Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

The Honey Room

Brother Al, in his hood,
is out in his field
making love to his bees.
From my room I can see him
move through his hives
the way people should move
among people.
The bees give him gold and the gold
turns orange in the jars
that he sells in a room
near the door of the abbey.
The Honey Room, everyone calls it.
Besides Brother Al, only I
go into that room full of honey.
I go in there and bend
and look through the jars
on the shelves and the sills
till there in the orange I see Sue
standing straight
in a field of her own
with a smile
for our garland of children.

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had work published in a variety of print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. 

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Mark Nenadov- A Poem

Higher Than The Highest Heights

Higher than the highest heights of 
this round earth's choice delights
soars the boundless love 
of the lowly babe who came
from the heights above.

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, Northern Michigan University's The Lightkeeper, Three Line Poetry, Pif Magazine, and Driftwood Bay.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem

Moon glow
Star bright
Sea light        
Red tree
Gold bee
Noon sun

Linda M. Crate- A Poem

immeasurable blessing
You paid the ultimate price and gave us the
most perfect gift, and you gave us a most
beauteous world even more lovely when the sun
star sings his golden lilt upon the land; yet we
sometimes look past our blessings and complain
about everything underneath the azure sky, even i
sometimes forget that You are worthy of praise in all
seasons for You are the only one that can tell a 
lily where it should grow, the birds to fly south
in the winter, or even mend a broken heart that
no mortal could ever hope to reconstruct on their own.

Jnana Hodson- A Poem


with our daily itinerary crushed by
and the inevitable breakdowns

the first thing we eliminate is what we need most
for long-term well-being

the very practices for sustained spiritual health
as individuals and together

*   *   *

where what would appear simple
is not necessarily easier
but stronger, in the end

to respond to our neighbor more than ourselves
even our own families
neglects our own worth

*   *   *

drop what you can
and return to the pooling
open repose

with focus as the essence
of simplicity

in the pleasure of increasing devotion

go on in

Jnana Hodson’s chapbook, Harbor of Grace, was issued in August 2012 by Fowlpox Press. The author of two published novels, he blogs at Jnana’s Red Barn ( 

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Joseph Farley- A Poem


small words
over and over

will this
the world?

will this
change me?



(previously appeared in Assisi)

Bio: Joseph Farley edited Axe Factory from 1986 to 2010. His books and chapbooks include Suckers, For the Birds, Longing for the Mother Tongue, Waltz of the Meatballs, and Her Eyes.

Friday, January 4, 2013

James Sanchez- A Poem

Blood on wood
Tears on flesh
What have I done
Echoes are the indictment
Punished for love
Abhorred for decency
Tortured for sport
Spikes pierce through time
Pang of regret
Ache of loss
To you all is given
For me all is forgiven

James Sanchez is a poet and teacher born in Hialeah, Florida. He holds a B.A. in English from Florida International University. He teaches English and Creative writing at Ronald W. Reagan/Doral Senior High school. He resides in Miami, Fl with his wife and son. His work has been published in The Acentos Review, The Apeiron Review, The Circle Review, Dead Beats , and Poui: The Cave Hill Literary Annual.

Paul DeVito- A Poem


She was out in the garden,
sunning herself by the roses,
suddenly a rain cloud stopped by
and a gentle sunrain began to fall,
she flew up to her nest in the oak
and protected her babies,
the sun was stretching in various
directions and a rainbow was formed
in the west, the other birds
hardly noticed the rain, they played
in the birdbath, splashing merrily
as if time stood still,
then the cloud passed, my bird
flew down from her nest
and joined the others in the bath,
the flowers glistened with the drops
of water as if dew had fallen,
no catastrophe had occurred,
nothing at all hardly but a few drops
of water, and yet everything was different.