POETRY JD DeHart, Ken Allan Dronsfield, Shola Balogun, Donal Mahoney, Romaine Washington, Prerna Bakshi, Peter Venable VISUAL ART Junior M

The Joy of Elohim Everything I see is You And everything I don’t see is You. You are the yellow eye of joy that lights my day In the middle of mind and sky, A smile so full it spills out lips in Hallelujah laughter. You are as old as oxygen And as fresh as the last gulp of breath in Amen. You are the march and rhythm of time and order And the miracles that turn it all upside down. You are the stillness of water, The trickle of peace running down my spine, The bond of red in v

Light’s Waves Located 1.3 billion light years from earth, gravitational waves were detected, caused by the collision of two black holes, 100

Respite Face, a wrinkled rustic tan eyes, clouded faded blue tattered, old yellow raincoat stands, watching the sea dog, spying hungry gulls his boat, sits needing care ocean, claims yet another clouds, billow and race away waves, crest and roll to land memories, fade upon twilight inhales, now become shallow voices, gently call him home ascend, that great stairway effortless, steps taken to HIM beyond the Moon's dark side, his spirit, in respite rises higher. Song of the Gar

Mother Lion Desert God, Yahweh, whose paws carved a nation whose wings and winds whirled across vast plains on incomprehensible history who loved and was betrayed and loved still roared still who called, punished, called, made promises, sent plagues, dictated chiseled commandments whose paw reaches through pages and over time to wrap me into a warm and protective embrace. Tree of Life I remember that old tree from my youngest days winding its way up out of the earth it wasn’t

WIPE YOUR TEARS Child, let your eyelids gleam Like a thousand suns. Let your smiles radiate Like the stars In the sky at night. The comeliness of your voice Is more graceful Than the nightingale's song. Wipe your tears, my lovely one, There is always A new dawn tomorrow. BETHLEHEM SONGS In the silent and cold nights, When the stars throng In twinkling lights Across the distant brooks, A lone Shepherd's gleeful looks Tell the memory of Bethlehem song An

Stumps in His Cabbage You would think you would love a man who died for you and for everyone else, even those who will never know that he did. But you don't, not really. The monks in the choir you hear on Sunday sing hymns from the heart. They make fruitcake all week stoked by the knowledge he died for them. They love him in a way that you can only imagine despite much prayer. You adore him, however, as well you should. You know he's infinite, omnipotent, without beginning or

In memory of my beloved sister Minor changes Everything is still the same as you left, just with minor changes. Like this chocolate-brown colored wooden door that you would ask me to shut when engrossed in watching TV, it had stopped getting shut. Lost its shine. It’s now all repaired and polished. Like this bed you used to sleep on, the one on which we spent countless hours whispering and giggling at night. This bed is now heavy with the weight of your absence. Its mattress

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 170 other publications. © All images Fabrice Poussin

My Testimonial - I feel pleased and humbled to share with you my testimonial, which reveals the role Jesus and the Holy Spirit have played i

Rejection My divorce was a mutual rejection between me and the Catholic Church. Later that year, I hinted to my sister that I wanted a Bible for Christmas. She was surprised at my ‘request,’ because it was not common practice at that time, for us, as Catholics to read the Bible. She bought me something else for Christmas, and noticed my disappointment. Weeks later, on January 14th my sister presented me with a Bible and I was delighted. This unfamiliar book was always wi

Junior McLean is Bronx native, for a time lived in Anderson, Indiana and back, current freelance digital artist and graphic designer since 1996 and a digital cover “2D/3D” artist for Gaming, Fantasy, Sci-Fi; and fractals which have been used for public exhibitions and more. Currently, he multi-tasks, runs a small freelance business, sells art online, and is just looking to get himself out there for the world to see. ANGELS © Junior McLean