Monday, March 27, 2017

The Supplication of Spring, a poem by DIane Lewis

The Supplication of Spring
by Diane Lewis

Let the grass grow;
the blades burst into kelly and emerald.
Let the crocuses pop;
while purple and white dart in all directions.
Let the dogwood and the cherry blossoms
erupt; behold their eternally flowered canopy.
Let the maples cast off their buds.
Let the thunderstorms rise out of nowhere;
the rain pummeling the ground.
Let tulips emerge resilient despite
winter frost and foraging animals.

See how quickly and efficiently the weeds rebel;
the hostas spike up from the ground.

Let the clematis sprawl upward
in search of something to cling to.
Let the wind begin after a good rain
necessary to bring forth the season.
Let the days be warm and the nights cool;
while sparrows feverishly scramble to build.
Without the cold, harsh clutches of an angry winter,
these triumphs of spring would never be.


From the poet: “My name is Diane L. Lewis and I am the Arts Council of Indianapolis’ 2010 Robert D. Beckmann Emerging Artist Fellow. The Beckmann Fellowship has provided me the opportunity to develop as a writer, with the goal of producing a full-length book of poetry. Most recently I have been able to publish my work in Tall Grass Writer’s Guild Anthology 2013 and 2014 (Outrider Press), Reckless Writing Poetry Anthology 2013 (Chatterhouse Press), and Contemporary American Voices (2015). 'Smoke Break' is the 2016 third place winner in the Eber & Wein Publishing National Amateur Poetry Competition.”

Editor's note: Diane Lewis died in 2016.



Monday, March 20, 2017

Customer Service Ticket Number 16032917, a poem by Rebecca Longenecker

Customer Service Ticket Number 16032017
by Rebecca Longenecker

I pulled the dead things out of the flowerbeds
The dried up stalks, the brown leaves

I got an email that said the book I requested
Was still not available at the library

The thing about the garden this time of year
Is that even cleaned up it is brown

It’s a $2.00 fine when you don’t pick your book up
Be careful what book you wish for

It might cost you a few dollars at the greenhouse
For a bulb a stone that promises to be a flower

In the age of email and Amazon same-day delivery
You would think we could have spring already

The order has been in for a while.


Bio: Rebecca is a born-and-raised Mennonite: the descendant of farmers, missionaries, conscientious objectors, and an unwavering commitment to non-violence. She is a recent graduate of Eastern Mennonite University, where she studied English Language and Literature and dedicated herself to the craft of writing. She currently lives in Indianapolis, where she works as a copywriter and editor and enjoys cooking, candle-making, reading, and writing poetry.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Don't Bake Cookies Unless You're Going to Share, a poem by Rebecca Longenecker

Don’t Bake Cookies Unless You’re Going to Share
by Rebecca Longenecker

The forecast said sunny. 65.
I walked to the library in my black sweater.

It was cloudy. 50, my phone said.
The library was closed.

I forgot that I was up early today.
Would blame daylight savings

But we sprung ahead; it’s yesterday’s 7am
And I’m already full of toast

Coffee and bitterness
About how slowly spring is waking up.


Bio: Rebecca is a born-and-raised Mennonite: the descendant of farmers, missionaries, conscientious objectors, and an unwavering commitment to non-violence. She is a recent graduate of Eastern Mennonite University, where she studied English Language and Literature and dedicated herself to the craft of writing. She currently lives in Indianapolis, where she 

Monday, March 6, 2017

Earthquake in Blossom Time, a poem by Doris Lynch

Earthquake in Blossom Time
by Doris Lynch

I fold into
my pocket the
handkerchief
you used shortly
before dying
and go out to greet
the backlit clouds,
so frolicsome
and adventurous.

In the neighbor’s yard
redbuds offer
their mauve tears.
Poking through
lawn’s needlepoint,
so many green
slashes of hope.

The earth woke me
this morning bucking
feelograms from deep
within its crust.
The window sashes
that I wiped
clean of cobwebs
yesterday rattled in
percussive approval.

Earthquake, felt
so rarely in the Midwest.
In bed, I lay shaking--
a fledgling in wind--
awash in both terror
and joy--anticipating
that the ground will be
solid and still beneath me.

Bio: Doris Lynch has work recently in the Tipton Poetry Review, the Atlanta Review, Frogpond, Haibun Today, and Contemporary Haibun Online. The Indiana Arts Commission awarded her three individual artist’s grants: two in poetry and one in fiction.