This short story is a re-print from the Ancient Paths archives. It was previously published in Issue 4 (Spring 2000). Mr. Wilson by Edward Leschke Old Mister Wilson and his wife lived next door to us. He’d been there forever. Even Mom couldn’t remember anyone else there and Mom was pretty old. I started to go over to Mister Wilson when I was five and watch him in his garage. He’d make chairs, tables, cabinets, rocking horses. All kinds of stuff out of wood. He even made me a

Nicholas Samaras was born in England and has lived on the island of Patamos, in Wales, Switzerland, Austria, Yugoslavia, Jerusalem, and America. As a consequence, he describes himself as writing “from a place of permanent exile.” Nicholas writes, he says, “to rescue” and “to make things more real.” The son of a Greek Orthodox bishop and theologian, Nicholas was awarded the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award in 1991 for his first book of poetry, Hands of the Saddlemaker. I had

This poem previously appeared in Issue 7 (Fall 2001) of Ancient Paths. After the Marvelous Healing by Walt McDonald Luke 5:25 His fists shook, his bent legs bound with cloth, hemp ropes around both bandaged feet – a local cripple begging kept alive. And now this simple insult like a threat, a twisted joke Take up your bed and walk, blasphemy like a whip on the poor man’s back. Here, we scolded to save him from blind faith worse than stripes. Years later, stiff and fe

This poem was the third-place winner in Ancient Paths literary magazine’s “Poems for Books” Contest. Sister by Marion Rosser I want to be Mary, sitting enthralled at the feet of the Master, absorbing the words of wisdom and love -- but, I am Martha, grumbling in the kitchen. I know well that the Prophet with the perfumed feet will need some supper and a place to sleep. #AncientPathsarchive #AncientPathspoems #contest

This poem was the first-place winner in Ancient Paths literary magazine’s “Poem for Books Contest.” Beautiful Beloved by Linda Lee McDonald Beautiful beloved, when I first met you, my back was wedged against a closet door trying to keep the monsters inside and in my hand, for luck, was a penny. I thought it was a dollar or a thousand dollars or all of the dollars I would ever need in my whole expensive life. But, it was really just a penny. A green penny -- only a v

This poem was first published in Issue 15 (2009) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. The Last Breakfast by Anne Sheldon The black spine of the dory barely wavers against the red east. He can count his seven friends — Nathanael’s skinny elbows at an angle with the lifted oars; Peter poised to dive into the net; and John — pointing at the sky as if to rhapsodize the bloody dawn. It’s cold. The pebbles hurt his feet. He’ll miss his feet and miss their hurting, too, but

This poem was first published in Issue 14 (2007) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. Blessings by Taylor Graham Last night the horses stood huddled under the great black oak, their breath steaming, each nostril a damp hibiscus opening in the dark. Now through the window, I see that same oak shivering black-trunked in the not-quite dawn. And now, the sun comes shimmering through the branches. Even the stoutest, oldest tree flings wide its light- struck leaves, i

This poem was first published in Issue 14 (2007) of Ancient Paths literary magazine and is now part of the archives. A Guide for the Perplexed by Fredrick Zydek When you can't trust logic or the art of memory, it's time to step past meditation and move into the condition of faith. You must make choices even if fear oozes from every pore and the path winds uphill all the way. The problem of pain must be ignored and the circles of sorrow, which seem to emanate from the bo

This poem was first published in Issue 14 (2007) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. After His Fall by Ruth Linea Whitney The serpent draws his skin between the waters and the woods, and so keeps clear of the Lord God’s footsteps, the knowing heart he hates. Late, late: this song calls up his grief for the old life, his tall striding days among the leaves of morning. From the sedge, he sees each ripple chasing bread upon the waters rushing past: his freedom. He s

Carol A. Oberg, a mother of two grown children, retired to live on Gooseneck Lake in the middle of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where she works in her own “writing studio.” There she continues her calling to write both short stories and poetry and devours a vast array of reading material, “almost everything,” she says, “I can get my hands on.” Carol was selected as one of the featured poets for issue 16 of Ancient Paths. Below, we share her poem “Making a Mess of Your Life.” Y

The following poem was first published in Issue 12 (2004) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. Statue in the Garden by Newton Miner “Here is noon home, here is but wildernesse.” - Chaucer, Trouthe Daily we drown in moral atrophy. Maturity, it seems, is what we learn from the smooth face of deceit at every turn. Blight and brambles of love infect TV. Theft, abandon, gunfire soil the street. Where are the certainties for which we yearn? The trek is still through wilderness

This poem was first published in Issue 11 (Fall 2003) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. The Trouble with Prophets by Karen Thorpe Of course we are all paralyzed: we knew that from the start; we heard the spine snap but thought only: I have not broken far enough, I have not freed that other electricity of Your Voice burning up my spinal cord. But even if we were silent, we are doomed. Someone is bound to recognize us as renegade spies in a crowd of sheep. You

The following poem was first published in Issue 13 (2005) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. Grass Beside the Church of St. Francis Xavier (Night — Before a Late Summer Storm) by Arthur Powers (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil) This, too, must resist passing storm, bleak night, summer grass beneath a battlement, kissed by winds that twist small roots aright. This, too, must sheath tiny blades beside a pale stone buttress rising, wide and white, disappearing—tried stone into b

Paul David Adkins writes poetry, he says, “partly to record my experiences, and partly to see how finely I can tune language to say exactly what I want in the fewest words possible.” Over the years, Paul’s poetry has appeared in a variety of publications, including Chattahoochee Review, Caveat Lector, Rock & Sling, Crab Creek Review, and, of course, my own Ancient Paths. I first encountered Paul’s work when I published his poem “Marriage of the Prophet” in Issue 12 (2004) of

Enjoy this selection from the archives of Ancient Paths literary magazine. This poem was first published in Issue 10 (Spring 2003). Moses on Sinai and Nebo by Alan P. Church VI Exodus 32:7 Striding down Mt. Sinai how could I know That all your commandments would come to this? Even as the Israelites gathered ‘round The golden calf, it was I who broke the law: It was not in righteous anger that I Threw down the diptych,

This poem was first published in Issue 9 (Fall 2002) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. Gardeners by Lynn F. Behnke Silly gardeners, Scratching at the planet With their pitted tools, Sketching furrows on a dusty crust And risking labor’s harvest On the wanderings of a bee! Are we just as foolish, dear, Pressing gifts of time and touch Among each other’s days, Daring season after season To reach farther past Our sheltered seeds of “me”? Not foolish, love, but faithfu

First published in Issue 9 (Fall 2002) of Ancient Paths literary magazine, "Fairtyales and Dustballs" was a 2002 Pushcart Prize nominee. Fairytales and Dustballs by M.J. King Sometimes the light hits the sky like moonbeams scattering fairy dust. Sometimes, but not very often, we look up and take time to notice. I wanted to slay dragons and save princes, but instead I wash clothes, again! I listen to bored people create tragedies, always searching for those fairytales.

The following poem was first published in Issue 7 (Fall 2001) of Ancient Paths literary magazine. The Liberator by Kenneth O' Keefe Struggling he thrust into the dust his sturdy staff, Dragging himself up the stark and stony mountain, Tearing his skinned hands and knees to bloody chaff. His exhausted face poured sweat like a fountain, While his heaving breath fanned flames in his chest. Though pain radiated through his whole body, His thoughts were not on himself, but

Dr. David A. Craig is a professor of English at the Franciscian University of Stubenville and the author of fifteen collections of poetry. Three of his poems have graced the pages of Ancient Paths: “Grace” (Issue 5), “Matthew Was in the Counting House” (Issue 8), and “Jesus Amazed” (Issue 10). Some years ago, he shared with me one of his many collections, Sonnets from Matthew (© 2002). It’s wonderful to see that poets are still making use of the sonnet form these days. As W

"Believe" a poem by Corbet Dean