The voice of God comes to believers in many forms. A vision, a still small voice, a loud booming voice inside your head, an unexpected coincidence, a miracle, a dream, a poem, a song or a painting that seems to flow without effort. God is still creating. He still speaks to His children. Don't believe me? Seek Him. Find out. Test the waters. Dance in the fire. Soak in His presence. Get slain in the spirit. Search out the mystery of who God is. He is a rewarder of those who tru

Lyrics- CAN YOU HEAR Can you hear the preacher saying Let me introduce you to Jesus He’ll wash your sins away Change your life for the better You are not responding We wonder we’re not sure Can you hear Can you hear your mother praying In her bedroom on her knees She knows she won’t be around forever She tries She cries See it in her eyes She wonders She’s not sure Can you hear Open up and hear what the Spirit is saying There’s a knock on your hearts door

The Remnant - Women Wielding Swords “Destroyers are come upon all the bare heights in the wilderness; for the sword of Jehovah devoureth from the one end of the land even to the other end of the land: no flesh hath peace.” (Jeremiah 12:12 ASV) On July 10, 2017 God gave me a prophetic word, one that I needed to receive in order to be okay with a “movement” many in the church are witnessing amongst well-known women in ministry. “I AM raising up a remnant of women right now; the

Water Boatmen walk on water. Do not waver like St. Peter. Have no boat to keep in sight but just keep putting one thin thread in front of the other pricking the surface with such precision that they hardly dent it at all. For such a tiny insect their faith must be to us the envy of the world. Welches Dam in Six Lines A damp place by all accounts: grazing grounds for Whooper swans and wintering birds of prey- the merlin and the peregrine falcon who fly into this poem and will

Visual art provided by © Mary Clark I Came into the Forest ~From his new book, Across the Light I came into the forest believing all the fairytales, how the trees rose up at night and walked, and that little people hid behind rocks until the moon fell on their shadows and made them skitter off like a flash of gold. I believed the fish would jump out of the water, and in mid-air, talk to one another. I believed the stars were flowers that came down into the forest to

Your Reflection You love to talk to me in the mirror when I'm putting on my make-up a brilliant piece would come to me a thought or phrase and I would smile and catch a glimpse of You. Your Presence captured in the reflection of my eyes and a broad smile You appear in an instant a joyous twinkle a brief subtle but momentous reflection that I wish to recreate. But I have to wait and until someday in the mirror we will meet again so personal and sweet. It validates who I am dee

Biog Intertextuality of our ideas meet on a spotless page to indite a collaborative effort of strange rhythms and sudden refrains. Images and idioms speak our accent. We coach ourselves to ignore the commentators. In an ecosystem of unequal genii, we are happy to exist. To be is to bloom. The rest is contextual. © Sanjeev Sethi SANJEEV SETHI is the author of three well-received books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer(Bloomsbury, 2015). His p

Life and Death my tongue murdered a reputation today. slithered from behind my white teeth trampled her life like a withered leaf on the floor of my mouth. my tongue feels like a wild lasso of a noose waiting to hang the worst of who we are. it tightens about my neck as i reflect on what i said - unable to take back. my tongue can taste the blood of best intentions searing my throat. forgiveness is not deeds undone, words unsaid, but reputations restored. my tongue jabs at th

The Golden Light I hold the day in my hands, a captive in the golden light while all around me an autumn sky shakes itself loose; a drift of last summer's dust in this cool season; and I've always come here, a sanctuary by the river to observe the heavens and open my booklet of calming psalms, let the wind turn one of its leaves with its thumb. Not too far above me a mother wren has left its nest of moss and thistledown with her young to wet their wings in the water; each one

Promise I can’t promise you that where you go will be easy that there will be a comfortable chair, kind people, or a system that works what I can promise, because it has already been promised, the promise not being mine but the Father’s is that where you go the Kingdom of God will be – this is the strange mystery of the indwelling that heaven is in the everyday present, and we are all invited to be a part. Rock Scripture says,” Lead me to the rock that is higher than I am.” B

Blessed Giggles float in the breeze warm sunshine kids running free it's summertime Jumping on the trampoline making mud stew playing on Grandma's swing fun through and through Poolside chatter cannonball splashes chasing butterflies and watching them scatter outdoor cooking beckons family and friends then gathering around the bonfire as nighttime slowly descends © Twila Jackson Twila Jackson writes and paints with her granddaughters Abby and McKenzie. She has a d

When I watch the fires And the destruction around I’m glad I’m still here. *** Sitting home alone I feel so much love for God I feel like crying *** People watch in awe Their homes burn to ashes Knowing they’ll rebuild. *** © Martina Gallegos Ms. Gallegos came from Mexico as a teenager and lived in Altadena and Pasadena through high school. She then moved to Oxnard and attended community college. She transferred to California State University, Northridge and got her teaching

The Answers When I received the message that she had passed away, A sudden drift of sadness filled my soul With extreme grief, regret and dismay. As I walked into the sanctuary, I saw her lying there Peacefully sleeping within her casket Adorned with beautiful attire. As I looked down at her…dressed in white so pure, And a soft smile on her peaceful face, I whispered I love you, rest assure. This is the first time I didn’t receive a response Of hearing her say cheerfully: “I

A Matter Of Color I am proud of my generation. I came from a past that must only be seen in its black and white. Current bright colors cannot even approach warmth of a singular and peculiar bygone era. Just we who lived and loved in it are enough and qualified witnesses to so amazing a past. Days running smoothly, with fewer choices, only black phones and only white fridges, along with dear black and white films and photos. Moreover, time to encounter lasting friends, that en

Wings As the beating of the wings of birds my mother’s fluttering eyelashes seen with my infant eyes as I studied the face of the first person I ever loved. As the beating of the wings of birds my friends’ fluttering hands emphatic with anger, comic with hilarity, revelatory with gossip as I listened to both their wisdom and their folly. As the beating of the wings of birds the fluttering in my chest the first time I saw him, the first time he touched me in all times thereaft