Wednesday, April 30, 2014

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.

Jason Constantine Ford- A Poem

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 Issue 31, Autumn 2008.

Jason Ford, “Expectation” in The Cannon’s Mouth, Cannon Poets Quarterly 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 .

Danny P. Barbare- A Poem

Mowing in April





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.

Monday, April 14, 2014

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.

Monday, April 7, 2014

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 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.