Perfection, Perfection

Kilian McDonnell

(“I will walk the way of perfection.” Psalm 101:2)

I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.

As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you

It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green

Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its

Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks
it can’t be won, concedes the

I’ve handed in my notice,
given back my keys,
signed my severance check, I

Hints I could have taken:
Even the perfect chiseled form of
Michelangelo’s radiant David

the Venus de Milo
has no arms,
the Liberty Bell is

Food is not merely something we eat

Marc David

Food is not merely something we eat. It is a ceaseless

reminder that we are mortal, earthbound hungry and in need.

We are bound by a biological imperative that forever keeps us

returning to the soil, plants, animals, and running waters for

replenishment. Eating is life. Each time we eat, the soul

continues its earthly journey. With every morsel of food

swallowed a voice says, “I choose life. I choose to eat, for a I

yearn for something more."

What We Need

David Budbill

The Emperor,

his bullies

and henchmen,

terrorize the world

every day

which is why

every day

we need

a little poem

of kindness,

a small song

of peace,

a brief moment

of joy.

Power and Capitalism

Stokely Carmichael

If a white man wants to lynch me, that's his problem. If he's got the power to lynch me, that's my problem. Racism is not a question of attitude; it's a question of power. Racism gets its power from capitalism. Thus, if you're anti-racist, whether you know it or not, you must be anti-capitalist. The power for racism, the power for sexism, comes from capitalism, not an attitude.

The Common Good

Kathleen McTigue

We breathe the common wind of the earth
no matter where we live, who we love,
what language we speak.

We drink the common water of the earth
no matter what our color, how long we live,
the coverings we drape on our forms.

We travel the common paths of the earth
no matter our beliefs, how far we move from home,
the gold that we carry, or its lack.

May we live from these truths: our hearts
open to the holiness all around us,
and our hands turned always toward the common good.

God Says Yes To Me

Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic

and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes


Connie Wanek

Luxury itself, thick as a Persian carpet,
honey fills the jar
with the concentrated sweetness
of countless thefts,
the blossoms bereft, the hive destitute.

Though my debts are heavy
honey would pay them all.
Honey heals, honey mends.
A spoon takes more than it can hold
without reproach. A knife plunges deep,
but does no injury.

Honey moves with intense deliberation.
Between one drop and the next
forty lean years pass in a distant desert.
What one generation labored for
another receives,
and yet another gives thanks.

Earth Day

Jane Yolen
I am the Earth
And the Earth is me.
Each blade of grass,
Each honey tree,
Each bit of mud,
And stick and stone
Is blood and muscle,
Skin and bone.
And just as I
Need every bit
Of me to make
My body fit,
So Earth needs
Grass and stone and tree
And things that grow here
That’s why we
Celebrate this day.
That’s why across
The world we say:
As long as life,
As dear, as free,
I am the Earth
And the Earth is me.

Sonnets to Orpheus II, 1

Rainer Maria Rilke

Breath, you invisible poem!
Pure, continuous exchange
with all that is, flow and counter-flow
where rhythmically I come to be.

Each time a single wave occurs
in a sea I discover I am.
You, innermost of oceans,
you, infinitude of space.

How many far places were once
within me. Some winds
are like my own child.

When I breathe them now, do they know me again?
Air, you silken surround,
completion and seed of my words.

The Soul of the House is the Fire

Guttormur J. Guttormsson (Translated by Sigurdur Wopnford)

The soul of the house is the fire
and the flame on the wick of the lamp.
With any abuse of this treasure
the home becomes dark and damp.
The windows are blackened and grimy
and shadows descend on the room.
Outside, the moon is shining;
inside, there is darkness and gloom.

If away from the flame and the fire
the soul of the house goes astray,
Not be stopped nor extinguished,
it soon will be burning away.
The fire and the home then merge,
becoming a single soul.
Blindly to burn to ashes
and dying, completes its role.

The soul of the house is the fire
and the flame of the lamp in its place.
It sinks to the earth with a shudder
and finally fades into space.
Is the soul then immortal in nature,
revealed to be honest and true?
There is always a fire that is burning
that dies and is kindled anew.


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Acknowledgments is made possible in part by generous support from the Fahs Collaborative