Monday, December 31, 2012

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.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

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.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

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.