Wiseblood Books

Sampagita

Cristina A. Montes

Delicate blossoms
fallen
dead,
littered
at the foot of the trellis.
Still in full bloom,
fresh,
unwithered.
The weight of raindrops
was too much for them.

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

Meditation

Mikaela D’Eigh

I lost myself
Inside the green;
My gaze it wandered far.
Each leaf and blade
And slender stem
Entwined around my heart. [Read more...]

Republished by Blog Post Promoter

Storytelling, Kill Bill, and the Kingdom of God

Matthew Lickona

Can I tell you something? I get tired of talking about Flannery O’Connor. I get tired of talking about Walker Percy, J.F. Powers and even Evelyn Waugh. I get tired of talking about that remarkable mid-century stretch when books with explicitly religious (sometimes explicitly Catholic) characters and themes were garnering national attention. Take an easy barometer: The National Book Award. Powers—nominated in ’57, won in ’63 for Morte D’Urban. (Edwin O’Connor won the Pulitzer the year before for another book about priestly life, The Edge of Sadness.) Percy—won in ’62 for The Moviegoer, nominated again in ‘73. O’Connor—nominated in ’56, won in ’72 for The Complete Stories. After that? Not so much. [Read more...]

SS. Peter and Paul 2006

Feature

Matthew Lickona

Fiction

Bernardo Aparicio Garcia, Beneath the Ashes

Mark de Cristo, House of Cypress

Neil Silva, Parousia

Stephanie Manuzak, Tacky

Poetry

Megan McQuaig, Crux

J.B. Toner, Four Sonnets

Mikaela D’Eigh, Meditation

John Rieping, Nothing Song

Cristina A. Montes, Sampagita

John Rieping, Transflagration

Tommy Dome, Two Haiku

Brandon Zimmerman, Waiting

Essays

Tonita M. Helton, Forgiveness Through the Eyes of the Soul

Kent Lasnoski, Measure for Measure: Shakespeare’s Parable

Bo Helmich, A Visit to the Tate
Art and Photography
Matthew Alderman, Our Lady, Queen of the English Martyrs – Architectural Designs

Patrick Anderson, Photographs

Bernardo Aparicio Garcia, A Dandelion

Alaide Mata, Paintings

Beneath the Ashes

Bernardo Aparicio Garcia

He opened his eyes onto a massive wrought-iron chandelier hanging directly overhead. He was lying face-up on a thick leather sofa. Apparently, he had been sleeping.

The rest of this story is available only in the print edition of Dappled Things.

Two Haiku

Tommy Dome

Disciple

Follow by footsteps,
or dare to be led by hand—
the nail keeps the grasp

Hard Wood

wood-lover by trade,
acquainted with the matter
that hung his son high

Transflagration

John Rieping

What sustains candles as they melt away?
How do they feel as their being is spent?
The trimming of wicks and snuffing of flames
only prolong the doom of each servant. [Read more...]

Nothing Song

John Rieping

Today’s the day that nothing happened.
A clouded haze is all that’s safe

I’m not sure
but my mind does know
what can be endured
and what must be erased. [Read more...]

What Thomas Saw

J.B. Toner

for J.R.R. Tolkien

Dark seas by night, a howling, weeping sky,
A morning’s mists upon the far dim strand;
Then faces, smiling faces, welcome hands,
Great saints and heroes of the world gone by,
Old friends, lost loves, all people dear and fair,
Then Mary—Mary, mother of us all—
Then nail-marked hands and lips once stained with gall,
Now smiling, smiling, up the crystal stair,
The Dove, the Dove, alight with joy and flame—
Then Him, Whose tears will wash away all wrong,
Whose word cries out to each of us by name,
Whose laughter makes us pure and wise and strong
To enter halls where sorrow never came,
And life itself—and life itself—is song.

Sun-Staring

J.B. Toner

Too long on shades and darksome crouching things
 My gaze has dimly dwelt, concupiscent;
 Away from day clear-eyed my eyes have bent,
Towards twilit secrets' languid beckonings—
And now a shining anguish dayshine brings:
 And ever deeper into darkness sent,
 My toadstool heart is by my lustings pent
In spider-courts of pale and shadowed kings.
 But though I lack the grace to ask for grace,
 And wince to rise, and flinch to seek a hand—
   The Good, the True, the Beautiful, the One,
 At just one murmur's breath would show His Face,
 At one bare moment's prayer would help me stand,
   And lift my chin to stare into the sun.
www.bringuptospeed.com