The National Catholic Review

Poem

  • March 30, 2015
    O Holy Spirit
    we did not know
    how strong you are
    in our dull age
    until we saw your colors
    apple reds, transparent greens,
    blue of truth,
    laid...
  • March 16, 2015
    “What men truly want is peace,”
    Says the last one true prophet.
    Peace feels so like submission
    Good prophets can fool most men.
    For the rest, there’s the hammer,
    Followed by a gentle tongue
    ...
  • March 9, 2015
    For him the truth is a flavor,
    a pulse made of nutriment,
    a living mountain of breath.
    Even pinched between
    the fingers and released, he springs
    to perfect absence, beyond punishment,
    a...
  • March 2, 2015
    You must sit down and taste. —George Herbert
     
    That morning, Gilmore and Mary Frances
    sacrificed a lamb for us.
     
    Gilmore said,
    With a cool hand,
    ...
  • February 23, 2015
    Rooster, rooster,
    golden coxcomb
    wait not for the sun to rise.
    Crow for Peter
    through the darkness,
    pity him who thrice denied.
     
    Rooster,...
  • February 9, 2015
    I’d been thinking of the veins
    On the back of the hand:
     
    A photo I’d seen of a woman
    Clutching her baby in Darfur;
    An old man, eyes closed,
    Palming his forehead on the metro;
    ...
  • January 5-12, 2015
    I never saw the root of the real
    In arboreal flare,
    Nor witnessed this man walk on water,
    Nor that one float in air.
     
    I sat beneath the bodhi tree;
    I felt my body itch.
    ...
  • December 1, 2014

    Hour of approach, hour of silence.

    The brother sets down his axe in the woods.

    The sister sets down her glasses on the table

    and waits in the moment before prayer

    that throbs from the tolling of the bell.

    Shadows swallow shadows in the frigid air.

    ...
  • November 24, 2014

    There is no poem like a gravestone,

    that tersely worded, lapidary tercet,

    the name, the numbers, and the R.I.P.

    that are the skeleton key to all biography.

    Some lie embedded, trapdoors in the grass,

    while others rear their monumental

    ...
  • November 17, 2014
    A large cream colored mantis
    captured me today
    by a wisp of my hair
    near the nape of my neck.
     
    I flitted it like a leaf
    that fell from the aspen tree
    ...