Poems

clusters of angels lead waking morning thought to heights of awareness filled with Christly light no nighttime dream nor imagination's stretch could begin to capture one pure moment of Spirit's consciousness and sweetest revelation on this revelatory flight— our right to claim this: Spirit's summit, our natural home our abiding place no quantum jump nor fall from grace for God's true man Richard Howard.

Because nowhere is there darkened night that cannot be transformed by light, and none can stop the rising sun, the healing has to come. Because evil must renounce its claim, give up its place, retract its name, and Christ must reign in everyone, the healing has begun.

I walk in this flock where You lead, Lord. You know the land and how to get to the cold waters that slake my thirst, the deep meadows that give me rest.

I have, like Jacob, struggled—been released from a false concept of my brother man. I have, like Moses, faced a Red Sea of problems that parted at God's command.

is glimpsed with the slow melt or sudden shatter of the mechanism of mortal will. Then finally, the " I'm doing it" is hosed thoroughly away showing brightly, cleanly, "I can of mine own self do nothing"! Then we start doing! Brett L.

there's just one door which he must watch. it's wide enough-        -but not too.

When I hear strains of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" they remind me of how the Christ operates in thought: simply firmly gently. If brass bands were blaring through my house I wouldn't hear the sonata even if it were playing.

The image in my mirror is so meek It does not do a single thing alone; It does not move or wince or smile or speak Unless I do it too, for we are one. Humility like this is plain to see, For not before nor after does it act, But selflessly and simultaneously— So keeping our relationship intact.

Dear God, rain on my parade—that parade of false illusive images. Dissolve them— make them nothing, thus cleansing my thought of all that is unlike You.

Courage qualities, the morally vital kind, make lionlike living a nonwillful task quickening the doing of whatever Principle asks. To roam unchained by materiality's curse, pounce emphatically on "What are you worth?" in firmest anticipation of Spirit's knowing of you as dauntless as the most intrepid lion, uncontained! Steven Alan Avey.