This poetry is from the Campbell River edition of Synergy, authors are listed after each poem.


Desperation over Him & Her


Her blood sweats over him,

the one who was banished some time ago

for he was fearful

of emotions that makes true lovers.


Their passion so alive

there are fires in the skies

where they both gazed once to say

how natural they felt with on another.


She was the one who gave up

when he lost faith in himself 

over another temptation – now which


has destroyed the two lovers.

She, still desperate as he for her

they will never know, for hearts

have been consumed by a new.


By: Marion Ann L. Berry



Your Softest Part

I worried a dream of you growing a shell,

Rather like a sea turtle, with armour plating to protect you from all hell.

Symbolic I think, for the sea turtle, like you, travels far and seas much.

You looked at your shell and asked “can I still feel soft and such?”

I touched the armour plates, some smooth others rough,

Pieced together to protect and appear very tough.  

Checking for softness I looked in your eyes.

They twinkled back a hard blue, some might consider wise.

I held you tight, armour plates and all, and let you just be.

You breathed and an answer tickled down upon me.

“Your breath, even when hard is still soft” I replied.

You seemed relieved and for all the protective plating relaxed with a sigh.


By Heather Kehr. Written Nov 23, 2009.



The Moments of High Resolve

Keep fresh before me the moments of my high resolve.

Despite the dullness and barrenness of the days that pass, if I search with due diligence, I can always find a deposit left by some former radiance. But I had forgotten. At the time it was full-orbed, glorious, and resplendent. I was sure that I would never forget. In the moment of its fullness, I was sure that it would illumine my path for all the rest of my journey. I had forgotten how easy it is to forget.

There was no intent to betray what seemed so sure at the time. My response was whole, clean, authentic. But little by little, there crept into my life the dust and grit of the journey. Details, lower-level demands, all kinds of cross currents—nothing momentous, nothing overwhelming, nothing flagrant—just wear and tear. If there had been some direct challenge—a clear-cut issue—I would have fought it to the end, and beyond.

In the quietness of this place, surrounded by the all-pervading Presence of God, my heart whispers: Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve, that in fair weather or in foul, in good times or in tempests, in the days when the darkness and the foe are nameless or familiar, I may not forget that to which my life is committed.

Keep fresh before me

the moments of my high resolve.


For The Inward Journey

by Howard Thurman