poetry

I’ve heard about weeds that spring up where the dirt is disturbed, so watch out, just in case. Last year, they tore out my favorite tree, churning and scarring the ground with

Heart beating fast Life flashing past Road leeching last Just breathe Uproot my roots like some old elm tree Looking for somewhere new to cast my boundary Pulling through and pushing past the

Stepping on glass—shards Scattered across—a minefield Underfoot—Times Square— Wasps nest in—your ears As muskets—and cannons boom— Fire alarms—shrieking— Your corse—a statue— Stone cold and solid—and

Dear teacher, if only you knew . . . Feet dragging, heads hanging, We can’t see what’s true. Minds spinning, hands quaking, How can you know what we’ve been through? If only you

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 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