Please, won’t you come along with me
Up river in the fall?
We’ll float at leisure, passing woodlands
Burnished, thick, and tall.
We’ll watch thick clouds give way to sun
That breaks horizon’s crest
And choose a course that guarantees
Delightful Autumn Rest.
photo courtesy of Larisa Koshkina @ pixabay.com
Of summer heat.
I say this ev’ry year:
Fall is the only perfect time
Is close now.
I hear the crickets sing.
And leaves are falling one by one.
Come and go.
And I appreciate
All of them, but none so much as
Thanks so much to my wonderful friend, photographer Terry Valley, for this amazing Autumn picture.
I want to step out in adventure,
But each time the first step draws near,
Before I can start to move forward,
I’ve run, face-to-face, into fear.
I long to get out of my humdrum
And into new elements wade,
But just when I find my direction,
I realize I am afraid.
What am I to do with myself then?
I have no solution in mind.
I look at the fear, and I dither,
Which means that I get left behind.
Perhaps, I’m not meant for adventure,
And everyday life it must be.
Oh, that would be such disappointment;
From humdrum I’d never be free.
No, I must be stern with my psyche
When my knees start to tremble and sway.
Courage is not being fearless.
It’s taking the plunge anyway.
I haven’t written any cinquain in several months. That’s not like me at all, so I decided I’d remedy that situation today and write two.
I planted some,
And nice green stems came up.
But months have passed and still no blooms.
Gerd Altman @ pixabay.com
Closing In On Christmas
Has come so fast.
This year is flying by.
But I don’t mind, for Christmas then
This poem is part of my “Color Me Happy” series on my poetry site. I thought readers here might enjoy it as well.
When you feel your emotions are starting to sink,
When you’re fed up with politics and all the stink,
When you’re so mad your panties are all in a kink,
When losing your sanity’s just on the brink,
And why should you choose such a color, you ask?
Because when we choose in pink’s color to bask,
We’re cuddled and coddled in this pleasant shade.
It pampers and pets us and makes our hearts glad.
God, in His infinite wisdom did choose
Pink as a color important to use
When bringing the dawn of a new day alive
And when setting the sun to usher in night.
There’s something quite primal in pink I have found —
Something so elemental it’s almost profound.
We respond as if there’s an umbilical link.
So whatever the problem — to fix it, think pink.
My mother was a poet, and a great inspiration to me, both as a writer and as a woman. On this Mother’s Day, I can’t help but think again how grateful I am for her legacy.
THE PRICE IS PAID
How deep and dark the grave in which they laid the Lord.
And naught to give Him hope except the Father’s Word.
But ’twas enough, for God had said, “When day three comes,
You’ll rise with life anew and come again to Home.”
Throughout the vigil, silence reigned and men did mourn.
And in the halls of Hell, the demons, they did groan:
This man from off the cross had stormed their barriers staid.
Hell panicked at the word from Heaven: “The price is paid!”
Then Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, stepped forth
And grasped the keys of Death and Hell with violent force.
Then rose through realms beneath to burst from earth and grave.
His shout of victory rang abroad: “Mankind is saved!”
O, Lamb of God
So pure, so holy, undefiled,
You came so meekly,
Vulnerable, a tiny child.
You took our sin
And took all of its consequence.
You chose the cross,
And on it your lifeblood was spent.
But for what cause,
When tempted in the garden that night,
Did you still choose
To let yourself be crucified?
You told us, Lord;
If we’d just listen, we would know.
You said, “Because
I love the Father, I will go.”
Lord, work in us
That holy and obedient love,
That we, when tried,
Will speak and act only for God.
(Photo courtesy of Karen’s Whimsy)
A Poet Must Do What a Poet Must Do
I’m not ready for NaPoWriMo.
I should create some kind of verse.
And I’d better get onto it pronto:
It’s already April the first.
A poem with some kind of meaning
Is not always easy to write.
So I’ll just have to settle for something
That’s simple, perhaps even trite.
A jingle with sing-songy wording,
A love poem packed with cliches,
A limerick rolling with laughter —
One a day for the next thirty days!
Well, I can’t sit here just ruminating.
I’m a poet, and my duty’s clear:
NaPoWriMo has issued the challenge,
So I’ll start with this poem right here.
For the sake of full disclosure, I will say right now that I do not have any plans to write a new poem every day during the month of April. My work schedule will simply not allow for that amount of added writing this month. But I was feeling giddy about 1:00 this morning, and I figured I’d at least write one little ditty to kick off NaPoWriMo, 2019.
Nathaniel was a man who knew no guile.
He walked with Jesus, loved Him all the while.
When first he heard His name, a question posed
But waited ’til the answer was disclosed.
“From Nazareth can any good come forth?”
He asked of those who knew that city’s worth.
He asked for meditation, not reply,
Yet found the answer true in Jesus’ eyes.
And although from the garden he did run
With others as they scattered one by one,
As Roman guards led Jesus, bound, away,
There came a reckoning after the third day.
As Mary ran to spread the glorious news,
Nathaniel, hidd’n with others, all confused,
Received her words with doubt, and hope, and fear,
And hungered so His Master’s voice to hear.
Then Jesus stood among them, His work done:
Salvation for the world from Nazareth comes.
A shackle placed upon the brow.
And scarlet robe on shoulders bowed.
The tortuous, mutilating pain.
To give me peace and health again.
To execute the Father’s plan.
Now empty stands:
He’s paid the price for every man.
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. A few years ago I wrote 7 poems during Holy Week — or Passion Week — leading up to Easter Sunday. This year in commemoration of our Lord’s suffer, I’m going to repost those poems on each Wednesday in Lent — and then post the last of the 7 on Easter Sunday. I hope they bless you and inspire you to gratefully meditate on how our Lord Jesus suffered for our sins and in our place to work our total redemption and salvation.
My heart pounded
As they dragged me out.
They stood me close beside Him,
And I looked about.
The crowd was frenzied:
With rage and raw disgust.
I wasn’t sure the real cause–
Why they fumed and cussed.
I glanced beside me
To catch a glimpse of Him,
But what my eyes saw in His
Convicted me within.
When guards shouted,
“Who is it going to be?”
Then I understood they’d choose
To set one free.
Set Barabbas free!”
I could not believe my ears:
They chose, not Him, but me.
“What of Jesus?”
Then asked the guards.
“Crucify Him! Crucify Him!
He is not our God!”
My shackles fell off:
By law a free man.
Pilate called for water then
And there he washed his hands.
The day grew dark
As He hung there,
Upon a cross with thieves each side,
Then He said a prayer.
He prayed, “Forgive them.”
Did that include me?
When He said, “It is finished!”
I knew He’d died for me
Off familiar pathways.
The more I walked off-course the more I then pondered:
How, stuck in ruts, our lives
picture courtesy of Kanenori @ pixabay.com