Poetry
November Cold
Ice crusted sheets over November puddles bespeak more of the future than this cold day …
The Writer
(for Siani Woodard) I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made– Psalm 139:14 Half-court. Dad said our perch from steep bleachersallowed us
Let the Party Begin
It’s not always easyto carry good wishes and admirationin a see-through bag ready to toss up like confettihoping enough will stickto needed parts of willing
After the Thirteen Shock Treatment
I asked for two fried egg sandwichesand a blueberry milkshake. I got soup.And it was raining so instead of tryingagain to read “Middlemarch,” I lay
What Depths I Pass Through Unknowing
You can hear a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast. Photo by Ahmad Ajmi on Unsplash
Setting Flagstones
First I place them in a line atop a narrowpath along the side of the house. That path grows muddy in winter,and the stones will
God
after William Carlos Williamsso much dependsupon a babyGod swaddled incloths lying in a woodenmanger so much dependsupon a manGod swaddled inpain hanging on a woodencross
The Woman at the Well Would Pay Any Price
The marketplace vendors admit they can’t explain God.They shrug and pocket pomegranates. Argue the flax is souring too quickly. They weave a melancholy spiritinto baskets
“Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none”
After 1 Samuel 24 His beard tightly curled, black locks in ringlets,Saul’s regal forehead slumbers on bedrockat the mouth of a shepherd’s desert cavelike an
Moriah
The name given to a mountainous region in the Book of Genesis, where the binding of Isaac byAbraham is said to have taken place For
Hiraeth
A wilderness road so barren and yet so full, I was far from home,too deep in the vast whiteout expanse of Yellowstone,snow-mystified Douglas-firs or legions