December - 2021

lion, image by Peri Priatna, on Pixabay.

December 2021 Issue: Christmas Blessings!

image by Biblical Paint, on Pixabay So thankful to share with you this issue of Spirit Fire Review, featuring work by friends new and old. From despair to hiccups, from the beauty of hands to the possibility of hope even in grief, explore and enjoy with us the many gifts in our December issue. As we journey through autumn toward winter, discover a painting of a truly unique sunflower and how we can share God's love while waiting in line. Travel from cathedral to manger to the

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Five Haiku by Kim Deslaurier

dried roses, image by Kranich17, on Pixabay Sound of their razors electrifying the night drowning my music ~ Flexing of tymbals like the heartbeat of a drum pounding decibels ~ Lush petals turn brown their beauty remains dried flowers ~ Sun glistens on dew morning walk through the garden ~ a watermelon ~ soft metal tapping I hear it on the stovepipe gentle rain begins Kim R. Deslaurier taught writing for 20 years, and while her students were writing, she was writing with them

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Two Poems by EG Ted Davis

maple tree, abstract, image by natureworks, on Pixabay his intentions Beware of the Evil One and his antics... for he purposely tries to make chaos out of a perfect order. * The maple tree grows opening its new foliage as my life shortens EG Ted Davis' poetry has appeared in various online and in print literary journals and in miscellaneous Christian publications.

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These Old Hands, by Christopher Matthew Thomas

Bible, image by FotoRieth, on Pixabay These Old Hands I thought I’d build my life with these two hands. All I wanted they could reach out and grasp. Strong hands able to create my life’s plans, but they’ve weakened from the bite of time’s asp. These old hands can no longer spin the wheel, They’re unable to pull open the door. The texture of my wife’s skin they don’t feel. The jar’s lid they can’t open anymore. But they took up the book on the table. The old fingers fumbled th

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The Leap: Four Poems by Nolo Segundo

cake with walnuts, image by Russell Smith, on Pixabay The Leap I was half-mad with despair, Hopeless in love and life, At the end of my rope— so I chose to drown, To cease all pain in Sweet oblivion, to be No more, to be gone… And when I flung my Young and strong body Into that swollen river, I thought that’s what Awaited me—nothing! But, oh, I was so wrong, For my agnostic mind Could not foresee the Awaiting vast blackness, The pain beyond pain, And the utter aloneness— No o

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Attitude and Atmosphere: by Janine Pickett

standing in line, image by aykapog, on Pixabay The Attitude We Carry and the Words We Speak Create Our Atmosphere It's true. We carry a spirit or an attitude within us, and we inevitably release that spirit into our environment by our spoken words and actions. God spoke and created the universe, right? He lives in us. Colossians 1:27 says, "Christ in you, the hope of glory." As His children, with His spiritual DNA, whom He made in His image, we can do the same. Just try relea

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She, a poem by Heath Brougher

abstract swirls, image by Prawny, on Pixabay She had the most beautiful hiccups in the world. Heath Brougher is the Editor-in-Chief of Concrete Mist Press and poetry co-editor of Into the Void, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards for Best Magazine. He received Taj Mahal Review’s 2018 Poet of the Year Award and is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. He was recently awarded the 2020 Wake

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Mama's Hands, by Becky Parker

wood pile, image by LUM3N, on Pixabay Mama’s Hands I looked at Mama’s hands, all callous and rough From hauling in coal and wood every day To heat our house and cook our food I looked at her hands, raised to God in prayer In the night for some poor soul I looked at her hands, holding her Bible Lovingly caressing the pages she could no longer see I looked at her hands and felt her hugs, her eyes warm As she reach

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Two Poems by Veronica Michalowski

abstract, from Pixabay Water Lilies They are dying before me. Emerald leaves turn ochre and then bronze mucking up the once-crystal water. No pink or white flowers the last few weeks no matter how much sun they absorb. Their long stems strengthened by summer, now bend to chilly October nights. Weakened leaves slump to bedrock decay around roots create sludge, rot on bottom as surface ices thin layers in late December until spring when Dormant no more will be their mantra. © V

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On a Path: a poem and four paintings by James Eric Watkins

sunflower, painting by James Eric Watkins “I loafe and invite my soul.” ~ Walt Whitman On a Path hovering within a moment, I found god today, on a path in the forest, under a lush green canopy of leaves the light peeking through the silence and the sound of songbirds... singing beauty coming into focus harmony into balance it was there, next to a tree draped in snake-like vines wrapping around my mind the smell of warm honeysuckles thick in the air, it was there standing stil

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Two Poems by Brian Kates

colorful variety of leaves, image by Arek Socha, on Pixabay MURMURATION An iridescence of starlings shape shifts over the salt marsh at sunset, like dancers tying a seamless ribbon around God’s pink-packaged earth * LISTEN Autumn leaves whisper as they descend to the churchyard to weave a colorful quilt for my grandmother’s grave. Soon the maples and the oaks, their naked arms extended, their roots holding her in tireless embrace, will call snow from the sky, and sleep. Brian

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Morning’s Jubilation: Poems by Mark Weinrich

stream in autumn, image by Jaesung An, on Pixabay WILD LIGHT We can calculate the night breaking, but never the wild and reckless moments of morning’s jubilation. In the cages of our time we must open up and leap into the freedom of God’s dazzling gift. (Previously published in Global Poemic, December, 2020) * THE HUMMINGBIRD’S SONG When I walk in the woods I have a keen ear for the zipping notes of hummingbird wings. I find comfort knowing these flying gems are on their way

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Secret, poem by Fabrice Poussin

multicolor abstract, from Pixabay Secret It can never be told, written, heard tending to a light brush of a fearful sense swirling in an invisible waltz of gentle stars. A soft curve is felt in a dimension private a smile strives to find a moment’s rest upon the firm of warm crimson fibers. It is a single aim to fill an eternity of pleas a wish to slide on the cozy slopes of a dream where hard rains are a constant blessing. Calling infinite particles to answer the prayer pull

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Circle of Hope: two poems by Robert Pegel

note and autumn leaves, from Pixabay Circle of Hope I sometimes envision a scene of three: Jesus, my deceased sixteen-year-old son Calvin, who is somehow alive, and me. We are holding hands and circling clockwise. Like a walking dance. We are blissfully happy. I can’t get this image out of my mind. It instills hope that everything will work out in the end. It gives me something to look forward to outside of the day to day challenges of reality. Reunion on the horizon. Not jus

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Ultimate Cathedral, poem by Richard Bunce

Orthodox church, image by nextvoyage, on Pixabay Ultimate Cathedral vaulted, ornate etched stone cupola with cross imposing pulpit in carved wood deep red carpeting windows bold in story and color organ pipes aplenty cannot compete with the eloquence of a Bethlehem stable Richard Bunce is retired and living in Pomona, CA. For most of his career he managed nonprofit organizations dealing with challenges such as poverty, homelessness, and mental

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A Christmas Meditation

A BLESSED CHRISTMAS TO ALL !

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Advent Prayer, by Lucia Walton Robinson

lamb and manger, image by katermikesch, on Pixabay Advent Prayer Make me a stable, Sturdy and strong, Warmed by Your creatures, Lulled with birdsong. Make me a manger Lined with sweet hay, Hewn like a cradle formed for a babe. Let brightest Star Cleanse with its beams, Shine into my heart, Lighten my dreams. Make me a stable, Safe, warm, and true— Make me a manger Welcoming You. Lucia Walton Robinson is a born-again Episcopalian filled with gratitude for salvation.

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Interview with Matthew J. Andrews, by Cindy Bousquet Harris

Matthew J. Andrews is a private investigator and writer whose poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Orange Blossom Review, Funicular Magazine, and EcoTheo Review, among others. His debut chapbook, I Close My Eyes and I Almost Remember, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He can be contacted at: matthewjandrews.com CINDY: Besides being a writer, you’re also a private investigator. Which came first? MATTHEW: Writing has always been in my blood, so I would have to say t

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Pushcart Prize 2022 Nominees

acrylic, image by jo_n_de photo, on Pixabay Congratulations to the following 6 writers whom Spirit Fire Review has nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2022! Isabel Chenot for “reconciled” Aug. '21, Juan Pablo Mobili for "The Crickets” Jan. '21, Natalie Lester for “Walking from Buwenge to Mawoito” Aug. '21, EG Ted Davis for “I Saw and I Wept” Jan. '21, Mark Weinrich for “His Sendoff” Aug. '21, and Nolo Segundo for “In the Belly of the Beast” A

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SPIRIT FIRE REVIEW

Celebrating God's Goodness through Poetry, Creative Nonfiction, Visual Art, and Music