Thursday, November 27, 2014

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

A Gift Logic Can’t Buy

My boss has a problem with God 
or rather a problem with me 
because believe in God
and he doesn’t.
Or so we discover
while taking a break 
at a big convention.
I hope I don’t lose my job.

We’re in a bar with Lady Gaga 
pouring from the juke box.
My boss has a whiskey sour
and I’m nursing a Coke.
God help me.

He doesn’t believe
faith is a gift no one’s 
guaranteed but knows
some folks have it
and others don’t.
Why is that, he asks,
finishing his sour,
signaling for another.

I tap into memories
from philosophy class
and recite the proofs 
for the existence of God
some folks accept
and others deny.
My boss sees the logic
but still doesn’t believe.
So I sip my Coke and say
faith is a gift logic can't buy.

A few more drinks and he asks 
what a man must do 
if he wants to believe.
Ominous, I think, but here goes.
My wife, after all, has a job
with benefits.

tell him to ask the God 
he doesn’t believe in
to grant him faith.
Ask Him more than once
and if he receives it
he will be amazed 
that someone 
like me believes. 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri. 

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Charles Burgess- A Poem

A wing and a prayer

I look at my kids and I smile
I prayed for them now I know true love
The day they were born my life was complete
I was leaning on a wing and a prayer
I pray to my lord for all things to come true
I pray for the entire racism in the world to go away
That’s right I pray for all things
I pray for you to find your true happiness
In all things you do I pray for you
God is with you all day long
With the lord you cannot go wrong
I pray for those with cancer
Even if I don’t know you I pray for you
I sit on a wing and a prayer, I pray for all things
I pray for the kids that may find food
I pray for the parents who beat their children
I pray for all things, I pray for it not to rain
I will pray for you even if you do me wrong
I will pray you find god all day long
Do you believe in prayer?
Will you hit your knees and pray
I pray for you today
God is real god is great there is nothing that god tries to fake
Listen to my words if you see someone holding a sign do not point and stare
This person may be your angel
You never know what helping that person might do
I pray for you
That’s right I said I pray for you
With the lord I can do all things
With him by my side
He tears he wipes, my eyes fill with tears
I began to weep, my love for my lord runs deep
I pray for the little girl who cannot walk
I pray for the people who have had Ebola
And that they may be cured
I pray for all things this I do I will pray for you
I love my lord this I know to be true
Thank you lord I love you.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Chris Roe- Three Poems


Shafts of light
Through cathedral windows.
Dappled shade
Upon the leaves
Beneath my feet.
Bird song
In the branches above.

In the distance
Hind and fawn
Cross the forest track.
The sweet fragrance of autumn
Fills the misty air.

A gentle breeze
Moving colours
To the forest floor.

So precious
Such beauty,

So hard to find
Such peaceful sanctuary.


We meet again.
The moment,
Kind and generous,
The beauty,
Peaceful and serene.

The spirit alive
In all that is
And not what could be.

And all of this
Born of love,
In a moment
That is timeless
And always


Today I have eaten,
Today I was able to drink
Clean, uncontaminated water.
Today I have a house to live in
And a bed to sleep in,
Today other members
Of my human family
Starved to death

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

where is Christmas?

everyone seems to forget
that the reason for the
was and is Your son
as they stand in line at Walmart
fighting for the perfect
toy or gift for their
loved one
who would have rather had
a thoughtful and unique gift, anyway,
i sit here and observe them
headless chickens
all rebelling without a cause
seeming to forget Your
name as they
spit out Merry Christmas hastily
and shove a few dollars
into the salvation army bucket;
love and warmth devoid
of them as the
winter chill creeping in the atmosphere
and i wish i could stop this all
commercialism has gone too far
when even those who believe in Your name
have forgotten Your love,
and yet we're all to blame for letting it get
this far for letting a crock pot be
worth more than
someone's life the day after thanksgiving
or snatching a present right out of
the arms of someone
who may or may not be less fortunate than us
in a greed that many of us complain is
only in our politicians.

candles can be relit

even broken windows emit
you whisper to me
as i tell myself i am too broken, too tortured, too
sinful to deserve Your love;
even i can be used to further your
good in a world trapped
beneath the darkness—
i am not the sum of all of my failures to
you i have more worth than
and i remind myself just because i failed once
doesn't mean that i will keep on failing;
a candle can still shine another
even if it's blown out yesterday
should the wick still be
in tact—
and so i will continue to shine as the world
tries to rain down on my last spark
remembering Your words and Your truth
trying to allow myself to be the
person you need me
to be.

be real

people are always so fake
smiling when they don't mean it
these masks aren't healthy
they tell me at work
to put on a facade and act as if i'm
pleased when i'm not,
but that is not what You have
You have told us to be the light of the world
and yet even lights flicker off now and
You never told me to lie
told me to be truthful in such a way that
someone could feel Your love
through my words—
and so being nice through the aggravation
is okay,
but i don't think i should have to pretend
to be having a good day when
i'm not
why can't we share our brokenness with one
another? maybe then empathy
wouldn't be so devolved
everyone says they don't care but that's not the point
You wish for us to care for everyone and anyone
even the unloved,
and i think the best way to do that is to
be real.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Andrew M. Bowen- Three Poems

Theorem: Beauty is proof of God.

 The trees cast forth a net to catch the moonrise
and spin their ghostly webs on dawns of ice;
a hundred colors erupt when forests die
 and Spring’s explosions well worth winter’s price.
The raindrops ripple on slow country streams
the melting snow sires currents wild and free
as garden hoses spray the rainbow’s gleams,
but in the end all merge to salt the sea.
The rocks drew tireless strength from ancient flames
and reached stonehood before the stars were seen;
they lost some skin from old erosion’s games
so soil could cloak the world in living green.
All plans and patterns pulse from one grand mind
uniting great and small in one design.


Orange, gold, and coral bands
wash sunset, surf pounding a
beach of cloud, a mere
fraction of Christ’s glory as
He ponders Earth from His throne.


The robin flees
before frozen branches
glitter with captured sunlight but
the rascal jay,
a meteor in blue,
screeches carols from pine to oak
to brighten days
when Earth’s nothing but mud
and black loam bristles with broken stalks.
Dark hours outnumber
the light when cold clutches
the world, the night relieved only
by stars and planets
that scatter gems on snow
and prick peepholes in sluggish rivers.
On ponds of green
and gray, ducks seek their meals
in scums of ice or choppy waves.
The wind shoots bullets
of  white to hinder sight
so drivers creep their way on eels
 of roads between
trees mummified in snow;
so deadly shines such beauty as
there is no time,
just snow and ice and wind
and the traveller’s short whispered prayers.
Faith comes easy
in light and warmth and blooms,
but winter proves God’s greatest glory.

Bio:  Mr. Bowen works as a sales manager in Bloomington, IN.  He is a published poet who has recently submitted his first novel for publication.  He is an actor who has appeared in eight independent films and five stage productions.

Danny P. Barbare- Two Poems


Though sometimes there are clouds
I happily pickup the sun
because I know it is there.
And I set it down, just beginning.
I playfully enjoy and turn on the stars
and moon, if too, because I know
they are there. I go to bed and wake
up with a smile. And shiningly do it
again because I know the sun is there.
So just as sure as day and night
the world turns on a thing called faith.

Salvation Army Bell






Danny P. Barbare has recently appeared in Calvary Cross. He resides in the Upstate of the Carolinas. His poetry has appeared in The Santa Clara Review and Clare Literary Magazine.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

David Sermersheim- A Poem

let the song possess you
its sound pass through you

let the air move round you
light burn into you

let us sing with joy of simple things 
and good dwelling within

let us move gently when we tread
touching all in cheer and fond memory

carrying images of those who
came before and rest in peace within

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

Big Thanksgiving Snow

"Sometimes Jesus walked around with a big staff, just like me," Mrs. Day says to herself as she looks at the frayed picture on her kitchen wall just above the little kitchen table. She cut that picture out of a magazine 50 years ago when she subscribed to Life and Look and Colliers magazines.

"Jesus doesn't need that staff," Mrs. Day tells herself. "It was a sunny day in Jericho, the article said. I'll bet He used that staff to go up in the hills to pray. The Bible says He often left the apostles behind to go away and pray. I'd have kept an eye on Him if I was there."

At 80 Mrs. Day is legally blind with one good leg. She has a staff of her own to help her walk to stores and then back to her little house. The staff is at least a foot taller than she is. It was a gift from a dead neighbor who was handy with tools and liked to carve and whittle. Mrs. Day needs that staff this Thanksgiving Day as she makes her way through drifts of snow, an unusual amount for this first big winter holiday.

With nothing in the fridge except old bread and prunes, Mrs. Day hopes to find a diner open. Even Jack in the Box is closed for Thanksgiving so there will be no coffee with a Breakfast Jack to go but Mrs. Day has time today to find a place that is open. And she knows that place will probably be Vijay's Diner, where she's a customer on days when every other place is closed.

Vijay came to the United States long ago when Mumbai was still Bombay.  He cooks for everyone every day of the year, whatever God they worship or ignore. He makes fine Indian dishes for customers who emigrated from India as he did. And he makes fine American cuisine for people from the neighborhood, most of whom have yet to adjust to Indian dishes and their redolent spices.

"I have a nice turkey leg, Mrs. Day, if you'd like that," he says, but all she wants is coffee, two sugars and a muffin to go.

"I'm on a diet," she tells him.

Vijay puts her items in a small brown bag and adds a free candy bar, a Baby Ruth bar, a big one, for later tonight. Mrs. Day will be angry when she gets home and finds it but that's okay. She can't come out at night to look for something to eat. It's tough enough for her to get around in sunlight.

Vijay waits for Mrs. Day to dig in her big purse and put all of her change on the counter. Then they count aloud together each coin that he picks up one at a time. Finally they agree he has the right amount even though Mrs. Day has trouble seeing the coins. Usually she can tell which are which by the feel of them. Now Vijay smiles at Mrs. Day, his customer on the holidays only.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Day," he says. "I hope you'll come again. We'll have leg of lamb on Christmas. And ham and yams on New Year's Eve. I'll make you a nice big sandwich. I know you'll like it. You can skip the diet for one day."

Henry Lapp- Two Poems

Love is Strange

Love is Strange
Here and gone in a day
Human love is imperfect
But I'm all for it

Not for lust but for love
Which God gave us all
If we love God more than ourselves
We would love more of anyone else

I pray you will one day feel
The power of God as you heal
And forget the love lost, the broken heart
And find a love the won't part

Life is What You Make It

All you can do is your best
No more, no less
Life is what you make it
Please don't forsake it

We are only here for a little while
Then God dials
Us up and takes us away
Because we weren't meant to stay

Pickup your craft and do it well
Love each other as if under a spell
Our moments are too short for hate
Please don't make your life a waste

We all do each other wrong
But that's part of the song
Without pain we know no joy
Life is not a toy!

Our time draws ever closer
God is the great composer
Cherish every bit
Life is what you make it

Monday, November 10, 2014

Jane Blanchard- A Poem

As I cruise along
without a care in the world,
I am tempted to believe
that all is smooth sailing
since the sky is mostly clear
and the sea is fairly calm
for a masterful pilot
such as myself.
But then a storm breaks
with thunder and lightning
and the rain pours down
and the wind blows hard
while the waves crash
over the sides of the skiff
that I vainly try to steer
toward safety.
Once again I must resist
the siren call of self-control,
not by strapping myself
to the mast of my vessel,
but by throwing myself
on the mercy of One
who needs no boat
to cross the water.
Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia.  Her work has appeared previously in Calvary Cross and recently in Blue Unicorn, Penwood Review, and Third Wednesday.

Kim Bond- A Poem

Death, Burial, & Resurrection
So much blood
from head to toe,
I'd wash you clean
with my white cloth,
Dab Your wounds with water,
kiss Your face.
How blessed for Joseph to take
You down from that cross
and carry Your peaceful body
to a place for three day's rest!
How beautiful You must've been
when the disciples saw
Your glorious face
and felt the warmth of Your skin.
*Kim Bond loves to write and considers it her ministry. Her writing appears in over thirty publications. She can be found at .

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Peter C. Venable- Three Poems

They Come

heart wounds draining.
Their dark voices taunt from inner berths
and some bear pillars of salt
from family heirlooms.
They advance in file,
and each steps forth
into clusters of waiting children
who, reaching with veiny hands,
touch as Michelangelo’s Creation
and utter ancient prayers.
From somewhere wind exults
into their bodies. Currents flush
torments away.
Filing out,
flecks of light flutter at their heels, and
we, with watery eyes,
watched their passage in deep breaths.


The Pantry

Below Wesley’s spire they descend basement stairs
into the pantry waiting room, taking numbers,
and sit. I wonder
those thirty or so, their lives—
carried by worn feet, ragged bicycles, hybrid buses,
cars with blistering paint and child seats—
she, eyes black as coffee, shows a water bill
$90 past due (in red), bags her rations, rests
on dog-paw elbows and smiles at a new toothbrush
he, face worn as barn floor planks
owes $400, no power two months counting
and picks cereal, dry goods, nods
until the last one, Yankee accent,
tells his migration from Connecticut
to some three-gas-station town in SC
to here, strokes a black beard—gazes beyond me,
over pantry shelves into a heavenly place his eyes know,
leaves, plastic bags sagging
in each hand. I wonder
about these raw people, a splinter out of reach,
how good news speaks in noodle soup, sliced wheat bread, and applesauce.

Summa Stipula

“All that I have written appears to be as so much straw after the things that have been revealed to me.” When later asked by Reginald to return to writing, Aquinas said, “I can write no more. I have seen things that make my writings like straw.”
            —St. Thomas Aquinas quoted in 1273, who authored twenty volumes and Summa    Theologica, 3,020 pages, unfinished.

Early morning. Gardenia fragrance rises
the way steam does around pond lilies
and billows through the bedroom window,
waking sleepy eyes and misting cheeks.
Through the shades, light blazes bars on the wall
and we reach to grip each golden rung—climbing—where?
Poems are words made of straw,
Feed to chew over and over, cud for the soul
while dreams of alfalfa and clover fields
bloom in green seas
always beyond.
Always beyond this and our straw.

The author has written both free and metric verse for over fifty years and has been published in a number of poetry journals, such as American Vedantist, Vineyards, The Christian Communicator (3 issues and one forthcoming), Third Wednesday, Time of Singing (twice), Parody, The Merton Seasonal, Crux Literary Journal and forthcoming in The Laughing Dog, Windhover -  A Journal of Christian Literature and Vox Poetica.
He works as an almost-retired addiction and mental health counselor, volunteer at a prison camp, and is graced with a happy marriage, daughter and son-in-law, and Yeshua.

Charles Burgess- A Poem

The love of god
The love of god is so sweet and pure; he will take you by the hand.
God is there in time of need, if you are blind he will open your heart to see.
The love of god is the sweetest thing on earth; he gave your soul birth.
God is great, god will never be late, he will take away your pain, let him in your soul.
The Holy Ghost will come you will feel a feeling that you never felt, that’s the love of god you see.
The love of god is the greatest gift in the world; he will take away your sadness.
Take his love in your hands, he will cure your pain, every one is the same.
The love of god is the best there is, to get into heaven, is the ultimate goal, you don’t want to burn.
The love of god will get you there; the love of god will take your heart in the air.
The love of god will always be there, the shows you he cares.
Take his hand let him guide your way, just hit your knees and pray.
The love of god will help you in your toughest times, put your faith in him
He has more than enough love to give.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem


As they fall
And drift and die,
Leaves still praise
The graying sky,

Knowing silent
Winter tombs
Burst to life
In singing blooms.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Tammy Watson- A Poem

                        THE GARDEN

Since time began, God had a plan
He planted a garden, for all of man.
He placed us there, so we would mature,
But He saw our thoughts, and they were not pure.
We defiled the garden, then told a lie,
So He cast us out, so the garden would not die.
He let us wander, through the earth,
To make us learn, what the garden was worth.
We toiled the ground, but peered through the fence,
So God soon came to our defense.
In His compassion, He built a new way
To get back into the garden someday.
A brand new gate, He made so wide,
In the shape of a cross, with blood on each side.
All we have to do, is accept what He’s done,
And we could enter back in, through the gate called
                                   “MY SON”
So the gate is wide open, for all who believe,
And the garden is ready, for us to receive.

BIO: Tammy is a singer, songwriter & guitar player in the gospel band “BEACON ROAD” from Moundsville, WV.

She was a country music performer for over 25 years, opening for big acts such as Lori
Morgan, T.G. Shepherd, etc. appearing on Wheeling Jamboree & Jamboree in the Hills until the Lord called her out of that life to serve Him in song.

She now performs in her 6 piece band which also includes her husband, Rick, on Bass & their
daughter, Jody who plays guitar & sings.

She has recorded 10 CD’s, which 2 are gospel albums. All are original songs she has written.
She loves writing songs & sometimes poetry for they go hand in hand.