joyful!

February

The Decent of the Ordinary

by

Stephen Roo Williams


The street calls him back from the ledge
But the wide open nothingness of a fall
Rings true in his desiccate heart.
Unwanted, unloved, thrown away
He has only to sit, for one decision,
One deliberate move
Or then to hear and feel
“My grace is sufficient”
Not knowing or caring for the words
But turning away, to stumble on
Receiving back the world
Meant to crush him

Locked away, then, thrown against the bars
Like a bluebird with shattered wing
He sits with dull vacuous eyes,
To want nothing,
To feel nothing.
His pockmarked and tattered soul
Is turned too, Is felt out, Is fathomed, once again
A touch of light, bright soft words of lightness
Find him and are spoken:
“My grace is sufficient.”
Through tear stained eyes
And grimy clasped hands
A sinner’s prayer is made.

Born into pain
And nothing is born without pain
A long, perilous and winding road
Trodden through fields of gloom and despise
Walked regardless of switchbacks or alleyway dead ends
Fetches up finally upon crib’s open bough
Where a babies blue eyes, just like his,
Stare through to a man he does not yet know
The descent of the ordinary is stopped by love
What never was lost is found and known

Up through life and time, to stand
Words to break or heal and bind
Where once again he would have fled
But not to be led to abandon 
Those whose love has held him fast.
“My grace is sufficient,
My strength made perfect in your weakness”--GOD
The church letter-board proclaimed
To the heart of the matter, what’s said, what’s done.
To be made whole, to become a man,
By God, through wife and son.

He Doesn’t Mind

by

Marco Moreno Flores

He doesn’t mind if you think of Him
As a great light that engulfs the world
Or as a small bird that sits on your shoulder
Or as a hand that moves before you and clears your way
As long as you seek Him like a warrior seeks victory.

She doesn’t mind if you think of Her
As a mother’s lap that you sink into
When you sleep
Or as the songs of storms
Or as a face in the moon.
As long as you seek Her with open arms,
Like a child.

Art by Jennifer Trammel

Three From Roy Barnes

The Jog Back

Running into gusts…

The loud violence resists

my homeward progress

I’m without cover:

The Wyoming skies naked

(void of Cottonwoods)

My strength pushes west

against never-ending shrieks

-Nature’s wrath vanquished

Out of the Closet

My selected past

cocooned in an old shoebox:

dormant for seasons

Pins, clippings, letters

highlighting life spent earthbound

-Mem'ries to flutter

 A Respite in July

Standing, caught between

June’s drought and August’s swelter

-drenched by heavy rain

I meditate here-

My parched soul finds amnesty

from its dry season