Author Archives: Sarah

	Reaching
reading Charles Wright

In the beauty you wish to create
	there lies something you cannot know
		
In the brush suspended over the canvas	
	the stroke that would finish the painting or begin it 
In the synapse between the words of the poem
	the word written and the word sought
In the sequence of notes / the missing phrase
	that one chord that would complete the sonata  

What but the search : that last leap
	the release from certainties into risk
What you have struggled to discover 
	what you have reached for
	what would save you

Out past the unsure edge : fledging :
	that wing / that reaching 
	that necessity : a kind of Faith.

Cordelia Hanemann, writer and botanical artist, currently co-hosts Summer Poets, a poetry critique group in Raleigh, NC. Retired English professor emerita, she conducts occasional poetry workshops and is active with youth poetry in the NCPS. She has published in numerous journals including Atlanta Review, Connecticut River Review, California Quarterly and others; in several anthologies including best-selling Poems for the Ukraine and her chapbook. Her poems have been performed by the Strand Project, featured in select journals, won awards and been nominated for Pushcarts. She is now working on a novel about her Cajun roots.

The Names of the Queen

Time and a river run through the ancient realm, in rhythmic 
waves that flow through desert land and dynasty alike.
And so, a thousand years and more before Cleopatra ruled, 
another queen, Tausret, sat on ancient Egypt’s throne – as king. 
The names she took hint life and death, flowing, river-like, 
between genders, relationships, and roles, with ostentation and
yet with charm:  

Strong Bull, Beloved of Truth, 
Lord beautiful of appearance, like the god Atum,
Founder of Egypt, who subdues foreign lands,
Daughter of the god Ra, beloved of the god Amun,  
Mighty Lady, chosen of the goddess Mut.

Calling herself  Lady of the Two Lands of Egypt as well as 
Lord of the Two Lands, Tausret knew the intricate web of 
life’s ongoing game of thrones, and the ironies within our 
lives – we who live by time and the river’s flow, and then 
are washed away by them. Her names, her dreams, were 
stone-carved in temple and in tomb – but in an eternal land, 
even stone is weak and all too soon is overthrown. 
As dynasties rose and fell, her monuments of forever were 
torn apart to be reused – a legacy impugned, covered and 
at last destroyed. And yet her names live on in hieroglyphs 
that breathe in books, real, yet surreal; there, but not; then 
there again – like the river’s ebb and flow, like the 
capriciousness of gods, like shadows on the sand.

“Richard West” was Regents’ Professor of Classics in a large public university and has published numerous books, as well as many articles and poems, under his own name or various pen names. His poems have appeared in more than twenty literary journals. He now lives in the American Desert Southwest, where he enjoys learning to cook and attempting to add flavor to his poems. He is the excavator of the Temple of Queen-King Tausert – the subject of this poem.

Marlene M. Tartaglione is an artist whose creativity manifests poetry, children’s literature, visual arts. Her work has appeared in presses nationally & abroad. Ms. Tartaglione has won 4 poetry prizes, her work presented at venues such as the Brooklyn Museum, M.O.M.A, New York Book Fair. Her poem, S C A R E B, has recently been nominated for a 2025 Pushcart Prize. Ms. Tartaglione’s M.B.A. studies were conducted at NYU; Ms. Tartaglione also holds a B.F. A. from the Cooper Union, where she studied with poet/ educator/ scholar, Dr. Brian Swann.

Scratch Messiah

And who are my neighbors?
An assemblage of the enthusiastic unrehearsed
the kind who would trudge through a snowstorm
for fellowship and musical uplift.
The seating is scrambled, not by part,
and I discover that I am seated near
as many tenors and bass-baritones as female voices.
Blend. 
Don’t breathe when the person next to me breathes.

The chancel choir takes its place
while the orchestra begins to tune.
Then silence except for the thrum of anticipation.
The soloists emerge. 
Next the guest conductor enters all to joyful applause.
I open my Schirmer score to follow and be ready.
The symphony plays.
Then at last song breaks forth– 
Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.
 

A native of Pennsylvania, Lara Dolphin is an attorney, nurse, wife, and mother of four. Her chapbooks include In Search Of The Wondrous Whole (Alien Buddha Press), Chronicle Of Lost Moments (Dancing Girl Press), and At Last a Valley (Blue Jade Press).

Unexpected

Though too old to 
Crawl rocks
Avoid briers
Limbo rotting trees,
Call of mountain water
Overcomes.
Come! It calls
See where I flow
Over where all
Living water must go!
To the green valley,
The beauty below.
I follow
Until it falls frolicking.
New perspective
Bows me to the wind
Teaches me to breathe
On the moss, in the spray.
Like the pine and laurel
I cling to the Rock.

Olivia Oster is a writer living on Lookout Mountain, GA, whose writing is about common everyday life as well as chronic pain, parenting, gardening, cooking, and homemaking. Olivia’s poetry has been accepted in The Reformed Journal, Spirit Fire Review, and others. She has a grammar book and a poetry chapbook called Poetic Faith. Olivia is a teacher, wife, and mother of five.

Paper Birds

I was a bird once, made of paper and thin air
flying over the arid landscape of my soul.
My wings were strong, but brittle
and I knew that I could fall at any moment.
The sky above me was a deep blue,
as if the world had chosen to color itself in reverence
for my freedom. The sun warmed my feathers,
but I knew that it was only temporary.
Soon, the sun would set and the cold night would come,
bringing with it an unrelenting chill that would test my resolve.

But still I flew, soaring high above the lonesome earth
where there are no trees to call home,
where there is only dry grass and cracked dirt.
With each beat of my wings, I felt myself grow stronger,
more resilient. I was not meant for this world,
bound by gravity and time. No, I was meant for something greater.
Something beyond the confines of this fragile existence.

And so I flew on, chasing after dreams that only birds can dream.
Drunk on the wind and dizzy with possibility,
I forgot about everything else –
the weight of responsibility, the burden of reality.
For a brief moment in time, I was free from all constraints
and nothing could bring me down.

But as all creatures do,
I eventually tired and began to descend
back to the unforgiving earth below.
As my wings gave out and I fell towards oblivion,
I couldn’t help but wonder –
was it worth it?
To be a paper bird flying high in an endless sky?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Claudia Wysocky, a Polish writer and poet based in New York, is known for her diverse literary creations, including fiction and poetry. Her poems, such as “Stargazing Love” and “Heaven and Hell,” reflect her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions. Besides poetry, she authored All Up in Smoke, published by Anxiety Press.”

Peter returns to his nets

Before the sea was solid
              it was safe for me

to sink beneath the waves
              and rise upon each crest.

My only destiny:
              nets and hooks and fingers from

fashioning a day 
              out of sweat and sun,

scales and blood, and the salt breath 
              of an evening breeze

thick as my lungs.
                           But I was free

                                       always`

                            to find my way and sink 
              beneath the same 
waves 

I now have walked 
              upon.

Herman Sutter is the author of the chapbooks Stations (Wiseblood Books), and The World Before Grace (Wings Press). His work appears in: Saint Anthony Messenger, The Ekphrastic Review, tejascovido, The Langdon Review, The Porch, Benedict XVI Institute, The English Review, The Merton Journal as well as the anthologies: Texas Poetry Calendar (2021) & By the Light of a Neon Moon (Madville Press, 2019). His narrative poem Constance, received the Innisfree prize for Poetry. His latest manuscript, A Theology of Need was long listed for the Sexton prize in poetry.

Prodigal


And so to them I gave a foolish son
the couple with scientific bent

and that woman lit by poetry
a daughter who was starch

            The more forward of archangels 
            asked why …

That they come to inhabit
my labyrinthine heart of course

sample batches of earthy alchemies 
stirring dust to sweat to ecstatic dance

mine tunnels through ice mountains
and then melt those same mountains 

Thus to see me and sip 
my honeyed air

Jean Biegun is retired in California after a lifetime in the Midwest USA. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She has received two Pushcart nominations and written two poetry collections, Hitchhikers to Eden and Edge Effects (2022 and 2024, Kelsay Books). Recent work is in Third Wednesday, The Scarred Tree: Poetry on Moral Injury, Ekstasis, Unbroken, and Thin Places and Sacred Spaces: A Poetry Anthology (Amethyst Press).

It Is Always This

It is always this that we
return to. Cold walls that 
restrict the heaving waves, 
the votive candles that keep 
our prayers kindled when we 
are gone. A simple altar, 
stained glass, the swallows 
maintain their own form of 
worship. And we, rediscovering 
the hush within that is the 
imitation of the greater one 
without, the unspoken admonishment 
which is the only answer 
the prayer requires.

J.M. Summers was born and still lives in South Wales. Previous publication credits include Another Country from Gomer Press and various magazines / anthologies. The former editor of a number of small press magazines, he is currently working on his first collection.