whole thing, but she said it

Wherever it fit, as filler for prayers, before or

After, a transition of sorts, a pause between

The more elaborate Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

 

She also said she said it to herself when she felt

She needed its consoling words, when things

Went wrong. She lived through her husband

And a son’s deaths, hard work, and her efforts

To make our small world better than it was.

 

I don’t remember hearing the words, except

At prayer time, but I remember her silences

And how, if you looked closely, you would

See her lips moving, as if she were saying

Something important about the moment.

 

She even got me saying it, back then when

Faith was easier. Now, I know its worth lies

In how it moves away from the speaker and

Doesn’t bargain with God, asks for nothing,

But offers up the “all” of a given moment.

 

I’d like to think that when she died that Jesus

Himself came out to greet her and thanked her

For the “all” she dedicated to him all those

Years, time after time. I still can hear her saying

The words in her calm whispering voice. 

           Clouds

 

Cumbersome     nimble

Always teasing us

Testing imaginations

Into shapes.

 

I’ve seen horsemen,

A hand reaching down

Pulling the mountains up,

A spider holding the moon,

Some flowers in the sunset,

Some others in the stars.

 

I have seen tomorrow

Tumbling at us, gray waves

Topping white, crashing

Over swimmers’ heads,

Heads bobbing like apples

On the horizon.

 

I’ve seen God hurl lightening,

Whole herds of sheep grazing

And angels on guard at gates,

And perfect windows with

Faces looking down at us

In awe.

Mark Nenadov- A Poem

The Triune God

In the triune God

I move and live

and have my being

and in His name

I write and sing

and do all things.

As His creation

I bear His image

although fallen

there is no corner

of this ball

on which I live

He does not claim.

So I write this poem

as I drink this cup

and eat this lamb

and praise His name.

 

 

Bio: Mark Nenadov lives in Essex, Ontario, Canada with his lovely wife and their baby daughter. Mark's poems have appeared in publications such as Wilderness House Literary Review, WestWard Quarterly, Three Line Poetry, and Driftwood Bay.

Amy Pollard- Three Poems

The Pieta

Dismantled,

With ropes, pulleys, hammers;

Her heart screams into silence,

Her lungs stretched thin

As rugs beaten dry;

Her dirt-crusted fingers

Clutch the white body;

The veins of her hands turn

Pink, red, purple;

Little does she know—

His embrace is tighter than hers

Answers

I prayed for inspiration

You sent a gold finch

I prayed for amazement

You sent a lightning storm

I prayed for peace

You sent a river

I prayed for redemption

You sent a shovel and a fistful of earth

(First published in Eunoia Review)

You are

Shackled to earth, I wander

Rugged, broken, restless

No compass in this yellow-brown

Expanse of my pockmarked soul

Time gnaws my wrists and ankles

Death drums as she always does

You shatter the silence and

Call me by name

My soul crumbles

I am fleeting—

You are.

Bio: Amy Pollard is a poet, writer and student. Her poetry has appeared in publications such as Emerge Literary Journal, Eunoia Review and The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly. In her spare time, she drinks coffee, makes music and watches black-and-white movies. For more information, visit amyspen.blogspot.com.

Danny P. Barbare- Three Poems

Warm Water

 

Learning

To

Look

Through

A

Reflection

 

Like

Water

 

Love

So

Warm

 

Oh

How

It

Ripples.

The Sword of Hope

 

The

Light

At

The

Church

 

Is

Like

A

Sword

Of

Hope

 

Held

Up,

Piercing

The

Night

 

Especially

At

Christmastime.

Birds in Autumn

 

A

Great

Day

 

Sunlight

Flittering

From

Tree

To

Tree

 

And

Fallen

Leaves

Tweeting,

Rustling

About

 

The

Sky,

The

Wood,

Beating

Wings

Darting

In

And

Out,

The

Grass,

The

Fence

 

God’s

Delicate

Paintbrush.

Danny P. Barbare resides in Greenville, SC. His poetry books are available through Amazon.com: Being a Janitor, Nature Poems, and Family.

Richard King Perkins II- A Poem

My Prayers are Powerful

 

My prayers are powerful

witnessing wonder

 

so that darkness sends plagues and assassins

to assail me

internally and from every side

 

bearing false witness and cruciform tridents

intended to force my silence.

 

My prayers are potent

grenades of goodness

set against the radicle of despair

 

and my belief is altogether unwavering

even though writing this is killing me just a little bit

 

but I don’t care

for if to die is gain

then I’m already halfway there.

Kevin Heaton- Two Poems

Holy Spirit


Lute fruit–
              ‘Ode To Joy.’
Psalm.

Sublime elegance.

Pastoral meditation
borne on wings
of threatened
sanctity.
                         Peace.

Thornless rose.

Honeysuckle scented
summer breeze.

Invisible sonnet.

Serenade
of
          grateful praise.




Back to Gethsemane

And I’ll return to the hill

where his shadow tarries.

Where nettles bled their mark,

but worth did not diminish.

Where solace moats me; sovereign,

and peace recalls it’s namesake.

And I’ll abide there with his spirit,

in the garden where he prayed.

First published in Phlox Share, 2012



Kevin Heaton writes in South Carolina. His work has appeared in a number of publications including: Raleigh Review, Mason's Road, Foundling Review, Amethyst Arsenic, and Amarillo Bay. His fourth chapbook of poetry, Chronicles, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2012 . He is a Pushcart, and Best of the Net nominee.

Mark Nenadov- A Poem

Standing In A Love Like This

Standing in a love like this

in a place that is secure

the just shall live by faith

by grace they shall endure.

Like the heroes of the faith

they're human sinners

so weak and so frail

once they were imprisoned

spent many years in jail.

But the God who is mighty

to deliver and to save

at Calvary swiftly conquered

sin, death, and grave.

Bio: Mark Nenadov lives in Essex, Ontario, Canada with his lovely wife and their baby daughter. Mark's poems have appeared in publications such as Wilderness House Literary Review, WestWard Quarterly, Three Line Poetry, and Driftwood Bay.

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