Poetry Winter 2014 fiction all issues
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Debbra Palmer
Bake Sale
& other poems
Ann V. DeVilbiss
Far Away, Like a Mirror
& other poems
Michael Fleming
On the Bus
& other poems
Harold Schumacher
Dying To Say It
& other poems
Heather Erin Herbert
Georgia’s Advent
& other poems
Sharron Singleton
Sonnet for Small Rip-Rap
& other poems
Bryce Emley
College Beer
& other poems
Harry Bauld
On a Napkin
& other poems
George Mathon
Do You See Me Waving?
& other poems
Mariana Weisler
Soft Soap and Wishful Thinking
& other poems
Michael Kramer
Nighthawks, Kaua’i
& other poems
Jill Murphy
Migration
& other poems
Cassandra Sanborn
Remnants
& other poems
Kendall Grant
Winter Love Note
& other poems
Donna French McArdle
White Blossoms at Night
& other poems
Tom Freeman
On Foot, Joliet, Illinois
& other poems
George Longenecker
Nest
& other poems
Kimberly Sailor
The Bitter Daughter
& other poems
Rebecca Irene
Woodpecker
& other poems
Savannah Grant
And Not As Shame
& other poems
Michael Hugh Lythgoe
Titian Left No Paper Trail
& other poems
Martin Conte
We’re Not There
& other poems
A. Sgroi
Sore Soles
& other poems
Miguel Coronado
Body-Poem
& other poems
Franklin Zawacki
Experience Before Memory
& other poems
Tracy Pitts
Stroke
& other poems
Rachel A. Girty
Collapse
& other poems
Ryan Flores
Language Without Lies
& other poems
Margie Curcio
Gravity
& other poems
Stephanie L. Harper
Painted Chickens
& other poems
Nicholas Petrone
Running Out of Space
& other poems
Danielle C. Robinson
A Taste of Family Business
& other poems
Meghan Kemp-Gee
A Rhyme Scheme
& other poems
Tania Brown
On Weeknights
& other poems
James Ph. Kotsybar
Unmeasured
& other poems
Matthew Scampoli
Paddle Ball
& other poems
Jamie Ross
Not Exactly
& other poems
Kendall Grant
Winter Love Note
I tromped a snowshoe love note
in a mountain meadow.
The note, as imperfect as I am,
connected from no beginning to no end
and crossed a rabbit’s trail.
It will melt and run by our house
in the river that connects us to these mountains.
The molecules will separate,
but you’ll notice them bumping over the trout.
And in a waterfall,
you may hear what I made the snowshoes say.
A Rare Congregational Member
I like an aspen grove below pine line
on the morning side of a small mountain
where wild clematis seeks the sun early
then folds purple blossom in solemn prayer.
Eyes of the forest, lost-limb quakey scars,
witness to God these wildflower sacraments—
and that I ate and drank and worshiped there.
Unknown Priest
I followed a Western-wood peewee
to where peace and liveliness coincide:
A corner where periwinkle grows to hide
and my friend can eat in spring greenery.
His referee-whistle shrill stops me short:
“It’s not secret, but sacred,” he sounds.
With kind heart, he invites me along—
in reverence we escape the world’s throng
and he ordains me.
Who Called the Owl’s Name
The gale must have pressed her into the electric lines;
She fell on the front grass.
Now, two feet deep looking for the sky,
the snowy owl lies next to our golden retriever.
It seemed without honor to put the carcass in communal trash
though the garbage truck was coming down the block
and we could soon forget.
Instead, we determined a sacred owl burial.
Now the yard seems wiser,
and so are we.
Autumn Dance Championships
Of all the colored slices that danced from limb to earth
a weeping willow leaf won grand champion.
Springing from tree,
the narrow tumbler went prone
and rolled like an old-time mower blade
chopping the air
beatboxing the fastest spin Indian summer had ever judged,
gliding over warm and cool currents
until a mile of October sky had been clipped.
Kendall Grant
As a freshman in college, I realized that Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Pied Beauty” captured more detail than I had discovered in life. His lines started my pilgrimage into nature and poetry. Professionally, I teach at a religiously affiliated university where the spiritual and academic collide sparking principle-based insight and action. The desired result is a life of disciplined service to God, country, and world.