A Collection of Poems
Poetry Contest Honorable Mention
Law of the Harvest
I curl myself around
warm food in my belly—
ancient, first and only comfort.
I’m supposed to be rejoicing,
sending my son into fields of white
all ready to harvest.
On sky blue sheets my heart
tumbles out of my sickled chest,
sends hope and sorrow to heaven
where the sower of all good seeds
plants my tears
for future reaping.
Poetry Contest 3rd Place Winner
Be Still
(a psalm)
Come to the temple of silence,
away from sounds of weary want,
from the grinding, the tearing of time.
Come away from shouting daylight and
find me in the stillness of your afternoon;
your ordinary afternoon.
Put down your swords, your plowshares;
take up my burden, my quiet,
easy burden. Carry it beneath your arm
with flute and mandolin.
Carry it in your heart, beside
memories of your mother and apple red
trees in summer.
Whisper my name. Then listen.
Listen, perhaps for a very, very long time,
or only for a heart beat.
And I will tell you who I am.
I will tell you who you are and show you
where we meet, in you, the holy place, in silence.
On The Eighth Day
“And they heard the voice of the Lord God
walking in the garden . . .” Genesis 3:8
You should have seen her face—
wrung with shame, a tear cradled
against one nostril.
Nothing could have prepared her
for the ache she felt in the shadow of her
father’s disappointment.
It wasn’t that she had done anything wrong,
really, or that he loved her less
on that day than the one before.
It was only this: that he had told everyone she was
his shining star, his brightest daughter.
When it happened she felt dimmed somehow.
She didn’t know she was made for this purpose,
that her desire for something more would lead her
and the rest of us into greater light.
Sometime later she would wonder at how,
unexpectedly, she found the truth
in a corner of the garden,
how she saw error clear as morning.
Then she was aglow with possibility,
certain she would not take the same turn again.
Grown up in a day, or in the very hour,
her husband didn’t recognize her
when she spoke. He heard the new voice,
listened and kissed her cheek. What else could he do
but smile and take her hand when she said,
“Well, Adam, are you coming?”
Melody Newey earns a living as a registered nurse and lives to write. She loves how heaven spills into the world through art. She is the mother of three mostly-grown children.
