2013 Poetry Contest Everyone should reread a classic… It must have been assigned the great Jane Eyre, but I can’t remember reading it; at least not with my soul attached. I’m sure had I but skimmed the pages of this dusty work of art I could not have conceived of its brilliance. I would have disliked her very much this 19th century ‘heroine’ as a prude, a shrewd, and all things cowardly. But now, looking back with the temperance of time and experience to frame my perspective, I do believe her to be in capable of failure. For had she put away the great Rochester like a cloak with no more use, I would have applauded her for stepping into spring. Yet it is because she dared to start anew and permitted him to come along that she squelched an image of weakness with the courage to forgive. Which is why everyone should reread a classic. ‐Jaimie Brown Putty in His Hands The minute the lover of my soul touched me I became putty in His hands. He stirred dealings so deep within me I could not understand. His touch was like nothing I had ever felt And from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet I began to melt. He took me in His arms and held me close and near these are the words He whispered gently in my ear I am the lover of your soul your life I’m about to make shape and remold He pushed me, pulled me, stretched me in every direction When I asked Him why he said, “I’m shaping you to perfection.” I asked Him “but what is it you desire?” It was then He stripped me bare and put me in the fire The fire was so hot in agony I began to cry “if you don’t stop this pain Lord, surely I will die.” He said “This trial by fire only comes to make you stronger” “Trust me please, hold on a little longer” Once He removed me from the fire and flames I realized He had made me over again He made me into someone who no longer desired to live in sin He truly was the lover of my soul my life He did make shape and remold Now why He did this to me I still don’t understand I only know one touch from Him and I was putty in His hands. ‐Orpah Moore
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Sacred Summer's Eve Hummingbirds dance like miniature gypsies in a rainbow rhapsody over the still‐blooming lilac lilies And Venus rocks in the garden as the insects sing their vibrant songs The clover‐edged lawn unfolds into the emerald meadow randomly sprinkled with bright‐colored gems of wildflowers And the spirited dashing horses fly off into the fast‐approaching dusk As sunset closes in On the hot humid night, previously unknown dreams begin to unravel... deep from within... ‐ Mary Lynne Zahler