January 2016 | poetry
It’s curious about the massed communicants,
not the few tied and suited boys, especially,
but the virginally, wedding-gowned girls
in lace and taffeta, prim alabaster angels
now pledged, going steady with the Church.
Are they truly knowledgeable at their age
to know right from wrong and to distinguish
heaven’s wine and manna from fruits of evil?
Mass ends and the newly sated pass
slowly, processing down the aisle;
at least one pre-nun, guided between
beaming parents, head tilted back, eyes
tight shut, hands still clasped in devotion,
is graced by the faith of incomprehension.
by Richard Hartwell
Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school (remember the hormonally-challenged?) English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather be still tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon.
January 2016 | poetry
Bones of the trees
are showing now,
the terrible light.
Darkness is all
the cold holds, which
shivers out of sight.
The wind carries
on with sadness,
yet leaves no promise.
We hope for more
at summer’s end.
All we have is this.
by Tom Montag
Tom Montag is most recently the author of In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013. He is a contributing writer at Verse-Virtual and in 2015 was the featured poet at Atticus Review (April) and Contemporary American Voices (August). Other poems are found at Hamilton Stone Review, The Homestead Review, Little Patuxent Review, Mud Season Review, Poetry Quarterly, Provo Canyon Review, Third Wednesday, and elsewhere.
January 2016 | poetry
Becoming Aware of the Tide
Just today I feel older
Driving to the vet
Driving 17 miles for a hat I left behind
at a monthly meeting
Listening to a folk-rock album
awash in distracted serenity
Ebbing as soon
as it draws attention
Coleridge Stares at the Sea in Search of Star Ratings
We accept sponges
as they line up along our shores
Hate the sand-
glasses up, lying for the sun
Hate the strain-
bags happy to gulp burn
Melt over mogul diamonds buried
deep enough to require faith
by Mark Danowsky
Mark Danowsky’s poetry has appeared in Alba, Cordite, Grey Sparrow, Mobius, Shot Glass Journal, Third Wednesday and other journals. Mark is originally from the Philadelphia area, but currently resides in North-Central West Virginia. He works for a private detective agency and is Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal.
