Weathering the Storm Within by Carol Anne Johnson

 

Ray Bilcliff

Weathering the Storm Within

A Drabble on Overwhelming Emotions

The world presses in, a tide of feeling threatening to sweep me away. I pause, letting a single breath anchor me to the present. Emotions churn—loud, unruly, impossible to ignore. I picture them as a storm, fierce but passing. With trembling hands, I name each feeling as it arrives: fear, sadness, hope. The act softens their edges. I remind myself that this moment is not forever. The storm will quiet. I will find my footing again. For now, I welcome the rain, trusting that when the clouds part, I’ll stand taller, rooted in the calm that follows every tempest.

© Carol Anne Johnson

Carol Anne Johnson is in her mid-40s. She is blind and was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and complex PTSD. She is also a survivor of child abuse. She enjoys writing poetry and reading, walking, and volunteering. You can follow her on her blog, http://therapybits.com/.

Follow Feed the Holy

Little Red Wagon by Judith Burton, Ph.D.

 

Zen Chung

Little Red Wagon

Outside my office window

a small red wagon

once filled with colorful lush rose moss

a few tall plants adding height to the display

and flowering vines tumbling over the edge

to puddle on the ground.

The little red wagon rests at the foot 

of a flowering dogwood,

a picturesque little space I created some time ago.

Today, in August heat, 

weeds with bright green leaves

fill the wagon,

tall and rather ragged.

Little saplings from the base

of the dogwood sway in the hot breeze.

Unable to tend myself to bring

it back to its original scene.

No money for a gardener’s hand.

I’ve learned to accept joy

where I find it.

God and nature are still 

busy at work.

Green leaves.  Growth. Still alive.

© Judith Burton, Ph.D.

Dr. Judith Burton

Photography by Gretchen Nelson

Judith Burton, Ph.D., a woman of faith, is passionate about helping others stretch and grow.  Writing from her heart, she is working her way through illness and isolation, quarantined since March 16, 2020. She has published a series of children’s books starring Two Little Ponies, which aim to encourage kindness and combat bullying. They are available on Amazon.

Follow Feed the Holy

Stories Sung by Loralee Clark

 

Simon Berger

Stories Sung

each all

hallowed

honey    bumble   sweat 

buzz   harvest   imparts

pollinates   flys

with others       with themselves       with humanity      with time

to braid to lead to impart to incubate

the dance progeny biodiversity swarms

protect provide

ecosystems colonies 

futures

holy

© Loralee Clark

Loralee Clark

Loralee Clark resides in Virginia; her website is sites.google.com/view/loraleeclark.  She has a book, Solemnity Rites, forthcoming this year from Prolific Pulse Press LLC. She has been published most recently in Periwinkle Pelican, White Stag Journal, Chewers by Masticadores, Nude Bruce Review, Lucky Leaves, Everscribe, The Rockford Review, and Soul Poetry, Prose and Art Magazine.

Follow Feed the Holy

Untitled in Blue #1 to W by Gabriella Garofalo

Mario Amé

Untitled in Blue #1 to W

Have you got time for a deep blue sky?

No, you are just waiting for light 

To rise among the branches while your days 

Fade in a shrinking desire, white with hunger 

And bodies, limbs call for a halt-

But why do you throw them away?

A big deal, as they went lost, left no trace, 

The first time, maybe a life with missing skies, 

When light kept stalking indigo winters 

For a hectic cold to gorge the skies, 

For life to skip dirty jobs, 

When light beholds briars, 

Then hides to scatter them, and you too hide 

In the blue soul desires,

Along with uncharted lands, ridges, or bays-

All right, no choice for you if she rejects new trysts, 

That bloody lair that won’t beget you, 

Just confident, cheerful, free people 

So very at ease in parks, pubs, their skin,

Then falling down, their dainty little demise 

So eager for a cup of coffee, and chit-chat, 

While watching abducted flowers close by,

Prisoners in a cage of spiky ribbons and plastic wrap-

Enough with ramblings, or waffle now,

Stop wasting time with those weird rhythm of days, 

She’s running away a bit upset,

And you, loss, stop shaking, get rid 

Of grass, branches, prophets’ fire, ask yourself

If it's fair game for the soul to be swathed in blue, 

Ask yourself if mothers are thirst or Lethes

When long white manes stalk and push her down- 

Look, Father, let’s face it, even the moon now

Swears she’ll never lie.

© Gabriella Garofalo

Gabriella Garofalo

Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six, and is the author of these books: Lo sguardo di Orfeo, L’inverno di vetro, Di altre stelle polari, Casa di erba, Blue Branches, Blue Soul, and After The Blue Rush.

Follow Feed the Holy

Songs of Morning by Nick Allison

Pixabay

Songs of Morning

When I awoke today,

I looked to the east

and there was the sun,

punctual as ever.

I opened the back door,

pleased to hear the birds

singing their songs of morning

into the cool, quiet air.

Breathing in, I feel my lungs

expand, contract. 

Steady,

the beat of my heart,

a small promise of existence.

The world goes on as it does,

unburdened by the weight of our fears,

chirps the chickadee

from her perch in the cedar elm,

high above it all.

© Nick Allison 

Nick Allison

Nick Allison is a writer based in Austin, Texas. His poems and essays have appeared in HuffPost, The Shore, CounterPunch, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The Chaos Section, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere, as well as on his personal site, The Truth About Tigers. He recently edited the anthology Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age (TCS Press, 2025). Social: @nickallison80.bsky.social

Follow Feed the Holy

In Spate by Ajanta Paul

Sachin C Nair

In Spate

Her eyes were

a couple of rivers

in spate, tears

flooding their banks,

carrying their light

beneath the dimness 

of unwanted water

as it rolled across 

the  brown earth 

of her face.

Somewhere in the depths

of that deluge a weight 

shifted in her heart, 

that distant source 

in mountain springs which

caused the upsurge.

She realized she was not alone 

and that a whole sisterhood

was sharing her grief 

in planetary pain.

© Ajanta Paul

Ajanta Paul, Ph.D.

 Ajanta Paul, Ph.D., is a widely published poet, short story writer, and literary critic who was a former Principal of Women's Christian College, Kolkata. A Pushcart nominee, Ajanta has been published in journals including Capella Biannual Journal, Offcourse, The Statesman, The Wild Word, Atticus Review, and Spadina Literary Review. 

Follow Feed the Holy.

HAPPY AS A MUDLARK by Vern Fein

 

Kiril Gruev

HAPPY AS A MUDLARK

I've said it. You've said it.

What does it mean?

Just a bird being happy?

Aren't all birds happy?

Mudlarks, robins, bluebirds.

In 18th-century England, though, 

the unhappy poor struggled, 

doomed to a life of poverty, 

desperate for the family to eat daily.

They scoured the shores

of the murky Thames River.

It was their bank, grocery store.

Combed the beaches 

for every item that might

bring a coin or two, 

lumps of coal, scraps of metal,

pieces of cargo lost in wrecks.

Anything salvaged, fair game. 

A pitiable scene, women and girls

mostly, dirty aprons filled

with smut and bother,

hoped to sell anything.

But the local reports saw

who they called mudlarks 

differently, happy and smiling 

and grateful as they 

gathered their daily wares, 

rain or shine, mud or sand. 

In Chekov's play, 

The Cherry Orchard,

a serf named Anfisa

has a small scene.

She kneels in her tiny room,

beside her straw bed,

and thanks to God 

for what she has,

while her masters pule

as their estate is sold.

Anfisa was a mudlark.

How easy should it be

for us, in our privilege,

to be mudlark happy too? 

© Vern Fein

Vern Fein

A recent octogenarian, Vern Fein, has published over 300 poems and short prose pieces on more than 100 websites. A few are Gyroscope Review, Young Raven’s Review, Bindweed, *82 Review, River And South, Grey Sparrow Journal, and One Art.  His second poetry book—REFLECTION ON DOTS—was released late last year. 

Follow Feed the Holy