The National Catholic Review


  • October 12, 2015
    As Eddie Fisher catches fire, diamonds draw flame;
    Scotch tumbles over rims like water in wells
    Precious stones ring; like each pearl string, eight grooms hung bells.
    Bows on blue-boxed Tiffany tongues thank your name;
    Mere mortals, fans all, clamor and glamour becomes one same:
    Celebrity, fashion, lights, Oscar, and Hollywood shame;
    Self! I go my...
  • October 5, 2015

    We will live on a paved street or a rough
    Alley left between walls, almost forgotten,
    Or on the bank of a dry river bed
    With rose petals running over jagged stone,
    Or we will live, naked as bees, in a patchwork
    Forest stitched with water drawn from the sky’s groin.

  • September 28, 2015
    You can’t tell from these clouds
    why this afternoon was set on fire
    is burning through some lullaby
    you’re singing to yourself
    by gathering a few leaves, some twigs
    for the gentleness falling out your mouth
    —you dead know how it is, each hush
    must be buried on the way back
    with lips that bleed when rinsed in rainwater
    leaving a sky that no longer takes...
  • September 14, 2015
    I bring you a rose
    which you yourself created!
    Did you create the rose
    so that I could bring it,
    or me, so that I
    would find a rose
    and bring it to you?
    So, I give myself and a rose.
    Thank you for the gift
    of roses which I give back,
  • August 17-24, 2015
    I/Blaise Pascal
    “The silence of these infinite spaces frightens me:
    The dark dissolves to numbered points and emptiness.
    I’ve tried to write of it, but the imploding blank
    Swallows what...
  • August 3-10, 2015
    In this fine light the figurations
    rise and die
    like Attention and the sense
    and sensuous condition of paint
    and music God knows Degas
    knew the waltz of signs,
  • July 20-27, 2015
    “The bird lies still while the light goes on flying.”
    From “Unknown Age,” by W. S. Merwin
    Those with strapped-on wings
    for ages dreamt of flying like the birds
  • June 22-29, 2015
    For Sister Rosemary Johnson, R.S.M.
    And a river went out of the place of pleasure to water paradise.—Gn 2:10
    Adam…could not have inferred from the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffocate him….—Hume
  • June 8-15, 2015
    The editors of America are pleased to present the winner of the 2015 Foley Poetry Award, given in honor of William T. Foley, M.D.
    Water leaped here not long since.
    Then earth belched up a ridge,
    and here we cluster, crabs all, cleaving
  • June 8-15, 2015

    The original title of this year’s Foley poetry contest winner was, “After the Molt, the King of Crabs, Feeling Tender, Addresses the Folk.”  On first reading, the poem seemed messy, too strange, haphazard. The long title contributed to that impression.