Temples
By Bianca Schrader
Inspiration piece

All things beautiful

All things sacred

All things worshiped, holy in quiet spaces. 

Sun-dappled anything. Curls of steam out of a favorite cup. Piles of books, some to be read,

some just hopefuls. 

Unfinished projects.

Cards from close friends. 

All things ordinary. All things precious, placed with purpose. 

All stories to tell. 

Soft light, quiet mornings.

Late for work, out the door. 

Company is coming, sweep the floor. 

So that they may take their shoes off. 

Make yourself at home in mine. I’ll make it comfortable. 

I’ll try to let you in once you’ve entered!

This is my church. I’m the god worshiped here 

and so are you.

we are the same, you just built your church a little differently. 

All things beautiful.

we are the same, you just built your church a little differently. 

All things beautiful.

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Linda Mitchell
Inspiration piece

Dreams In Between
By Jone Rush MacCulloch
Response

Letters are small angels flying in between — Anne Wynne, from “Letters are Small Angels”

The queen dreams of letters,

written by cardinals in deep winter. Are

words written by the divine lost? Small

messages from everyday angels

found tucked in each envelope. I am flying

in the alleyways, a queen in

rainbow wings, delivering letters and dreams in between.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Jone Rush MacCulloch
“Early Dawn”
Inspiration piece

Early Dawn
By Linda Mitchell
Response

dreams whisper
to wake before sunrise
slipper shuffle to writing room
coffee in hand

to wake before sunrise
word play, journal time
coffee in hand
quiet blankets the house

word play, journal time
old photograph invites a poem
quiet blankets the house
darkness gives way to a pink-gray sky

old photograph invites a poem
rain and wind strike up a chorus
darkness gives way to a pink-gray sky
grasp the pen and begin

rain and wind strike up a chorus
slipper shuffle to writing room
grasp the pen and begin
dreams whisper

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Jone Rush MacCulloch
“Glencoe, Scotland”
Photograph
Inspiration piece

Fàilte
By Fernanda Valentino
Response

Heavy clouds cascading
Looming low, they skim
And brush these emerald valleys
With winter’s thick, cold kiss.

Tora Estep
Inspiration piece

Jone Rush MacCulloch
Response

I watched as the flames
stretched upwards in the brittle night
Wondered who would save the books

The ancient, the sacred, the magical, all the books
licked by the flames, devoured by the flames
I watched in the brittle of the night

Laughter, then screams in the brittle night
as the words from the books
melted and died in the flames

Anger became my cloak as the flames grabbed the books in the brittle night