poetry

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 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

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

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

The angels lead me to A crystal river of life Flowing from a golden throne. Stepping into the glassy stream, I meet peace unlike any other, Calling me to surrender and submerge. Tainted

Drops cascading, Ripples distributing, Rings expanding–– Disturbing my peace. Surface shattering, Skies scattering, Clouds concealing–– Stealing my joy. Trees reaching, Branches grabbing, Sun retreating–– Unseating my ease. Clouds wrestling, Stars crashing, Thunder roaring–

In my mind gray clouds roll high. They crowd over my sun, and there is no clear sky. But on sunny days, when I look up and see clear sky I remember His

Lord, I have failed again; My striving is in vain. My thoughts turn dark; My soul yearns in wretched lust Toward deeds sinful and vile! Ah, Lord, there’s nothing I deserve but

Are any of these colors suitable To reflect a life so greatly missed? To show the difference you made Through how you lived? How to choose even one flower for your grave: Red?

There is my drawing desk Marked up, but bare; And there, my pink dresser With closed, empty drawers; There is my horsey That I would ride upon Standing alone by the wall. And

I’m just trying to clear my thoughts with a water  glass at my table, and then I hear out of the jukebox sounds of psyches that are stable. I’m thinking things

On Sundays I wake early, not stopping To lift the heaviness from my eyes. God will do it, I reason, and He always does—at first, gradually, Until the weight rolls from my

In another world, beneath a great white throne, A holy seraph keeps a Book of Tears. In this book are stories, telling of human sorrows, Of great grief, weeping, and secret fears. No

From the sunshine-cloaked whispers of August To the icy throes of January, My heart of glass decided it would trust His deep-sea eyes shrouded in mystery.   Infatuated with a masquerade— For the sage