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Divine Threads by Clara Mitchell 1/10/2025

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  Divine Threads by Clara Mitchell I was spiritually sewing today. I was able to thread a needle With my divine thread of inspiration. The eternal thread that keeps my poetry alive. Eternity is at work like a revelation. Whatever God gives has this promise. "The things which are not seen are eternal" "the things which are seen are temporal." (II Corinthians 4:18) This eternal thread of inspiration gives life. Each idea sown is born anew, (John 3:3) To open hearts and faith, Into prayer and supplications. While tying a knot in this new thread, I ask God about a new poem. I see that the end is already in process. The knot tells me that it will all tie together. (Romans 8:28) Each poem like a quilt of ideas. Each idea spreading across poetry lines. I stitch the words within the stanzas of thread. Until I feel the knot form that signals the end ahead...
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Leaving the Matrix Behind by Clara Mitchell

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 Leaving the Matrix Behind                                      by Clara Mitchell 1-5-2025 When leaving the Matrix, No matter what kind it may be. There is a process of events That lead to its end. The process is a mixture Of false starts and setbacks-- The strong grow weary. "Faith deferred leaves the heart sick: But when the desire cometh, It is a tree of life." (Proverbs 13:12 KJV) Freedom begins and the lies die-- When our steps reach beyond the Matrix. Things are a blurry journey in the Matrix. One thing after another clouds my vision. I finally found fog lights from above To steer myself away from false lighthouses. The lighthouses are people who role play Within the confines of their own visions. They only appear to be rescue landmarks. God's vision expands outwardly. The object of lighthouse missions, Is a type of grooming to gain favor. Grooming i...
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Bookends by Clara Mitchell

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  Bookends                     by Clara Mitchell On one end of my life, I have found a deeper place with God. The deeper place Anchors my devotions. On the other end of my life, It is like a dead end. Two bookends to my life. My life evolves into chapters. The in between times of my life Are found in these bookends. The warfare is evident. As long as I push against the dead end-- I will have the right outcome. Turning the pages of the chapters of my life, Is turning away from the old life. (II Cor 5:17) The anchor goes deep so not to drift. The changes will help me finish my life. The new creation finds its place and prevents dead ends. Simple child like faith in God's son- Jesus will wash our sins away. Repent and be made whole while there is time- Step out of the in between life And enter into eternal life.
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The Poet's Ear by Clara Mitchell

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 The Poet's Ear                  by Clara Mitchell Words flood into the poet's ear. If such rapids continue too long, I will soon go deaf. This tide pulls me to my desk. Divine inkwells awaken this moment. Pure words capture my insight. Scripts drip with fresh ink. I hear the verse form One by one-- The verses recite a new poem. The Holy Oracles of God Like a flood, Have left eternal marks  In the poet's inner ear. The inner ear is a sanctum-- Call it my temple, or dwelling Place for my inner man. The words are gone. Inspire me again. The water lines are proof-- These ears will hear again and again. The poet must finish the poem. The poet's ear creates like a musician-- Who can play by ear. The poet's words are an arrangement Composed by the Holy Spirit. The hidden directing force  Behind all the curtains of life.
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One Christmas Day by Clara Mitchell

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 One Christmas Day              by Clara Mitchell I like to gather trinkets all in a line-- Row after row. A chorus of cherubs with six sounding trumpets, Rolling out from a gift box, And into the palm of my hand. I could see the dance of music. I caught a glimpse of pink and colors like cotton candy-- The colors held a carousel of Angels. I gave a gentle push to the lead Angel. The harps began to play. The Angel's wings took flight moving the Carousel round and round. I too, went round and round as if I had wings.  I was unable to stop falling into my Christmas tree-- The branches broke my fall. There were many tiers of Angel hair. Beneath the tree's frosted needles, I saw Mary and Joseph kneeling next to me. Moving as close as I could, I was able to kneel, In hopes that the Child that lay Could hear my carousel of Angels play.
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Stash Away (Prisoner of the Lord Ephesians 4:1) by Clara Mitchell

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In the last days, and prior to this time; many people are finding themselves isolated and set apart from others. The people are both Christian and non-Christian. I heard a sermon by Christine Caine where she was preaching about staying close to God and especially now as the days grow darker with evil. Her ability to bring home the image of this walk became quite clear as she said, "handcuff yourself to Jesus". I agree, and the idea was clear to help us all prepare for the darker days ahead. I have often felt like "a prisoner of the Lord." (Ephesians 4:1-4) "I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called, 2With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love: 3Endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. 4 There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling:" I wrote a poem in May of 2024 as I prepared and hope...
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His Way Psalm 37:5 Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.

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His Way                              Clara Mitchell 11/15/24 When I step out of the way-- New poetry is on the way. Jesus is a way maker. His ways prevent lost poetry. How many sunken poetry treasures, Lost in a sea of writer's blocks? Pages sink deeper-- The blocks build over time. Revision makes a way to revive Lost blocks of time. One block at a time Fills new pages of poetry. Words find their place when they fit. God knows the value of a word fitly spoken- "they are like apples of gold." Proverbs 25:11 A poet has riches untold. Words find places to fit like things in a room. If I block the word or place, The entire flow will slow. There is a flow chart to follow for each new poem. Words flow into place. The writer's block can no longer build. The blocks have no more place. Now I can pick up where I left off.
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