Summer Haiku by Joshua St. Claire

Image / Nikolaeva Nastia

Summer Haiku

sun dogs 

his blond head disappearing 

over the horizon  

slowly 

then all at once 

the summer storm 

among them 

I become them 

the red pines 

deerpath 

the white-tails 

laying out a city 

deeper and deeper 

into the electric cyan 

goldenrod stowaway 

at dawn 

above the sun 

the eagle’s breast 

yard sales 

the ebb and flow 

of dandelions 

double daylily 

the crow 

into her shadow 

a season 

of facing inward 

lady’s tresses 

I’ll be with you 

shortly 

fading lilacs 

different now the summer hills 

© Joshua St. Claire

Joshua St. Claire

Joshua St. Claire is an accountant from a small town in Pennsylvania, working as a financial director for a nonprofit. His haiku and related poetry have been published broadly, including in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, and Mayfly.

Follow Feed the Holy

Before the World Wakes by Peter A. Witt

 

Image / Dhanush K

Before the World Wakes

Morning lies quiet as an unwritten page.
The sky, a watercolor wash
of lavender and reluctant gold,
stretches over rooftops
like a shawl draped on a tired shoulder.

Leaves hang motionless,
thin green flags in a windless world,
while dew clings to grass
like a memory that refuses to fade.

A dog yawns by the fence,
his jaw cracking wide like a book
left open too long. The twitter of song birds
breaks the hush with a flurry of flutes,
notes rising like mist from a still pond.

The street is a hush of silence,
save for the soft swish of a broom
on a neighbor’s porch,
that slow, sacred act
of sweeping away stars.

My coffee steams in the mug,
bitter as regret, warm as yesterday.
A moth flutters near the screen,
wings catching light like tiny sails
on a sun-drenched sea.

Sprinkled with the dust of sleep
morning takes one long breath,
then opens its eyes.

© Peter A. Witt

Peter A. Witt

Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet and a recovering academic who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for the Best of the Net award. He also writes family history and is an avid birder and wildlife photographer.

Follow Feed the Holy

Just like Theatrical Seasons by Edilson A. Ferreira

 

Image / Hkn clk

Just like Theatrical Seasons    

There is a world waiting for its time to happen. 

It waits, attentive to the counterpoint marker, 

its turn to enter the scene. 

Eyes open, anonymous among the spectators, 

an envoy, an emissary, and a plenipotentiary  

of the author of the play, so that each speech, 

each act, mainly unkind and wicked ones, 

do not become lost. 

The author, at home and even more anonymous, 

did not want to witness the event, surely regretful 

and disconsolate of the rawness at times 

he could not avoid the unfolding of the plot.

And so different worlds overlap on the stage,  

at its due and exact time. 

The author, yet aware he portrayed real life,

in his forced retreat,  

his decaffeinated coffee and non-alcoholic beer,

a cloistered five o’clock tea,  

a sad and lonely heart.   © Edilson A. Ferreira

Edilson A. Ferreira

Edilson A. Ferreira, 81, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese. He has launched two poetry books, Lonely Sailor and Joie de Vivre, and has published 300 works in various international literary journals. Has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He began writing at the age of 67 after retiring from a bank.

Follow Feed the Holy

A Riposte, perhaps by Daniel P. Stokes

Image / Kampus Production

A Riposte, perhaps

Blithely unaware
of espionage, 
I packed my beach bag
(books in sequence, paper,
pencils, specs in separate slots)
till - as if a gate I hadn’t
opened banged behind me -
“You’re slowing down.”  Detached,
peremptory, “Half a week
It took you this time” - sigh -
“To slip into a routine.”
I shuffled through the doorway’s 
sudden sun glare, “Ready?”
Then, leaving her to follow
in her time, dumped bag in boot.

I wasn’t irked but thought,

she’s got this wrong. You slip

into ruts. Routines

are created to do the things

you want the way you want to.

And, Madam Mistress Mine,                              

perpend: each morning                                             

as you wake and press,                                                  

against me, I wrap                                                      

my arm beneath your arms 

across your breast and, synched,

we wallow in our warmth.                                

If routine must be ruled                                

innately vicious,

this warrants censure.

© Daniel P. Stokes

Daniel P. Stokes

Daniel P. Stokes has published poetry widely in literary magazines in Ireland, Britain, the U.S.A., Canada, and Asia, and has won several poetry prizes.  He has written three stage plays which have been professionally produced in Dublin, London, and at the Edinburgh Festival.

Follow Feed the Holy

Poems of Hope by Michael Braswell

 

Nandhu Kumar

Poems of Hope

In the End

In the end all will be forgiven

but not before . . . 

consequences judge us

for choices made,

even hidden ones

we tried to bury 

where no one would find them.

Not before the first will be last

and the high brought low.

The proud and unfeeling will fall hardest

into deep hole of desolation.

Far away from who they imagined 

themselves to be.

Far away from where they belong even if they 

don’t know it.

Hearts will be broken before they 

become open

to new way of seeing and feeling . . . and being.

The least of those they didn’t see,

the ones unworthy of their affection,

will greet them at heaven’s door

when they are ready to enter,

their second-chance hearts made tender

by brokenness and regret,

hungry for taste of forgiveness

and sweet joy that follows.

Silence

Silent night. Holy night.

A time to speak, a time to listen. So listen.

Listen with my heart, with all that I am.

Listen until the still, small voice comes to me.

And speaks to the deepest part of myself.

Previously published in The Memory of Grace

© Michael Braswell

Michael Braswell

Michael Braswell has published books on ethics, justice issues, and the spiritual journey, as well as four short story collections. His poems and stories have appeared in several publications, including Foreshadow, Mobius, and Literary Heist. His most recent books are When Jesus Came to the Cracker Barrel (2024) and Gracious Plenty (2025).

Follow Feed the Holy

Loss at Fourteen by Sterling Warner

Image / Antoni Shkraba Studio

Loss at Fourteen

I’d 

fall like 

clockwork 

twenty-four/seven 

yet one slip 

would change

me

My sense of smell diminished then

disappeared after

a compound

fractured

skull

A

foxy

nurse begat

unexplored passion

emptying

my bed

pans

Through

sight, sound,

taste, touch, I

absorbed the essence

of her female pheromones

Fed

pipe dreams,

my fledgling

flirting inspired 

no response 

beyond

grins

© Sterling Warner

Sterling Warner

Washington-based author, poet, and educator, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such magazines, journals, and anthologies as Verse-Virtual, Ekphrastic Review. Warner’s poetry/fiction includes Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci, Abraxas: Poems, Gunilla’s Garden: Poems (2025), and Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories.  He currently writes, hosts “virtual” poetry/fiction readings, and enjoys fishing along the Hood Canal.

Follow Feed the Holy