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Sydney Lea

Sydney Lea, a former Pulitzer finalist, is author of the poetry collection What Shines.

Poetry

After Diagnosis:
A Summer Paean

Your remembrances are like unto ashes, your bodies to bodies of clay. (Job 13:12)...
Poetry

A Dream of Suffering

                                     . . . in such strength...
Poetry

Shabbos goy

The early palaver of nestling crows Outside my window in the white pine tree Calls back a childhood in which such ruckus Seemed prelude to possibility....
Poetry

Psalmic

I wake up to moon and stars still gleaming in the predawn sky, and think, who cares about someone else’s inscrutable dream? I’ll insist, like everybody,...
Poetry

Junior scholar

Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of          the least of these, you did for me....
Poetry

Through a window

I read a poem each Sunday Our pastor calls this Ministry of Verse I try to find a poem not just she but anyone...
Poetry

Gone to grace

Before Malcolm’s funeral got started,I stood talking with John the blacksmith, who told meHe’d been spending some pretty hard hoursWith a pair of two-year-old Friesian mares...
Poetry

Kansas

We spend our years as a tale that is told....
Poetry

The pastor

I have just one person left on earth who’s been My friend through grade school, high school, church, and sports, The pastor says. Meanwhile the winter rain...
Poetry

Transfigurations

 —Bow River, Alberta...

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Poetry

Eye on the sparrow

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Poetry

Grace

He awakens on February first, stunned again by that oddwonder: how quickly old has come. Of course if his will were done...
Poetry

Dispute with Thomas Hardy

                        The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing<...
Poetry

Seeing the Word

Isaiah saw the Word?I look up from Writ and am at first just—interested.How to see something spoken?And yet one needs to think,...
Poetry

Crutch

Politics, our children,     Some ball team—ordinaryPalaver among old friends     At a B-plus restaurant,...
Poetry

Barnet Knoll Brook

      —in a time of warHere’s what’s to be read, or part of it,in mud by the brook after last night’s storm—storm that scrawled itself on sky...

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