My Own Book of Poetry, Volume 1
Page 4
Seasons And Seasons
The seasons never fail to amaze me,
Changes from hot, to cold, to warm.
Nature follows each pattern exactly,
The wonders of God to perform.
In fall the colors are brilliant
As nature prepares for her sleep.
In silence she stands resilient
As her colors grow dark and deep.
The petals of flowers are blown;
The trees give their leaves to the earth
While nature sings softly to her own
Awaiting Spring and re-birth.
Winter's breath is bitter and cold,
Binding all growth in delay,
And life's cycles in secret unfold
Its mysteries, like molding of clay.
The most fascinating part of the story
When nature awakens the earth,
Is the slow warm ember of glory
When Spring glows again with re-birth.
Life slowly creeps into seed and sprig,
Emitting a warm vital glow within,
Flowing through trunk, to limb, to twig,
Unseen as it so subtly begins.
It starts with a small unseen quiver,
As life flutters with anxious hope,
Followed by a visible green spur
Until it is arrayed in full scope.
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Seasons Of Our Lives
God has blessed us with Seasons
And the changing colors therein,
Overflowing with breath-taking beauty
Where one fades and others begin.
And through every season
The changes nature brings again,
Through its storms or calm repose
It stirs us from within.
God has blessed us with seasons,
And our beauty grows from within,
Overflowing with His awesome love
Where one fades and others begin.
And through every season
The changes nature serves again
Ever through storm or calm repose,
God calms us from within.
May your days be full and happy,
Filled with Love and not strife,
As you walk in glowing beauty
In the Seasons of your life.
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Spring
Spring, ah, Spring!
Born of love and patience's
Tenderest care;
Spreading your awakening
Here and there;
Your essence caressing
The balmy air;
Embracing your existence
So soft and fair!
Awake, yes, awake!
'Tis time for your ballet.
Gentle; then fast;
Obeying the wind and storm
With hopes 'twould last.
And your fresh splendor,
As in the past,
With blended hues captivate
In green softness cast.
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Migration
Slow and laborious
The winged rhythm beat
Winging a path unseen from below,
Through storm, rain or snow,
To fields warmed by the sun's heat.
To fields meritorious
Of Nature's remembered call,
Guided by supernal love
And wisdom from above,
Sounding cries of Spring and Fall.
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Breath Of Winter
The winds of winter sweep the sky,
Leaving it a frosty grey.
No warmth of sun, and we sig;
Only winter's icy breath day by day.
Visions of frozen beauty for the eye,
While we get the joys of winter's play.
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Slowly Child
Walk slowly:
looking down;
the world lays treasures at your feet.
But remember! little one
the golden glitter brings defeat.
Walk slowly:
looking all aroundl;
for all the world is God's creation
great and small, discerning one;
it bears the crux of every nation.
Walk slowly:
looking up;
exalting in all that you observe.
but be aware! blinded one
that it is not pride you serve.
Walk slowly:
looking up;
walking in the light from above,
stand in prayer, hopeful one;
send God the incense of your love.
Walk slowly:
looking inwardly;
set yourself against this world's sin
Gratefully hope Christian one;
"Not I, but CHRIST, that lives within."
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The Captain Of My Ship
The Captain of my ship is familiar with the waters that we sail.
He gives me strength to endure.
He is the Anchor, strong and sure.
The strength of His hand upon the rudder cannot fail.
When the raging storms arise, He calms the boiling seas
From its anger that‘s bestirred.
Above the storm His voice is heard,
With loving reach through all time to hear His children’s pleas.
We soon will reach the safety of that promised shore,
The awaited hope of journey’s end.
Supernal joys received, to spend
With friends and loved ones traveling on before.
My Captain in His awesome wisdom sails this mighty sea.
His heart remains upon my care.
In my unlearned vessel, do I dare
To seek another captain, who cares naught for me?
Nay, but I continue on to reach that eternal goal.
Upon my Captain’s strength I lean.
From His galley will I glean.
He is the Master of my ship;
He is the Captain of my soul.
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The Cry
I called from the city,
Whence the cries, loud and clear.
Not a call from the mighty,
But those that to me are dear.
I wept and begged for comfort.
The wind moaned about
Seeking out your effort
With every lonely shout.
"Dress me please", I pleaded.
"These tatters leave me cold."
But nakedness, unheeded,
Grew as I grew old.
I called you from the prison
Through walls that hid the light.
Why have you not arisen
And made these wrongs right?
From distance far over seas,
Of bones dried within the flesh,
Come muffled sounds of hungry pleas
That break my wounds afresh.
Still growing is this disease
That has mind and body bent.
Neither would you come to ease
Nor one you could have sent.
The land is scorched and dried,
No water will you give.
And mercy will you hide
That others may not live.
Weakly, I whisper still
As I walk through the vale,
But Death looms above the hill
And covers my lowly wail
.
You are surrounded with the cry
For water I give, this day.
"Lord, Lord, give or I shall die."
Yet you do not what I say.
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The Drifter
The gentle rocking of the water
Sooths the boatman into sleep.
And the
drifting boat yields
To the undercurrent of the deep.
And when the dreamer awakens
To the waves of the sea
He finds it is not himself the "rocker"
But the mighty waves that be.
And it is not the mighty waves
That the drifter needs to fear,
But the failure to keep ahold
Of the oars to keep the shore near.
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The Eagle Flies
The Eagle flies
The frozen skies;
Beneath his wings
The snowy scenes
Of wolfen whines
And laden pines
Glazing the forest’s frozen grounds.
Trees bend
Before the wind;
Tales are told
Of winter’s hold;
The bitter haze
Of grey laden days
Sweeping the earth within its bounds.
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The Flag
Our hopes are flying high.
Our dreams are waving true.
Our country was built upon those dreams
With it's people's rights in view.
The nations came in numbers:
Weak and weary, bonded or free,
And all in humble gratitude
Bowing low upon their knee.
A country built on honor
To both God and man.
May it wave in honor
Forever, if it can.
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The Growing Rod
Life is a gift given of love,
But everyone a burden must bear.
It may be light or heavy laden,
Full of sorrow and of care.
Yet each one has it's purpose
In the story so carefully planned,
Guided stealthily forward
By so strong and steady a hand.
It's light may not carefully shine
That by it's beam we may see,
But in it's ultimate crises
There it's lasting love will be
To steady a hand so weakened
By life's beating, stormy path
To rebuild the shaken foundation
Amid the dreary aftermath!
Forward go the strong from the weak,
And happy from the sad,
Growing in stature from the small,
yielding the good from the bad
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The Light Of The World
lluminant ----
Angels brighter than the day,
Stand before the open grave
Emptied of its prey;
The Lamb prepared as foretold
To atone for man's sin.
Illuminant ---
Spirit of Love greater than the grave,
Through God's only son,
Pouring out His life, He gave
The full measure of sacrifice;
His eternal call to men.
Illuminant --
Why seek ye Him among the dead?
The grave holds not its prey.
Yield not to death with fear and dread,
For Christ has paid the unpaid debt,
To cover man's reproach and sin.
Illuminant ---
Spirit of man's obedient faith
In answer to God's gift of grace,
No longer seen a wandering wraith;
But out of a watery grave walks anew,
Where Christ can dwell within.
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Wanderlust
Wild is the wind that blows asea
And tosses ships to and fro.
Strong is the heart 'twould depart alee
Yearning seaside w ay to go.
Sick is the heart with geese do wander.
Wanders afar, and wanders alone,
Setting no port; off to horizon yonder,
Restless with the wind, and blown.
Solace found only with the tad
That inner soul does beckon
To follow the way of the nomad
Whose heart doesn't reason or reckon.
For counting loss is not with them.
To lose they have but naught.
And gain is not the priceless gem
But with the game they've caught.
Yes, wild is the wind that blows them,
Tossing them all to and fro,
And strong is the heart yields to the whim
Of the yearning they alone know.
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White Darkness
Silence spreads around me
Thick as fog across the land.
I feel its touch upon me
Heavy with its hand.
I strain to see beyond it,
But figures vague and slight
Drawn close from depths, slip
Back ag ain from sight.
Somehow I fear white darkness
Without its touch embracing
The strange and quiet apathy
Of shadows interlacing.
But my fear is unreal
As the shadows of the dark
And I turn again to feel
Warmth from life's spark.
White darkness
World unclean
Through shadows
World unseen
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To War My Son
For life, I gave him birth
And gave him love by woman's touch.
He walked his youth with mirth;
Grew in stature, height and girth.
Love, respect, and obedience was such
That filled my heart with joy
Which can only be by knowing such a boy.
Time called with a purpose to be fulfilled.
And eons passed on and on.
On foreign lands his tears were spilled,
And he arose to face a strange dawn.
My Son; My son is gone.
For birth, I gave him death
And in his dying I saw sorrow.
Weeping tears with each breath
I beheld him in his death
Knowing that when I rose on that morrow
With a sad heart I would weep
And only memories could I keep.
He gave his life for human cause;
On foreign soil his heart bled.
And I weep, bitterly, because
For this mankind he stood their stead.
My Son; My son is dead.
For Death, I gave him life.
Did he think I did not hear him cry?
That I forsook him in his strife?
Should I have asked that he give his life?
Did I have to leave him alone to die?
Yet should I weep with bitter loss
For hands and feet nailed to a cross?
With heavy heart I can see
The clouds clearing in Heaven's dome.
Because of death men are free
And heavy feet no more will roam.
My Son; My son is home.
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The Turning Of The World Around
Over the horizon peaks the sun.
The rays one by one
Find the paths of the sky
And tints them blue.
All done
cry.
What beauty to behold
For naught but to grow old.
Life yields its silent sound.
It is a day unspent.
It is a tree unbent.
And the stone shows the color of the ground.
The mid-day heat falls from the sun.
Full rays cling one to one
Obscuring the paths of the sky,
Blinding the tints of blue.
All done
I cry.
Hidden beauty to behold
Life yields its silent sound.
It is a day half spent.
It is a tree half bent.
And the stone shows the color of the ground.
The last rays of lingering sun
Are fading one by one.
Shadows cross the pathless sky
Obscuring tints of blue.
All done
I cry.
Quiescent beauty to behold
Yet the night brings the cold.
Life yields its silent sound.
It is a day low spent.
It is a tree low bent.
And the stone shows the color of the ground.
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The Pilgrim
A stranger and a Pilgrim
Walks through foreign field,
Following Jehovah God,
Obeying as He willed.
No longer a wanderer
Like a gostly wraith,
But like a wandering pilgrim
Upon the path of faith.
Not like a pilgrim
Wandering a path of strife,
But as a chosen vessel,
Following the path of life.
Not as a pilgrim following
A path wide and strange,
But as a sojourner on a path
Of strait and narrow range.
The journey that he travels,
This pilgrim of God,
Is not without its purpose,
As o’er the path he trod.
For the compass that he uses
Is true and faithful still,
And the map he utilizes
Is the Father’s Holy Will.
The journey of a Pilgrim
Down a long and lonley road,
Comes out of darkness to the light
And lays down his heavy load.
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Learning Took A Holiday
I go to books when I am happy or lonely,
But there are only letters and sounds that I can’t understand.
Somewhere someone mixed them all up
And they lay scattered all over the land.
One persons calls that word something to be desired,
And that it brought one great fortune and fame.
But another person calls it a perversion,
That it blackens the honor of a name.
I heard a child say that it was too much work
To learn a word when they would not need it.
Another child screamed in my ear I was mean
And when I said a word they would not heed it.