Poetry

strange
by Karen Ethelsdattar, Union City, NJ

Strange,
the things one clings to
from the past–
my mother’s potholder,
my father’s socks,
the very knife we used to chop walnuts
for brownies,
a piece of my mother’s outworn
flannel pajamas
she used for a dustcloth,
the little homely things.
No, not strange,
Familiar.

And Heaven & Nature Sing
by Maxwell Corydon Wheat, Freeport

Returning to our farm after midnight service
Grandmother points to the bright star in
clear black
"Listen," she whispers
as if we might hear the angelic chorus
Then, over snow on the hay field
from the woods in back
intoning of the Great Horned Owl

Haiku
by Gerald Starlight, Roosevelt Island

With silence of thought
Seated in meditation
This pure consciousness

Simple Gifts
by Barbara Nowack, Laurelton

The sun rises, rises, rises,
dappling life’s river as it flows;
from all corners darkness flees.
There are simple gifts.
Your inner stillness calms me.
You bend to me,
gathering in your height
to an enfolding presence.
I do not feel small,
only protected.
Your hands are large, but so very gentle,
all strength restrained
to soothe,
to hold and share.
I look into your eyes
and see me there.