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Calvary

By Dick Allen Poetry

No further task than this. Dazed, he lifts his head from his right shoulder. Jerusalem, below him, is an underwater drift of specks, flecks, swirling in the tidal blur he descended through. Such a small place, really: hovels, walls, dirt streets, young women shawled, lackluster soldiers sprawling at the temple gates…. Eloi! Eloi! Vinegar and…

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Argument in Memoriam

By Clare Rossini Poetry

Take, for example, This sunflower stuck in a vase. Its huge dark center daily sheds a load of pollen Onto the fake wood veneer of my desk, as if my desk Were dirt; this room, a field; the window, a planet’s Rectangular sky. The myth of ongoingness. We must assent, we do, The clouds rumbling…

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If Penetrated by Light

By Peggy Rosenthal Book Review

If Penetrated by Light: Five Poets Consider the Darkness The Fortieth Day by Kazim Ali (BOA Editions, 2008) Astonishment: Selected Poems of Anna Kamienska ——-Translated by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon (Paraclete Press, 2007) The Alphabet in the Park: Selected Poems of Adélia Prado ——-Translated by Ellen Watson (Wesleyan University Press, 1990) Hovering at a…

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Don’t beckon yet!…

By Pēters Brūveris Poetry

Through the gates of eternity I’ll ride On a grasshopper huge and green. ————————–—Egils Plaudis don’t beckon yet! I don’t yet want to ride to you on the back of a huge grasshopper I still want to linger here among various earthly substances still want to see how the wind sweeps away slogan after slogan…

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Dancing to Strange Music: Diversity and Faith in the Visual Arts

By William Dyrness Essay

We played the flute for you and you did not dance…. ——————————————–—Matthew 11:17 IN HIS INTRODUCTION to a collection of medieval Welsh tales, the late John Updike describes his reaction: we feel in reading these stories, he says, “as if we are dancing with a partner who hears a distinctly different music.” The Charis exhibit—an…

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Four Poems

By Gregory Orr Poetry

Knowing life grinds us, And dust Is what we’ll become. Sensing, likewise, That the moral Of our story Has to do With being mortal. Yet love grounds us. And the beloved Grows in us: We are her slow cocoon. And the poem is a door; The song, a little window. § Bowed by a ceaseless…

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This Orange That

By Robert Grunst Poetry

Santa Cruz Island A white cotton shirt like my wife’s Loose over her Shoulders I’m thinking just Brushing Her breasts But Provençal or Basque this Woman or Italian perhaps Not blonde not Dutch but her skin like Skin like the peel Of skin next the bulb of a tulip The scent Of her the scent…

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The Ordinary Time

By Dana Littlepage Smith Poetry

Goldfish in the horse trough nibble at morning’s surface. They are not busy; they are breathing. The sparrow threading straw under the eaves lifts whips of time to his mate’s music. This is the opposite of business. Birds, even singing, can be the architects of our silence. Would you be healed by being? Then be…

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Thoughts Without Order Concerning the Love of God

By Dana Littlepage Smith Poetry

The kingdom of my kitchen invites one snail to measure a carrot peel with the full length of her body. Of Christ and necessity this snail says nothing. The celery shines. By morning, my countertops, my floor will glisten with the star road of her meanderings. It measures a universe of dark and light in…

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Hail, Spirit

By Pattiann Rogers Poetry

A weaver, this spider, she plays her eight thin black legs and their needle-nail toes across the threads faster, more precisely, than a harpist at concert can pluck the strings in pizzicato. Although blind at night, she nevertheless fastens a thread to a branch of chokecherry on one side of the path, links it to…

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