Saturday, September 28, 2013

Aaron Combs- A Poem

The Garden

I remember the garden
where we lived, it was
of such magnificence and awe.
The Charlotte roses filled the wild,
the serpents of many colors flew
and the thousand horses ran free.

I notice resting inside your eyes
and heart hasn't been so hard.
Wrestling for you,
holding you,
like a child, hasn't
been so different.

I'm taking you back there, Eve
in the Land of Eden,
just drink of my lips
a little longer and you'll remember
and see.

By the way, Eve, do you dance?
Let me bring your soul and
imagination to war as we
step into it's gates.

For the wind of the evening
still weaves dreams between
the heavens and the earth.

There. Look.

For your heart outshines the moon,  for I see
now the affliction and regret between
the pool in your blue eyes.

I still see you, I still love you

for you.

Your heartbeat is like the claps of a river,
and yes, Eve, we can still see that home.

I hear the rhythm of your breath
and dreams, the electricity and earth
of your voice. I see the blood written
words in your heart, let me show you what
they are.

Let me kiss you, let my breath
fulfill your heart, then your dreams.

Now see the memories come
together, as you believe.
The endless garden,
the red cedars,
the cool four rivers crashing
near the rock, where we once slept. 
And remember the blue toad that lived nearby the riverbed?
Look the tiger and white horse rest beside the Lamb.

See, like I promised you, we are here again,
where the rain and the moonlight has
not fallen, where the petals sip the dew upon
the face of the earth.

In the cool of the evening,
let me teach you again the names of the
stars. For I know some
day they too, will fall.

Capture your memories, Eve.
And don't be afraid in your pain
in your feelings,
just come to me.

For you can take my hand,
and be safe in my arms of
love. Even when it all falls.
Even when it all falls down.

Trust me.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Linda M. Crate- A Poem

lioness of Judah 

i am not a conquest
i am a lioness of Judah
hear my roar
fear my claws and fangs
you will be torn to pieces should you
continue to defile the name of the
Lord our God
what makes you think you're great?
you are but a man,
and only God is worthy
to be praised;
once i made you my idol
hero worshiped at your feet,
but i have repented of that sin
take off this cloak of pride
bathe in the dust of humility
for you are broken and in need
of God's healing
Jesus died to repent you of
your sins,
will you let his sacrifice be
vain for you?
oh, fool!
listen to my advice
turn from your wickedness walk
again in the light of our Lord
so i am not the lioness sent
to rip you to pieces.

Douglas Polk- A Poem


heaven exists not only above,
but also within,
this lack of understanding,
the original sin,
heaven is a state of mind,
and of grace,
akin to home,
heaven also a magical place,
heaven on earth,
a verb,
a state of being,
ever so fleeting,
when a child is loved,
a child smiles,
heaven then measured,
in earthly miles,
where love and freedom always reign,
heaven's location,
not only above,
but in the heart,
and in the brain.

Clyde L. Borg- A Poem

                        THE GOOD OLD YOUNG
                         They hold on to life
                         Like some leaves tend to do
                         On winter deadened trees
                         That once were
                         Splendidly green.
                         They resist the iciness
                         Of the gray winter
                         By feigning warmth
                         In gloved hands
                         And layer upon layer
                         Of clothing.
                         They seek inclusion,
                         But often reject it
                         For fear of impeding
                         The activity of others.
                         They listen, observe
                         And look again,
                         Inwardly judging,
                         But then only sighing
                         With abject resignation.
                         They are the aged,
                         The old that were young,
                         The good old young
                         That cling to life.
THE GOOD OLD YOUNG was published by the Lighthouse, 2006.
Clyde L. Borg is a retired high school teacher and administrator.  He has been writing nonfiction and poetry since 1998.  Some of his work has appeared in The Rambler, History Magazine, Vox Poetica and Fate Magazine.  He resides in Fords, New Jersey.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem


God’s pattern set the sun
And put in place the earth;
Arranged the dance of seasons
And cycled birth to birth.

God’s pattern arched the sky
To face the mighty sea;
Shaped every star, each shell,
And shining galaxy.