Journey of the Heart

  I TOOK A SHORT WALK            by  Lisa O'Neil-Guerci  I heard the music  of wind and water as I took a short walk today. Nature had graciously asked  if I wanted to join in their afternoon of play. I might have known  I'd step into their home- that they of course would become the words  of another autumnal poem.  That I'd come upon and smile to see a heart-shaped yellow leaf propped against an oak tree~ both seeming to be waiting  patiently for me. I should have guessed that sorghum and cattails  would be slow dancing  with each other... of course they would~ it was clear to see they're longtime friends  turned lovers. I then inclined my gaze upwards towards branches which held the sun tenderly in their arms. A few leaves were stained  with the first blood  of the season's russet hue it shouldn't surprise me  that the afternoon sky would be so perfectly blue~ and that the white lambs  of clouds would scatter... changing shape as the breeze coaxed them along~

EDITOR'S NOTE:  The following poem, by Sarah Carlson, was composed shortly after the deadliest shooting in Lewiston, Maine, U.S.A. on October 25, 2023 , in which 18 people were fatally shot, and 13 others were left injured. As of 2023, it was the 10th deadliest mass shooting in U.S history.  The Fog of Mourning with love to my home state of Maine  by Sarah Carlson   We know what we know. People were slain. People were injured. People experienced terror. We are hurting. We wait and wonder.   I had a sudden rush  of tangled emotions this morning after I read about the tender beings who were killed in Lewiston. I feel such empathy for them, for their families, for those who shared in their lives. And then it went deeper as the words “there one minute, gone the next”  meandered through my mind. Though it has been years, and my husband died peacefully, I can relate to a normal day  that ends with sudden,  catastrophic loss. At first I felt guilty. What right do I have to cry  about my o

  A Poem, A Prayer by Carolyn Chilton Casas    some days    my prayers dress up as poetry   as if they are not the very same thing                                       untitled poem by F.D. Soul,   between you & these bones To my ear, every single poem I write ends up sounding like a prayer. Blessing, invocation, expression of reverence, meditation. Not so much the petitioning kind. Rather, prayers of thanksgiving. Prayers for communion. Especially prayers for understanding. Poems help me acknowledge there’s so much I don’t know. How wonderful the idea of Source as muse, so that sometimes, writing, a small glimpse is given of the larger canvas.  Poet—          devotee of life,      disciple to the natural world. Other names for curious,      for seeker,          for attempting to make              the time I have here count. Carolyn Chilton Casas  is a Reiki master and teacher whose favorite themes to write about are nature, mindfulness, and ways to heal. Her articles and poems ha

  Rebirth  by Lynn White I’m ready for the birth of a new day. Ready for a pink dawn to rise and break full of possibilities, as the light takes   over from the dark and the day is born again. And I shall follow the road towards the light, and leave the dark behind, again. But I have found that the dark always follows. Catches up with me, as if it were the past. If I hurry, maybe I’ll escape it this time. Maybe I’ll catch the light and hold on to it and not let it break again.   (First published in The Phoenix Soul , Jan 2018) Lynn White  lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Journal, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review, Blue Pepper, Arachne Press and

EDITOR"S NOTE: Over a year ago, when Ayala invited me to write the Foreword for her poetry collection, titled  A Corner in the World: Holocaust Poems for My Father , I never could have imagined the horrific crisis that is unfolding in Israel and the Gaza Strip today. As such, this excerpt from the Foreword becomes especially poignant now:  Ayala's poetry speaks not only to those of Jewish ancestry, but to all others whose histories ache with ancestral genocide, war crimes, systemic racism, evil acts, etc. These bold poems are incredibly validating. They humanize victims and. . .  also set a precedent for the rest of us to start recording our own painful histories, find new ways to extract beauty from tragedy. Inevitably intimated in the pages of this book lies the following question: What do we each need to sacrifice to prevent our species from completely losing its soul?  In her anticipatory poem “It Can Happen Again,” Ayala echoes sobering words by holocaust survivor Primo