In life’s great furnace, we’re put to the test, Our souls refined, our hearts held to the flame Yet Christian values guide us through each quest, And shape our character as
Laughter isn’t all that new— It’s been here for a while, Yet every time I’m struck by joy, I reinvent the smile. A friendly thought entreated me While lying in
Winner of the English Forum creative nonfiction division. There they were again. I halted at my window when I noticed hundreds of flecks of white and pale pink outside, bright and delicate against
Winner of the English Forum poetry division. At the overlook, bright red paint Bursts against the dull rock face, Trickling down like blood oozing from An open wound. The mountains mourn. They miss
Like a ship crashing between waves, I’m tossed far from the shore– Resisting the urge to give up, But I can’t go on anymore. Like the uncontrollable tide, My enemies gather
The arrival of something / so tender we look away and laugh. —Ralph Burns Spring arrives in tender swaths of light That brush the darkness from the sleeping trees, And drape the dogwood’s
When I rest– my mind still runs. It chases the everlasting sun. Ambitions are high. Dreams are flashing by. My heart beats fast at every thought of my past. Every mistake I made
Repose is a little child at play, Frolicking about in his yard all day. Repose is a child in bed at night, Asleep without fear until morning’s first light. Repose is a
October 16, 1793 Paris, France Outwardly, I am calm and composed even as the rickety wooden cart jolts me over the cobblestones. I avert my gaze from the gleaming blade in the distance,
I hear myself breathing. My inhaling comes slow and steady, as does my exhaling. Each breath is perfectly paced, never coming too early or too late. I can tell just by watching my
Stop and breathe. The humanity in me struggles to learn lessons the first time around. Experience is a brutal, tireless instructor for life. Over and over, I find myself sprinting on the treadmill
Honorable mention of the English Forum creative nonfiction division. My father took me through the woods behind his childhood home. The air was crisp, customary for late March in the Indiana farmland. The
Honorable mention of the English Forum short fiction division. For the past few days, the parchment at my desk lay empty. I’d only managed one word in the top left corner: Ayaks.
Honorable mention of the English Forum poetry division. Carefully containing the quiet wildness of watercolors. Layering and layering to showcase acrylic’s plastic glow. Cheddar-textured oils glide tastefully across the canvas, Spreading the
Honorable mention of the English Forum poetry division. A letter Born into existence Cascades into countless more with Decadent dexterity. Every sentence echoes a Feeling. Gladness. Boredom. Heartbreak. Pain. It’s sounds, Just
I come to visit you each day, My dear and quiet friend, To watch you dance and play At the day’s gloriously golden end, And to watch the tall, dark rushes Bend
Another wave crashed inside the boat, filling it with water. The ship was surging back and forth as the waves punched into it over and over. The wind screeched, and the thunder yelled.
Stop for a while on a narrow stretch of New England farmland. First, you notice the smell. The land still remembers being a dairy farm under your great-great-grandfather’s hands, and it offers
In the silence of the sanctuary, The bread and juice still linger on my tongue— The blood and body of the Father’s only Son Nailed naked to a tree at Calvary. The