Donal Mahoney- A Poem

The Honey Room

Brother Al, in his hood,

is out in his field

making love to his bees.

From my room I can see him

move through his hives

the way people should move

among people.

The bees give him gold and the gold

turns orange in the jars

that he sells in a room

near the door of the abbey.

The Honey Room, everyone calls it.

Besides Brother Al, only I

go into that room full of honey.

I go in there and bend

and look through the jars

on the shelves and the sills

till there in the orange I see Sue

standing straight

in a field of her own

with a smile

for our garland of children.

 

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Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had work published in a variety of print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. 

Mark Nenadov- A Poem

Higher Than The Highest Heights

Higher than the highest heights of 

this round earth's choice delights

soars the boundless love 

of the lowly babe who came

from the heights above.

Bio: Mark Nenadov lives in Essex, Ontario, Canada with his lovely wife and their baby daughter. Mark's poems have appeared in publications such as Wilderness House Literary Review, WestWard Quarterly, Northern Michigan University's The Lightkeeper, Three Line Poetry, Pif Magazine, and Driftwood Bay.

Lela Marie De La Garza- A Poem

BEAUTY

                    

Rainbow

Moon glow

Star bright

Sea light        

Red tree

Gold bee

Noon sun

Three--One.

Linda M. Crate- A Poem

immeasurable blessing

 

You paid the ultimate price and gave us the

most perfect gift, and you gave us a most

beauteous world even more lovely when the sun

star sings his golden lilt upon the land; yet we

sometimes look past our blessings and complain

about everything underneath the azure sky, even i

sometimes forget that You are worthy of praise in all

seasons for You are the only one that can tell a 

lily where it should grow, the birds to fly south

in the winter, or even mend a broken heart that

no mortal could ever hope to reconstruct on their own.

Jnana Hodson- A Poem

GO ON

with our daily itinerary crushed by

overbooking

and the inevitable breakdowns

the first thing we eliminate is what we need most

for long-term well-being

the very practices for sustained spiritual health

as individuals and together

*   *   *

where what would appear simple

is not necessarily easier

but stronger, in the end

to respond to our neighbor more than ourselves

even our own families

neglects our own worth

*   *   *

drop what you can

and return to the pooling

open repose

with focus as the essence

of simplicity

in the pleasure of increasing devotion

go on in

Jnana Hodson’s chapbook, Harbor of Grace, was issued in August 2012 by Fowlpox Press. The author of two published novels, he blogs at Jnana’s Red Barn (jnanahodson.net). 

Joseph Farley- A Poem

Prayers

small words

phrases

repeated

over and over

will this

change

the world?

will this

change me?

inhale

exhale

begin

again

(previously appeared in Assisi)

Bio: Joseph Farley edited Axe Factory from 1986 to 2010. His books and chapbooks include Suckers, For the Birds, Longing for the Mother Tongue, Waltz of the Meatballs, and Her Eyes.

James Sanchez- A Poem

Blood on wood

Tears on flesh

What have I done

Echoes are the indictment

Punished for love

Abhorred for decency

Tortured for sport

Spikes pierce through time

Pang of regret

Ache of loss

To you all is given

For me all is forgiven

James Sanchez is a poet and teacher born in Hialeah, Florida. He holds a B.A. in English from Florida International University. He teaches English and Creative writing at Ronald W. Reagan/Doral Senior High school. He resides in Miami, Fl with his wife and son. His work has been published in The Acentos Review, The Apeiron Review, The Circle Review, Dead Beats , and Poui: The Cave Hill Literary Annual.

Paul DeVito- A Poem

Rainbow

She was out in the garden,

sunning herself by the roses,

suddenly a rain cloud stopped by

and a gentle sunrain began to fall,

she flew up to her nest in the oak

and protected her babies,

the sun was stretching in various

directions and a rainbow was formed

in the west, the other birds

hardly noticed the rain, they played

in the birdbath, splashing merrily

as if time stood still,

then the cloud passed, my bird

flew down from her nest

and joined the others in the bath,

the flowers glistened with the drops

of water as if dew had fallen,

no catastrophe had occurred,

nothing at all hardly but a few drops

of water, and yet everything was different.