Keren Dibbens-Wyatt — Blood curdles into the grain Mixes fresh with old Responding, the sap sings Though long dead and now discarded Roughly hewn and unplaned Yours the only carpenter’s…
Ana Lisa de Jong — Lent. Speak to me. A word that holds such hidden depths. Take me on your hallowed ground, untouched, and unturned yet by heart or mind.…
Ana Lisa de Jong — Looks deceive, dead seed pods and limbs bereft of leaves. Grey leaden sky, and chilling winter breeze. We hunker down, layered like the earth beneath.…
Cynthia Helton — The Wind is howling outside. Does it frighten you, or invigorate you? It blows for a reason. Change is in the air. To many it is uncomfortable…
by Andy Wade I wrote this poem the other day after a couple of weeks of reflecting on these changes of church seasons. Advent to Christmas to Epiphany and on.…
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