(hummingbird, image by Nick Fewings, on Unsplash) Welcome to the May 2021 issue of Spirit Fire Review! So pleased to present work by Kate Copeland, Carol Farnsworth, Kahlil Crawford, Mark Weinrich, Bruce Mundhenke, Matthew J. Andrews, Katie Heaston, Isabel Chenot, and "yours truly." May you enjoy, be touched, and be inspired. Cindy Bousquet Harris, Editor Janine Pickett, Founding Editor

lavender and white lavender, image by Hans Braxmeier, on Pixabay white lavender when i don't know what to think and my heavy heart carries away on heavy legs; a winter of love with cold air and hot water— when i do feel somewhat quicksandy and catch the shadows sparkle in those green eyes, a brightness mixed with blues, that's when i lean my head back and see the crisp cripple sky covered in stars, regaining strength for a new summer to come; i see a God painting a purple und

(lotion, image by saponifier, on Pixabay) Hand Signals I sit quietly. The only sound is the hum of the oxygen concentrator beside my mother-in-law’s bed. I gently hold Helen’s hand. Her hand is cool, soft to the touch. It rests limp in my hand. I study the hand, veined with blue lines and wrinkles. I turn it palm-up to trace the long life line extending past the wrist. The hand is rough with dry skin. I reach for hand cream and rub some into her palms. On my first visit, Hel

(kneeling at the cross, image by Gerd Altmann, on Pixabay) LOVE LAMENTATION Easter 2021 I can't run away from my truth. I have to embrace it. I get weak; but I can't afford to be weak. I call on my friends for strength; but instead I empower them through my suffering. I belong to God. He calls me home back to his feet, where the truth lives & rei

(sunrise, image by Наталья Коллегова (Natalia Kollegova), on Pixabay) OUT OF BROKENNESS What expectancy when I cast my trowel and gloves aside. What intimacy as soil spills, flows between my fingers. Sweet scent of musty earth reminds me of my brokenness. What opportunity is hidden in this sifted ground? What glory springs when we place the seeds of circumstance into His hands? ________________________ WATCHER OF THE MORNING I watched the greatest Artist paint the dawn; His s

(holding hands, image by Anna Sunny, on Pixabay) A Marriage The fire that ends its dance has the likeness of death until you put your hands close and feel the unyielding heat of an ember secure in its bed, much in the same way a room devoid of words feels like absence until the deep hum of a hand caressing the reach of another jumps like a flame to your ears. ___________ Matthew J. Andrews is a private investigator and writer whose poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Ora

(sign, arrows, image by Pexels, on Pixabay) Pathway This part of the journey Has been long. I have wandered off the path So many times, And could not find My way, Not knowing That the light I chose Was darkness, Until I came Upon the path Once more again. The path will Bring me back to You, And I will come At last to You again. Keep me with You always In that day, my Friend. ________________ In and Out of Time King of kings, Lord of lords, Prophet of prophets

(Lago di Limides, Italy, image by Julius Silver, on Pixabay) Artisan Ridges ablaze, mountaintops are on fire Ornamented with magenta and gold Adorned in formal evening attire Puffed with bursting accents of marigold. Blown from broiling furnaces of molten glass Erubescent hues dance and fuse fiercely Skillfully crafted in a master class Settling into streaks of luxury. Oils layered like a painter’s pallet. Strokes of sapphire cast with well worn brushes. Colorful clouds cover

(adobe church in New Mexico, image by Kenneth White, on Pixabay) The Rosary Tree In an old pueblo church's garden, stands a small mesquite tree, a bench, and a grotto protecting the Blessed Mother statue. The tree was festooned with many rosaries. Sunlight reflected like tears on the beads. Large and small, colored stones and crystals, hand made and elaborate, they hung as silent witnesses. A long, black-beaded one for the father who prayed on his way to work. Smooth, po

(cracked asphalt, image by Public Domain Pictures, on Pixabay) “Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence.” Psalm 94:17 The hard road reaches up through foot and ankle, calf and knee, grips them in a crush of burning, shakes them like a tree in wind-rage, relaxes to allow collapse, not enough to loose its hold, the pinch and dig, hot wound radiates slow motion red. Sometimes it just slams the sole, shockwaves like a quake of pain, shifting plates,

Leah and Twen, drawing by Isabel Chenot Isabel’s illustration is of Leah Sharibu and Twen Theodros, two Christian prisoners she prayed for all last year. Both were promised freedom if they would renounce their faith. Neither did. Twen was released from a prison in Eritrea in late 2020, and Leah has recently given birth to a second child in captivity with Boko Haram, in a forced marriage. Read more about Leah at Voice of the Martyrs: www.vomcanada.com/ng-leah-sharibu.htm And m