Meet the Poets of Issue Two:

Marjorie Maddox
The Seven Sorrows | To the God-daughter, who forgave you

Yes, she knows/doesn’t know:
those small lips that suckle and cry,
hiccup and sigh, will one day scream,
“Eli eli lama sabachthani.” Her mama heart,
already crowded with ponderings,
has only enough room for nursing and burping,
for counting the toes of the Sacred—

– from “The Seven Sorrows“

Jo Taylor
Singing the Blues | Camp Meetin’ | Elijah

Picasso, Elvis, and Robert Johnson felt the blues. I have. Likely, you,
Too. When we plunge into despair and sell our souls;
When we’re in our blue period, fashioning an old guitarist, blind,
Poor, and as somber as church communion; or when we put on
Our blue suede shoes and make soulful sounds on street corners.
In juke joints. In churches. In solitary realms. When we gut
The heart and, like Louis A, spill out its recesses in song.

– from “Singing the Blues“

Bruce Pemberton
Senior Prom, May 1972

It goes well enough for an evening
in the gym: photos, cookies, punch,
chaperones, and then after, bottles
clattering around on the backseat
floorboard. After dinner, where I
mispronounce filet mignon, the six
of us go parking. I barely know my
date, and hesitate kissing her, but
she insists.

– from “Senior Prom, May 1972“

Caron Freeborn with Steve Armitage
Yeah, I go there now

In the name of the Father, Son &
Holy Spirit – though round our way, if you
know your father’s name
it’s a miracle and the spirit’s
only holy on account of the swearing
to God it’ll be the last.

– from “Yeah, I go there now“

Jennifer Leigh Paccione
Stained Glass

colors cut under the surface
weaving leaden webs inside us
pieces locked into the past
delicate as glass

– from “Stained Glass“

Bruce McRae
Some Angelology

Angels of swamp and ghetto,
hovering beside a fogbound car crash,
possessing a flower’s temperament and temper.
The angels of indigestion and football.
The angels of stones dropped
in the ocean or flung at the sky.

– from “Some Angelology“

Debra Ayis
We Did Good? | Hope

A holy anger rises within me
I feel your pain, I feel you mourn
I groan along with you
Your spirit one with mine
Why the hunger, pain, hate
The heart of man so desperately wicked.

– from “We Did Good?“

Elaine Wilburt
Song For Those Who Can Hear Only Noise | Empty | Resurrection

The russet strangers
stressed not singing
picked up the chicken
as always
where significance
vacations
like thousands of others
the whitewashed dazzling host

– from “Song For Those Who Can Hear Only Noise“

LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Fallen Apple | Encounter in Chiesa del Gesù

Eventually, I knew. He’s married.
He massaged facts convincingly as if
Virility depended on falsehoods.

– from “Fallen Apple“

Daniel Romo
Blending | Spirit

The art of healing is studied by examining
the amount of mourning left within the man,
a craft best appreciated by those
keen enough to understand
there’s no set recovery time for growth
or grace.

– from “Blending“

Terry Minchow-Proffitt
Seven Ways to Sunday | Make Like a Tree

It was Jesus we sang, Jesus gone
make up our dying bed,
Jesus gone give us another pair
when our wings give out.
O my Jesus we moaned like we were coming
instead of going, O my Jesus
from the seat of daddy’s John Deere,
over the groceries we sacked at Safeway,
in the backseat under summer
angels and stars on the levee—
ringing up Jesus, let me in Jesus.

– from “Seven Ways to Sunday“

Victoria Crawford
Wishing Tree

In my garden, Mimosa tree grows
delighted I watch her
dancing with breezes or
nearly double under
lightning lash storms
then up she bounces

– from “Wishing Tree“

Julie Dunaway
Sand | Stinson Beach

Landmarks of life appear as though
etched in broken rock and stone.
Areas exposed to sun, wind, rain
and all seasons no longer hide their days
of adventure, or long nights of
Prayer.

– from “Sand“

Kelly Hanwright
Irreversible | Hope Chest

You told me from the age of three,
God has blessed you;
got others to believe.

When you told Aunt Veronica
I could see angels,
she fell to her knees.

– from “Irreversible“

Peter Lilly
Absolution | Your Stare

I’ve seen the scars of your
developing years,
they match the knuckles
of your guardians.

Know this,
you are an innocent perpetrator
of the darkest of sins

– from “Absolution“

Stephen Regan
Handmaiden

She stood upon a serpent’s head;
in its mouth an apple. Her hands
would have been in low orans –
but both were missing, lopped off.

On the pedestal, worn, carved words:
Let me use your hands and bring …
then three words too eroded to read.

– from “Handmaiden“

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Read more of Issue Two:
Online | PDF