By: Jack Kamm “If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.” – Maya Angelou A friend of mine, a newly enlightened Buddhist, informed me that nobody is special…that in mind and…
By: Craig Kirchner Pointe Standing in attitude modeon the head of a pin,time speeds up as it stills,seconds pass like decades,handshakes become relationships,a blade of grass, a lawn,the lawn framing the reflecting pool,at the Taj Mahal. Balanced between breaths,a wink…
By: Richard LeDue The poem I never wrote would have been detailed(margins overcrowded as homeless shelters,words lined up like they’re waitingto cash cheques in a digital age),but it’s okay because at least in the backseatthere’s a grocery store bouquet of…
By: James Aitchison On 21 September 1914, a seven-stanza poem appeared in The Times of London. The First World War had begun in July that year as a glorious Boys’ Own adventure, a chance for every young lad to see the…
By: James Aitchison Accept your path andsee the way.Examine your inner self,abandoning fears and barriers.Retain your objectivity,remain dispassionate.Help others withoutbecoming involved in their lives.See them as you would a painting,examine the composition,their emotional colours,and move on.Acceptance is trust.When you trust,there…
By: T.F. Jennings Infinite Blue I don’t understand any of it.The moon, the ocean, this spinning rock. You name it. We sit overlooking the coastline high up on a knollthat was made seemingly just for us. The sun hangs in…
By: Dominic Moore prop closet Pick a book off the shelfand check if it still bangs.Rattle a story to seeif it still has life in itand turn the pageif it still has light.The heart of an actorexists only in what…
By: Josephine Forch Morose those creatures of dancers’ corpses are,the swans whose ambiguity dissolves in parts of sand.Whose plain pale feathers under the moonlight shine,and ribcages unravel human,puppets on a stage bearing skirts and faces unkind,Whose eyes solidify to melancholic…
By: Daniel Colbert In the beginning, word went round:“There’s something stirring up from the ground.”The angels made a happy sound.It was good. There’s a tree with fruit that opens your eyes;Suddenly, now, there’s truth and lies.It’s gonna be some kind…
The essay that follows reflects my understanding of these extraordinary stories through the lens of a literary reading, i.e., setting down the baggage that comes from reading the texts as sacred and instead engaging with them as literature, as suggested by the literary critic Harold Bloom in his “The Book of J.”