Monthly Archives: April 2024

My Letters to the World

 Homage to Emily Dickinson


I dreamt words of anxiety sealed
in small envelopes
flew out my window. I woke
and whispered to myself,
Those are not my letters to the world.

My letters paint ducks
luminous on winter waters, traveling
together as if on a pilgrimage
while a gull keeps watch
high on his chosen rock.

My letters catch sunsets nesting
in bare branches before
they escape leaving clouds
brushed with an elixir of rose
as a parting gesture.

Janet Krauss, after retirement from teaching 39 years of English at Fairfield University, continues to mentor students,  lead a poetry discussion at the Wilton Library, participate in a CT. Poetry Society Workshop, and one other plus two poetry groups. She co–leads the Poetry Program of the Black Rock Art Guild. She has two books of poetry : Borrowed Scenery (Yuganta Press) and Through the Trees of Autumn (Spartina Press).  Many of her poems have been published in Amethyst Review, and her haiku in Cold Moon Journal.

"Ewigkeit"

I have loved you 
in my own way.
Under a sea of stars,
by moonlight,
near the deep 
and shallow waters,
in desert sand 
and mountain peaks.
You have captured
my heart and life
has become an art 
of stillness.

Melissa Laussmann resides in a small town in Texas with her daughter. She loves to travel and watch old movies. You can find some of Melissa’s work in Haiku Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and Three Line Journal.

Giving Back

I thought of you this morning, very early. 
I mean, the you who feels that you don’t have

a future.  The western sky was dark, like night,
while in the east, the sky was running with

a daring blue—I mean, daring to bring day 
again into a sightless world.  But that was not 

what made me think of you, life-stopping 
though it was.  I thought of you because 

a silver moon, as slender as a silver hair, 
depended quietly from the urgent sky, 

placed just above the life-line of the earth.  
At first I asked myself, ‘Is that the moon, 

indeed?’  I’d never seen a moon look so chancy,
as though someone’s sigh just happened 

to blow a thread into the sky. ‘Perhaps,’ I
thought, ‘it is a lunar fraud?’  But no, my God, 

it had to be the moon, this sliver of fine silver, 
delicate, unbearable—frightening, almost—

and still, so still.  I wanted to hold my breath 
in order not to unsettle it.  I thought of you, 

and wanted to give this moment of the
silver thread moon to you—I mean, 

the you who feeds in a universe that takes 
so much away from us, sometimes. 

Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun.  She was born in the United States and lived there until adulthood, when her monastic vocation took her to England, where she now resides.  Her poems have appeared in The Christian Century, The Windhover, The Ekphrastic Review, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Catholic Poetry Room, and other venues, both online and print.

Sonnet for Markus


Drifting through the gallery on a
grey Toronto afternoon, a bit

aimless but drawn forward painting
after painting, the Rothko

jumps off the wall in the otherwise
peaceful space and pummels me.

There’s nothing there
but colour, blurred edges,

a corona, luminous and glowing
So don’t tell me what he did

is not holy, is not woman, is not 
grace, is not the nearness of death in

the night, the glory of generous day,
opening, and radiant.

William Ross is a Canadian writer and visual artist living in Toronto. His poems have appeared in Rattle, The New Quarterly, Humana Obscura, New Note Poetry, Cathexis Northwest Press, Topical Poetry, Heavy Feather Review,*82 Review, and Alluvium. Recent work is forthcoming in Bindweed Magazine and Anti-Heroin Chic.

In his last days, he leaked light


	Barbara Brown Taylor 
in her eulogy for the Rt. Rev. Bennett J. Sims


I want it said of me, in my old age, that I leak light.
That with every wrinkle, I grow brighter; with every ache,
the dandelion becomes my guide. 

I’m not talking about leaks that arrive unwelcomed. A shower
that sputters, then settles into syncopated plops. Headlines
that risk national security. Heart valves that spill with each pump. 

Last year, a busted pipe undetected for hours flooded a friend’s home
before setting off alarms. Water can be like that.

But today I’m talking about light. How it flames from a hearth, glistens
from melting snow. How when there’s so much shine in a body
toward the end of life, it gilds everything in its flow.

Karen Luke Jackson, winner of the Rash Poetry Award and the Sidney Lanier Poetry Contest, draws upon family lore, contemplative practices, and nature for inspiration. Her poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, EcoTheo Review, Susurrus, Salvation South, and Friends Journal, among others. Karen has also authored three poetry collections: If You Choose To Come, paying homage to the healing beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains; The View Ever Changing, exploring the lifelong pull of homeplace and family ties; and GRIT, chronicling her sister’s adventures as an award-winning clown. Karen is a facilitator with the Center for Courage & Renewal. She lives in a cottage on a goat pasture in western North Carolina where she companions people on their spiritual journeys. karenlukejackson.com

Brief Communion

The breathtaking heron floats down
on a sepia evening to land
on the seawall. His blue sails span six feet.

Entranced by the intimate encounter, 
by his beauty and grace,
the stick legs supporting his hull,
I forget to breathe.

He toes the seawall, takes his stance.
I scan the slash of dark feathers
above his intense yellow eye,
inspect the curves of his question mark neck.

For a brief moment 
we trust the space between us,
share the silence, soft light, and warm breeze. 
The wind ruffles his fringe, tousles my hair.
Then he presses off for the ochre sky,
as quickly as he appeared.

I watch his yacht cruise across the glass surface,
inches above bay waters,
dragging his oars behind.

He grows smaller and smaller until he disappears
and I’m struck with sadness.

I sit alone until dark like a child 
forgotten after school,
believing he’ll round the bend 
and come back for me any minute.

Lori Zavada writes poetry and prose that reveals a deep respect for nature and the human condition. Steeped in insight and imagery, her poems can be found in Of Poets and Poetry, Operelle Poetry Collection, Emerald Coast Review, WayWords,Nobis II, and her chapbook First Flight. Lori lives in Northwest Florida in a community of talented supportive writers, who work together to achieve their writing goals. 

Kitetails

strands of my soul are rising
to a place where they converge
now endless sky seems the only home
for my rising soul, my rising soul

called by the heavens as if by
notes plucked on a piano
eager to go as every earthly tie
becomes memory

and I want them back
chasing their colors like kitetails
grasping for garish ribbons
already riding the ever-rising breeze

Casey Mills writes poems early in the morning while his daughters are still sleeping. His poetry was recently published in Ekstasis.

The Walk Home from the Lake Shore

The edge of the lake laps against the stony shore,
an ever-moving, evolving environment.

The ebb and flow, water slapping
rocks, the whir of wind coming from behind

pushes me toward oblivion –
echoing 
an endless call from the lake's depths.

It is here, on the lake shore,
an edge that is more than 
water 

meeting rock—where all that is 
known 
and comforting—feels like

home. I turn to leave, knowing
my dwelling beckons:

Children to play with, dinner to cook.
Laundry and dishes to do, and do, and do.

The uphill walk is laborious –
painful – a narrow passage.

I yearn for rebirth; 
yet, long for the familiar 
lake shore – its
ever-changing bluffs of 

deliberation.

Jodi Schott lives near Lake Ontario in Rochester, New York. Her most recent poems are published in her chapbook, Sinking in the Sky Water. She is Director of Mission & Ministry at The Aquinas Institute of Rochester, where she has the privilege to guide students and faculty into a deeper relationship with God. She enjoys spending time with her husband, three children, and dog.

The Garden in April

                             Nature shows that survival is a practice

                                               Wintering by Katherine May


This spring: fits and starts. The joy of the first field 
of crocus, white candytuft on dried lawn glows 
like a beacon. A hint of green, a smatter of tiny buds. 
Too early, I lament. Like a merry-go-round coming back 
to the brass ring: a reset—one night of cold wind, 
freezing rain and nature cycles back. Pears, magnolias 
go brown. Winter triumphant again. But new growth, 
unstoppable. Warm sun and cool nights toughen. 

I watch the garden’s teaching as I move through surgery 
and slow recovery. Now Japanese maple’s red leaves form 
a scrim pattern in front of the weeping cherry, still bright 
with blossoms. Six days past surgery I wake to lazy 
snowflakes drifting earthward. Another reset. 
The garden’s promise spurs me on.

Ginger Graziano, originally from New York City, is a author, painter and graphic designer living in Asheville, North Carolina where she receives inspiration from the mountain beauty. Her poems have been published in The American Journal of Poetry, Kakalak, Sky Island Journal, The Great Smokies Review, among others. Her memoir, See, There He Is, was published in 2015. http://www.gingergraziano.com/writing.

Girl Picks Berries

Up by the old camp I pick
at the hedge. Darter by me on spike rush.

The quiet is loud, and stillness is starfull - a circus.
The tips of my fingers hold worlds

up in sky. When I have enough I go
through the gap and lift

the sheet on slow worm,
sat still and river-wound there. I touch her

in my ownliness. Darter there.
Coming back down I feel my dress

swing at my hips. I cut through the grave garden
shutting the gate after me, and I leave one berry

on Tommy Right-times bed, then go
through the lych-gate and return

to the village and the sun-sounds my smile
makes, on the meeting with all of theirs there.

Martin Towers is a support worker in Aberystwyth, Wales. Samples of his spoken word poetry are used in music by the producer Meanderman. Search: ‘Meanderman (feat. Jimmy Badger)’