James Crews: At the Monastery
I want to ask: Would you bow
to the blown-open peony, its petals
strewn like slips of silk in the grass
after last night’s storm?
Abe Louise Young: New Seeds for Old Stories
When I was a child, everything I heard & read about Israel was aspirational. We saved our quarters in cardboard boxes emblazoned, “Plant Trees In Israel!” People said, “Next year in Jerusalem!” to mean goodbye, to celebrate New Year’s Eve.
Robert Frost: Revelation
We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone find us really out.
Vox Populi: Most Popular Posts of 2023
We now have approximately 18,000 email subscribers, one third outside the United States, and our posts are picked up by social media where they often go viral. For example, Zeina Azzam’s poem Write My Name, published in November 2023, has been translated into Arabic, Spanish, French, and Japanese, as well as other languages, and read by millions.
Charles Davidson: Rachel Weeping at Bethlehem
“Then they journeyed from Bethel; and when they were still some distance from Ephrath, Rachel was in childbirth, and she had hard labor. . . . As her soul was … Continue reading
Pascale Petit: I asked if I could leave the earth
There was a word for what was wrong with me
but no word for the troubles on earth.
Nasser Rabah: On the Birthday of the War
When I return from the war, if I do,
don’t look into my eyes,
do not see what I saw.
Sydney Lea: What Shines?
Astonishing, this never-ending effort
to have had a happy childhood. Why does it matter
now, why will yourself into all that forgetting?
She may have been a good mother– at least she tried.
Paul Christensen: Pomegranates in Winter
Snow reminds me of the chalky blackboards of my childhood, the ones I was required to wash with a fat sponge and a bucket of water. A nun would occasionally check up on me to see that my labors were done in earnest.
Richard Michelson: Three Poems
Today, I am weary of my soul, forever dragging behind me,
clanging for attention like tin cans left tied to a coupe fender
long after the sacred vows.
Bhikshuni Sela: The Gate
Ever since I invited my own death into bed with me, I no longer feel lonely or afraid of the dark.
William Blake: The Human Abstract
Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor, And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings Peace, … Continue reading
Mosab Abu Toha: Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear
When you open my ear, touch it
gently.
My mother’s voice lingers somewhere inside.
Lisa Suhair Majaj: Living in History
Whatever the skins we live in,
the names we choose, the gods we claim or disavow,
may we be like grains of sand on the beach at night
