Showing posts with label pray. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pray. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

AFTER THE ELECTION

by Joan Mazza

Watercolor by Suzanne Mays-Wentzell


The sun should be out, beaming cheer
in celebration of a win for equal rights
and a president who tells the truth,
but today is gray and dreary, forecast
for wind and rain, maybe snow.

I didn’t stay up all night like some, tired
of the angry words, too angry, too,
at those who vote against their interests
for a man who lied and lied. I went to bed,
resigned to cope with heat or cold,

no matter how the winds of voting blew.
I rose to learn the winners, and asked
again what shelters we might find
when I still worry about the safety
of our vegetables and drinks, the air

we breathe. Taught to pray for happy
outcomes, for wisdom in our leaders,
recovery from illness, grief, addiction,
I know no one’s listening to wishes
no matter how cold and dark life seems.

Through weak morning light, the ground
is littered with this year’s leaves. Signal
to go inward, grateful for this home, space
where darkness means silence, warmth,
and no one shouting what god wants from me.


Joan Mazza has worked as a psychotherapist, writing coach, certified sex therapist, and medical microbiologist, has appeared on radio and TV as a dream specialist. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Perigee/Putnam). Her work has appeared in Kestrel, Stone’s Throw, Rattle, Writer's Digest, Playgirl, and Writer's Journal. She now writes poetry and does fabric art in rural central Virginia.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

FIRST RIGHT OF REFUSAL

by Laura Rodley


Don’t pray for me anymore
say the grey whales
birthing calves
off the Pacific coast.
Don’t pray for me anymore
say the right whales
siphoning plankton and krill
off the Atlantic coast.
Don’t pray for me
squawk the seagulls
pedaling pizza
on the beach in Ocean Park,
their beaks full of crust.
Don’t pray for me
say the dying in their beds,
sheets cool and soft.
Don’t pray for me
mewed the tiny black and white
kitten under the stairwell
at the Econo Lodge in Columbus,
it is not your pieces of chicken
that saved me, nor your water
though I was dying of thirst.
I can make it on my own.


Laura Rodley’s New Verse News poem “Resurrection” has won a Pushcart Prize and appears in The Pushcart Prlze XXXVII: Best of the Small Presses (2013 edition). She was nominated twice before for the Prize as well as for Best of the Net. Her chapbook Rappelling Blue Light, a Mass Book Award nominee,  won honorable mention for the New England Poetry Society Jean Pedrick Award. Her second chapbook Your Left Front Wheel is Coming Loose was also nominated for a Mass Book Award and a L.L.Winship/Penn New England Award. Both were published by Finishing Line Press.  Co-curator of the Collected Poets Series, she teaches creative writing and works as contributing writer and photographer for the Daily Hampshire Gazette.  She edited As You Write It, A Franklin County Anthology, Volume I and Volume II.