R. A. Christmas

His Twelve Points of the Scout Law (Grandpa Fesses Up)

Walking Back to the ‘70s

Le Train à Grande Vitesse

. . . we are passengers on the train of the Church . . . the luxury of getting on and off the train as we please is fading. The speed of the train is…

Not the Truman Show

The Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt: Some Literary, Historical, and Critical Reflections

I suppose by this time the reader has either forgotten the circumstances in which he took leave of myself, or else is somewhat weary with the winding of the narrative and impatient for it to…

At Temple Square, Salt Lake City

This was the dream, beginning with a questFor isolated work, that brought them westTo Salt Lake Valley, looking for new startsAnd land in Zion, pushing stock and cartsOut of the world into Millennium In the Rocky…

The Dichotomy of Art and Religion

It is easy to sympathize with Dr. Marden Clark’s essay, “Art, Religion, and the Market Place” — too easy. We are all, I suppose, concerned about the relationship of religion and art, and on the…

A Translation of Paul Valery’s “Ebauche D’un Serpent”: Sketch of a Serpent

In the tree, the soft breeze cradles 
The viper that I wear. 
A smile, where the fang strikes 
Appetites into flame, 
Drifts, like a prowler, through the Garden, 
And my emerald mask unwinds 
A split tongue into the blue. . . 
A beast, a cunning beast, 
And my venom is vile—but it leaves 
Wise hemlock far behind! 

At Mountain Meadows: For Juanita Brooks

The mass grave here is set with stones 
Piled low inside a low rock wall, 
And marked for travelers by a sign 
That tells us briefly of the murder 
Of six score emigrants, whose bones 
Lay here and there once—on the plain, 
In the gulley—left to the weather 
Of almost a century where they fell— 

Eve

Leaves and fruit were falling 
And I only wanted to know 
Why this, of all the trees, 
Kept alternating greens 
And browns and why it dropped 
Those ugly pods and stems— 
I only wanted to know 
Of the roots, the crazy clutch 
That broke the ground, the branches 

Adam

Let’s see. This morning—since you’ve been gone—
I’ve taken a walk on the beach, naming 
And naming and naming, until I can name no more. 
Comber, anemone, crab. Will these do? 

I talk to myself now—so I’ve found—
As never before, when he’d leave me, often 
Now, and now you. I guess I’ll get used 
To the feeling. But it’s funny—the way I get thinking

Decapitating the Mormons: Richard Scowcroft’s New Novel | Richard Scowcroft, The Ordeal of Dudley Dean

Dudley Dean is a forty-year-old befuddled jack-Mormon professor of English. Wife Hannah has left him and married one of his teaching colleagues—a maudlin, oversexed boor named Ashton—and his devout Mormon mother has just died. Dudley…

John D. Lee

Ghost Truck

Looking West from Cedar City, Utah

Close to the Bone: Fresh Meat/Warm Weather by Joyce Eliason

Another Angel

And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.  Revelation,…

Three Generations of Mormon Poetry | A zipper of haze; Tinder; Christmas Voices

Dennis Clark loves poetry and poets, and he also loves to write poetry. I don’t think this can be said of everybody in the poetry business. These three chapbooks are evidence of Dennis’s development as…

Illness in the Family

Heartbreak Hill

Pancha Loca

Pancha Robinson was doing dishes at her mother’s sink and watching her husband Rick, who was out in the backyard with the children. Gloria, Pancha’s sister, was sitting at the kitchen table fiddling with a…

Weight

How Things Look from the Other Side of the Lake

Cereal Polygamy

His Faith-Promoting Story

Stake Mission

At Fifty-Five

Hop Hornbeam

Forever Family

Critical Condition

Nobody’s Grandpa

Liahona

Spring Variations on a Theme by Lorenzo Snow

Multi-level Marketing

A Short Poem about Nearly Everything

The Hosanna Shout

Bibliography Bring ‘Em Young