from “The Power of Belief,” Fires of Heaven, by James B. Nicola

You know beliefs are “myths more true than fact,”

but some believe that what they believe’s exactly
true, and even murder is no sin
but their responsibility when in 
the presence of the devil, which is you,
no matter that you know it isn't true.

In any time zone, any latitude
where people have endured, the attitude 
endures. The ecumenical is not
welcomed, nor an elucidating thought
allowed. In my experience the danger
is most acute wherever you're the stranger.

—James B. Nicola, from “The Power of Belief,” Fires of Heaven

from The Rhythm of It, by Anita Sullivan

Poets have always walked the world with their ears extended like antennae, sifting the air for poetic snippets. They know the basic rhythms by heart, but need a constant supply of new images and ideas to pour into these rhythm patterns. . . . The only catch is that poems have a mind of their own. Each time we try to marry a rhythm pattern to a set of words that seems to fit, the pattern is either smitten or not by the supplicants. If not, we can’t look to meter or rhyme to bail us out; we have to put on our boots and go back out onto the land, like a bridegroom becoming worthy of his ideal bride.

—Anita Sullivan, The Rhythm of It

from Wind on the Heath: New and Selected Poems, by Naomi Beth Wakan

Ambition

To reach an age when things
fall away unneeded,
as spent petals on a flower,
as Fall leaves from the tree,
as skins of summer snakes.
When Socrates passed the market stalls
he noted, “What a lot
of things I don’t need.”
Ah! that’s what I mean.

—Naomi Beth Wakan, Wind on the Heath: New and Selected Poems

from Driving through Paintings, by Leslie Klein

I believe in magic.

I see it everywhere—


—Leslie Klein, "Magic," Driving through Paintings

from The Rhythm of It, by Anita Sullivan

Words are ever only a vague approximation of what the whole self is actually going through at any given time. Poetry is a use of words that permits especially large gaps between words and meaning.

—Anita Sullivan, The Rhythm of It

from Relationship Determines Decision, by Peter Hoheisel

earth is a fragile gift,
a speck of time
in our span of existence
each day an opportunity
to unlearn
the ego bite of apple
which banishes us from Eden.

—Peter Hoheisel, “The Mennonite Lady of Pelkie,” Relationship Determines Decision

from The Rhythm of It, by Anita Sullivan

Poets have always walked the world with their ears extended like antennae, sifting the air for poetic snippets. They know the basic rhythms by heart, but need a constant supply of new images and ideas to pour into these rhythm patterns.

—Anita Sullivan, The Rhythm of It

from Memorizing Shadows, by Heidi Elizabeth Blankenship

You must learn
to be
where your heart is,
wherever your feet take you,
always
here
in the present.

—Heidi Elizabeth Blankenship, Memorizing Shadows

from The Rhythm of It—Poetry's Hidden Dance, by Anita Sullivan

Poetry rhythms ooze out of the ground as they have for as long as we can imagine, and the job of a poet is to regularly gather them up and match them with words.

— Anita Sullivan, The Rhythm of It—Poetry's Hidden Dance