Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem

 

PATTERN

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.

Jason Constantine Ford- A Poem

Expectation

 

Every time I am reminded of his presence,

Expectations of him arise from a distance,

A longing for high angels’ pure essence

when children are awakened out of trance.

He moves from one principality to another

without any sleepy eyes becoming aware

that his coming brings much more than a brother,

whose reflection of man is a gleaming glare.

 

When he appears at the edge of the shore

his outer shell emits a swirling gleam,

a royal display in full galore

a banner flowing face into a stream.

Jason Ford, Expectation” in Poetic Hours http://poetichours.homestead.com/contactpage.html Issue 31, Autumn 2008.

Jason Ford, “Expectation” in The Cannon’s Mouth, Cannon Poets Quarterly http://www.cannonpoets.co.uk/11930.html ISSN 1745-6630, Issue No, 30, December 2008, pg.25

 

This poem has previously been published under the title I used as my name in 2008. In 2008 and early 2009, I was published as Jason Ford. In late 2009, I changed my submission name to Jason Constantine Ford on account of the fact that another guy was self published on Lulu as 'Jason Ford'.

Jason Constantine Ford is from Perth in Australia. He works as an employee at a book shop. He has over sixty publications of poetry and fiction in various poetry and literary magazines, ezines and journals from around the world such as the Criterion: an International Journal in English, the Muse: an International Journal of Poetry, Bewildering Stories, the Fowl Feathered Review and Poetry Magazine. The major influences on his style of poetry are William Blake, Edgar Alan Poe and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Jason’s main influences for short stories are Edgar Alan Poe and Phillip K. Dick. For correspondence, contact Jason at jasonconstantinford@gmail.com .

Danny P. Barbare- A Poem

Mowing in April

Mowing

in

the

cool

of

April

Easter

in

a

purple

flower

one

as

a

blade

of

grass

and

Heaven

in

a

bluebird.

Danny P. Barbare was raised at Saint Mary's Church in Greenville, SC. His poetry has been published in Christianity and the Arts, Sisters Today, Doxa, and Calvary Cross.

Linda M. Crate- Two Poems

a never ending love 

 

He speaks in whispers

that we drown

in shouts

and protests and yearnings

to explore things

outside of Him,

and He let us because He gives

us the choice to follow,

and He's always there with open arms

no matter how many times we turn

away from Him;

He has a patience that never ends,

a love that never fails,

mercies that are unfathomable

oceans that drown me

in the conclusion that none of us really

deserve a friend like Him

because we let Him down but He never

does us, but He whispers

He loved us from the start and He 

won't stop even if we do.

He made me, me 

 

sometimes i wish i were brave

like esther,

but He tells me her trials are not my own

that i will know when i must 

follow His charge,

and He reminds bravery comes in

many forms;

sometimes it's not the raging lion,

but found in the gentle grace

of a dreamer

swallowing her fears, trusting that He will

help her gain success for He is the

author of the universe;

sometimes i wish i could bring down every

goliath that stands in my way,

but He tells me that i am not david

i have other gifts—

sometimes i wish i were anyone but me,

but He tells me even in my brokenness

i am His beautiful child,

and He made me perfectly just the

way i am that i ought not wish to be anyone

but a better person than i was yesterday

for i am not meant to be anything 

in His kingdom other than me.

Jeff Burt- Two Poems

At Hand

 

When your hand opened and the kingdom flew out

we wanted to catch it in our open mitts,

to hold it in our palms and swiftly seal our fingers,

allow only the slightest promise to show through,

parade it through the streets and show it

like a tattoo that marked our tribe.

But it wasn’t in hand, it was at hand,

the etched, calloused, worn, scarred,

the smooth, extended, gripped,

the tender, the kissed, the held,

the open and adoring, pierced.

 

A Stone Court in Gabbatha

 

Deft with word, wafting

the split tongue of law,

I stand at the seat of judgment

yet do not declare,

dumb, stricken by fear

of speaking out, of speaking for.

The crowd is Rabble,

and I am the crowd.

So I condemn by silence

on this stone court,

I sway in the gnashing masses,

one with its turgid miasma.

How do I wash away silence? 

How do I wash away standing mute

like an instrument not played,

my love with its strings

of faith left unplucked?

 

 

Bio:  Jeff Burt has work in Dandelion Farm Review, Verse Wisconsin, Windfall, and Nature Writing.   

Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem

Spring

Spring reminds us

Of an empty tomb;

Glory bursting from

A lightless room.

Spring reminds us

Death can turn to birth:

Greenness waking under

Frozen earth.

Spring reminds us

Life is never done;

Night waits for

The newly risen Son.