He Gives Me Religion

Poetry

By Kaitlin Schmidt

Heart dances like a shaker

Love as clean as a Quaker

When he returns to me, the 2nd coming.

Frozen in place like the meditating Buddhist

Several stiff kisses from the lips of Judas

The whole farce droned over by Gregorian humming.

The Lutheran in you nails up my 95 flaws
The Pagan in me boils feathers and claws
And like the Vatican we try to keep it all under the fleece.

I check my Mayan calendar for end

Forgive me sir, for I knowingly sinned

and like a Mennonite, I never stop praying for peace.

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Someday

Music

By Miriam Weaverdyck and Nicky Smith

bbgun2

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A Clover and a Bee

Photography

By Sara Holman-Boman

(Visit a clover and a bee and Sara’s Sunflower Studios for more)

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Black River

Poetry

By Marike Stucky

In the beginning, little ones,
 Sky Woman dreamt of white blossoms plucked by darkness.
 She was ripe with child and
 was terrified.

The Tree of Life ripped from the threshold
 between water and sky,
 a cavernous void.

She fell.

Delicate fingers clutched at earth, at seedlings
 She tumbled into the abyss, hair streaming behind; black river.

 Creatures of flight
 cradled the poor girl in their great wings
 laid her gently upon the shell of Grandmother Turtle
 black river kissing the mosaic clean.

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Junctures

Poetry

By Jordan Esely-Kohlman

In seconds after
exchanging names in a fashion
so pleasant as to
ease my troubled soul,
airs that once clung heavy to lovers
loosened &
crumbled
asunder into
a new bed from whence new truths might bloom.

I hunger for these parcels of your essence.

Feast on
flesh &
drink in
moments unspoken
when I was sure I was you
simply wrapped in a different way, or
perhaps we were jigsaw pieces
kept snug by junctures of
the most supple nothings.

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I Kissed a Squirrel

Videos

By Audra Miller

(Bubbert’s Awards 2013 Entry)

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Road Watcher

Poetry

By Megan Siebert

She rose early from a sleepless sleep

The high TUH-duh TUH-duh of the road grooves keeps her risen

Perpendicular, the waterless creeks of eastern Colorado

Parallel, the broken deer with the country road highways

Disappearing color of the landscape made more so by continents of ashen snow

Telephone lines follow like foamy limping waves.

The drowsy chins of the leading passengers pull their Ellington-filled heads down

                        Leisurely

She wants to shave the wisps of hair budding above their collars

Driver’s eyes shift mirror road mirror road

Hers revisit the colorless ocean.

 

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Two Victims

Poetry
 By Abigail Bechtel

You pass an invisible wall,

you begin to snicker and sneer

You judge me.

You make me your victim.

You cannot know where I’ve been

or what trials I have gone through

nor my joys.

And I do not know yours.

I cannot judge you back

though it would be so easy,

though I desperately want to.

You make me your victim,

but you were victims first,

although I cannot know to what.

This bonds us.

  

We are akin in this way,

victims to one another,

To prejudice, insecurity, pride

The list is infinite.

But we are victims, you and I.

This doesn’t make you easier to forgive,

nor me easier to like.

This does not cripple us,

Nor empower us.

Neither does this make us the same.

Those who say,

     “We’re all the same”

  are liars.

We are not all the same, you and I,

but we are also not all

              different.

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