Some of My Favorite Friends

When I was a child, some of my favorite
friends were trees. I was the boy high
in the cherry tree gorging on fruit while
his mother shouted orders for a speedy

descent to terra firma. I was the lad who
hid on the sky’s side of a huge maple
branch and watched as young lovers did
the nasty behind the little knoll in the town

park. I knew where every good apple tree
grew and the best hour to ride my bike
down a certain street or alley to pluck
a gravensteen here, a transparent there,

a cluster of Chinese crab apples so sweet
they tasted like honey. Adolescent pine
trees with their branches so near the earth
were among my favorites as well. What

is there about being as high in a tree as
one can get, relaxing into it until the tree
forgets you’re there and resumes its natural
swaying in the wind? An Indian kid I knew

introduced me to an old elm tree growing
in the gully. The moss on its north side
was inhabited by thousands of tiny ferns
whose small white roots tasted like licorice.

Today my favorite tree is a Chinese elm
on our farm. It was a volunteer. I might
have cut it down with the sit-down mower
as I did with so many others over the years.

But this sprout spoke to me somehow. Today
it is at least sixty feet tall. I take a lawn chair
out there, sit a ways off and wait. Before
long the two of us are deep in conversation.

by Christopher Thomas

Not Always Happy

Things seen and unseen, looking through
a glass darkly and reaching the sixth heaven
know all about the strange distances between
being good and being happy. Who among us

hasn’t learned that sometimes a severe madness
is a kind of wisdom and no matter what anyone
says we are or should be, not all that makes us
human turns out to be good for us. Sometimes

our emotions are street fighters, thugs and bullies.
I’ll tell you this - if people could be arrested for
their thoughts, I’d be the first sent to the bench.
I like to think I’m naturally good and therefore

happy all the time. It’s not true. If I were forced
to choose between staying home to pray with the
brethren instead of vacationing on some lusty
South Pacific island with absolute strangers, I’m

afraid the gates of heaven wouldn’t hear a peep,
hymn or a halleluiah out of me. I don’t know if
I’m a sinner or not or even if I believe in sin.
What I do know is that I often prove to be broken

in all the worst and sometimes hidden places and
have tendencies that make me want to eat and do
things I know damn well aren’t good for me, even
though they will make me unconditionally happy.

by Christopher Thomas

Not a Vacation

This is being
away from home
whether you want
to be or not,

being in the air
with nothing
between you and
a 20,000 foot drop

to death except
some aluminum
and a little wind.
This is sleeping

in strange beds,
lugging the ball
and chain of jet lag
through every meal

and conversation.
This is fast food
at the ferry dock,
picnics with children

you do not know,
and the sheer
strangeness of being
alone on the patio

while relatives you
no longer know talk
about the good old
days when you were

a lad of eighteen
and didn’t have a pot
to piss in or a window
to throw it out of.

Christopher Thomas has been publishing poems in for many years. His work has appeared in Amelia, Bay Windows, Chiron Review, Duckabush Review, Evergreen Chronicles, The James White Review, New York Native, Paramour Magazine, and others. Some of my work has been anthologized.
Lone Willow Press will publish his collection, The Smell of Carnal Knowledge, sometime in late 2009.
Creighton University maintains a web site on Nebraska writers. You can find additional data concerning my writing career, bibliography, photo, etc., if you’re interested. It can be accessed at http://Mockingbird.creighton.eduNCW/Thomas.htm

Land of the Pilgrims' pride;
I'm glad they'll never see.

Babies piled in dumpsters,
Abortion on demand,
Oh, sweet land of liberty;
your house is on the sand.

Our children wander aimlessly
poisoned by cocaine
choosing to indulge their lusts,
when God has said abstain

From sea to shining sea,
our Nation turns away
From the teaching of God's love
and a need to always pray

We've kept God in our
temples, how callous we have grown.
When earth is but His footstool,
and Heaven is His throne.

We've voted in a government
that's rotting at the core,
Appointing Godless Judges;
who throw reason out the door,


Too soft to place a killer
in a well deserved tomb,
But brave enough to kill a baby
before he leaves the womb.

You think that God's not
angry that our land's a moral slum?
How much longer will He wait
before His judgment comes?

How are we to face our God,
from Whom we cannot hide?
What then is left for us to do,
but stem this evil tide?

If we who are His children,
will humbly turn and pray;
Seek His holy face
and mend our evil way:

Then God will hear from Heaven;
and forgive us of our sins,
He'll heal our sickly land
and those who live within.

But, America the Beautiful,
If you don't - then you will see,
A sad but Holy God
withdraw His hand from Thee..

Judge Roy Moore via Jeff Callarman

DANCE YOUR LIFE AWAY

In this duplicitous world,
Two-faced Devils foxtrot
To the beat
Of your favorite
Tune.

by Jaime Ferreyros

Art Feels Pain

Art feels pain
Statues Cry
Tears of stone
Even in the rain
Granite hearts beat Heavy
Limestone egos can easily break
Beneath layers of Sandstone
Dolomite made a fatal mistake
He asked to be a sculpture
Not like his cousin Shale
And now he aches with hurt
From the lifting of the veil

Joseph DeMarco was born in New York City; he lived most of his life in Buffalo, NY. He now teaches seventh grade on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. He is the author of the novels Plague of the Invigilare, The 4 Hundred and 20 Assassins of Emir Abdullah-Harazins, At Play in the Killing Fields, and Blind Savior, False Prophet. He is currently working on several new projects.

Coffee Break

Unannounced
Tranquility rattles
Serenity speeds
Calm becomes chaos
Money is chief
Sin is in
Control is out of control,
Hope Faith comes back home soon.

by Jaime Ferreyros

After the Onslaught

See the onslaught of hearts

of souls
people

not bruising
but dying

bleeding into the dry earth

falling like yesterday’s rain
and the day before that

but not tomorrow…
witches told the people
they would come
but they died and are gone

the myths are gone
but God Almighty remains

why do you sacrifice
yourselves for that?

you will surely die
soon enough

from sin...
from death...
from war...

God is ready
are you?

by Ron N. Cervero

WWJD

As you walk thru life
Your friend suddenly
Stabs you
Someone else
Punches you
Your girlfriend/wife
Is unfaithful
You’re robbed
Bad mouthed
Harassed
Envied
Yelled
Cursed
Undeservedly fired
Threatened
Deceived
Ridiculed
Tortured
Your brother
Steals from you
And as it gets worse
And your reaction
Could become
A chain reaction
Best stop and think…
…What would Jesus do?

by Jaime Ferreyros

Ssofia

Stuck painfully to my side a film projects

My skeletons dancing in Sofias bridal fantasy. Stairwells bring down,

A polite remark awaits with trembles tempting thin satin,

Expecting the least from what is to become.

Whos guests- molding together a somber prediction-

Place moist palms onto a book that defines

A muttering God? This verbal disturbance shreds blank, longing notes

Confessing murder and marvel. Red velvet contradicts the canvass

To lay out an empty cemetery. Graves honoring

My selected victims of force that tie glee down.

Complaints from blisters winning authority only caress

A patient registered with alert in police mind states.

Domestic disturbance fails to awaken the obvious.

Red hair pulled from the scalp of a slouched, bitter

Angel. Starving on a beach in the middle of an

Imagery forest.


by Brian Hardie

4

I pray
Thank the Lord
Daily
4 Everything he
Provides.
I pray
4 the unwell
Deprived
Dispossessed
Lost souls
I pray 4
Families in anguish
I pray 4
A better world
I pray 4 my family
I pray to become
A better person,
I pray 4 you.

by Jaime Ferreyros

I Try

And I try
Not to look for
For you picture.
And I try
Not to envision
Your face
And I sigh
Swiftly falling
From grace
Exorcise my mind
To space
Preventing my eyes
To sin
Averting my soul
Within
And I try…
…Introduce,
Forbidden Love
To the wind.

by Jaime Ferreyros

Defender of words

We stand in defense
of our blessed words

Defiant of change

Rigid

Blowing hot smoke
up our own

like ass over tea kettle

No exits – no confrontation

A cheerleading
squad between our ears

You’re the best baby!
Rah, Rah…

by Ron N. Cervero

Blood for Cash

Money for salvation
twisted doctrine

creature comfy
material sanctuary

send me your
money child

guilt me…

I give
you take

send the food off
your babies plate

live the ABUBDANT life
you’re the King’s kid

don’t forget it!

When Jesus had no place
to lay His head

homeless Savior…

by Ron N. Cervero
www.lostbeatpoetry.com

Sin Rules

You divorce
Date other people
Live or have
Sex with them
Sometimes out of love
Sometimes because you’re lonely.
The example is set
Under similar circumstances
Your children probably
Will act the same way
Now you don’t have
Moral authority to
Stop
Or judge them…
…good luck.

by Jaime Ferreyros

Shallow

You should be an interior
decorator in an insane asylum

Your colors don't match
Your words don't match

I watch your mouth move
but it drones vanilla...

by Ron N. Cervero

One Way Street

Countless ways
In route to wrong
Still more
On road toward sin
One way
Ahead of lost
Trail track
To
Christ within.

by Jaime Ferreyros

Sky Blue

Framed in ancient oak
the small boy at five,
lies in tall grass of a hunter’s field

chirping raven's surround him
the calm song of nature’s creek
moves rapidly over smooth stones

in the blue depths of the sky
his mind sees Eternity

how can it be?
the sky has no beginning?
no end?

built in flesh…

overseen by a silent God
in a silent field

trapped in a silent self.

by Ron N. Cervero (from Blood & Glory)

THE FULL SUMMER MOON

Sprawled on the silken blue velvet night sky

Cool pale lactating the moon

Gazes through cypress trees’ shadowy blinds

Lidless eye prowling above me.



Maybe Endymion saw the same shape

Hovering outside the cave

Mouth where he lay in the senna and aster

Naked to breezes massaging his



Damp skin and muscles exhausted from labor.

Hypnotized by the curved white

Melody silent in second-hand pomp

Dripping in dew on the leaves,



Cradled he lay in the white blanket sleeping

Numb to the kisses that spun

Dreamless web fantasies summer night endless

Falling about him in moonshine.



‘The Laurel,’ ‘The Dream of the Light Book,’ ‘The Flower of Corruption,’ ‘Gypsy Rain’ and finally ‘The Full Summer Moon.’ all excellently written by Santiago del Dardano Turann

GYPSY RAIN

It was past midnight when the rain,

For so long absent from the city,

Revisited my window pane

And tap danced like a gypsy



Announcing that their caravan

Of covered clouds had crossed the stars

And winds cried out as they began

To set up misty wet bazaars.



I watched the belly dancing shimmer

That writhed upon the glass and caught

Stray ambient light’s sedated vigor

The coin tossed out with which I bought



A peek at streams dressed in the cloth

Of night air’s mercury that blows

In pearly black wave wings of moths

Which all about sleep’s candle flows.