In the beginning the Lord created a great deep,
So deep that no eye saw anything but obscurity.
This deep we now by name call the heavens,
Accompanied by the creation of great vacancy-
A formless void that is uninterrupted by shapes.
It is the undefinable foundation for that yet to form,
A place we now think of as the planet earth,
Which passed the tests of the primeval, perfect storm.
Now with this creation comes the beginning of time,
And for measurement a transparent hourglass,
With an exact amount of sand enclosed within,
Which has until this moment been at an impasse.
Not a grain has been able to pass the constriction,
Until the Creator has commanded it to go.
As the primal beauty comes into existence,
Change enacts sand to fall in the chamber below.
With the passage of time within the hourglass
The Lord’s creation enlarges and expands;
It becomes the abode for another creation –
The harvest of the Lord’s desires becomes Man.
To Man the hourglass is a no longer fashionable,
And it may even seem to be ruling his day.
So he looks to the Lord for a savior—
For someone who-win or lose-will want to play.
The solution from the LORD is Woman,
A helpmate fashioned of Man’s own bone.
His dream has become his reward,
And She seems even better than homegrown.
Her figure is the perfect hourglass,
And her countenance is a bonny display.
Plainly It seems Man never saw the lady coming,
Since his plain morning bird became his bird of prey.
Copyright © Albert Price
The Apple PASTURE
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.
Copyright © JAY JOHNSON
The silent bell rings in the night,
Calling the devils to kneel to the light,
What once was, becomes no more,
As the light breaks through the open door.
What you think and what you feel,
What you saw and thought was real,
Is now only dust on the road,
The desolate remains of your ancient abode.
The new light is rising on the hill,
The new song is singing down in the well,
The new souls are dreaming of your face,
The new hearts are beating at you pace.
The old ideas and reasons you gave,
Are buried in the tomb and in the grave,
The rotting bone and flesh are gone,
In the morning dew, in the morning sun.
The light shines through the open door,
Casts no shadow on the old dirty floor,
The ancient laws of reason and might,
Crumble to dust in the morning light.
What once was real and certain as rock,
Is now the dream the baby forgot,
The new light coming to wake you my love,
The silent lamb and the flying dove.
more of my poems at :
Copyright © ness tillson
THE BIRDS ARE QUITE A SIGHT TO SEE IT TELLS YOU MANY THINGS
OF HOW THE WEATHERS COMING AND WHAT THE SEASON BRINGS
BUT THE BIRD I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IS HIGH ABOVE THE REST
AND IT'S HARD TO BE AN EAGLE WHEN YOUR IN A TURKEY'S NEST
AN EAGLE IS A MAGNIFICENT BIRD WITH A VERY LARGE WINGSPAN
AND WITH HIS SHARPENED EYESIGHT HE SEE'S MILES ACROSS THE LAND
HE REPRESENTS OUR FREEDOM AS HE SOARS ABOVE THE REST
AND IT'S HARD TO BE AN EAGLE WHEN YOUR IN A TURKEY'S NEST
THE TURKEY IS A DUMB BIRD THAT WILL FOLLOW YOU AROUND
THEN RUN AWAY SO QUICKLY AT EVERY NOISEY SOUND
THEY PECK AWAY AT BRIGHT THINGS AND AT EACH OTHER TOO
THEY NEVER KNOW WHICH WAY TO GO OR WHAT THEY WANT TO DO
THEY ARE HAPPY WITH JUST BEING HUDDLED WITH THE REST
IT SO HARD TO BE AN EAGLE WHEN YOUR IN A TURKEY'S NEST
BUT I KNOW THAT GOD HAS CALLED ME AND HE'S PUT ME TO THE TEST
AND IT'S HARD TO BE A TURKEY WHEN YOUR IN AN EAGLES NEST.
Copyright © SANDRA MATHEWS
your heart is avowed by nostalgic pigeons
pigeons that you did away with stones
Copyright © shabnam shirvani
Pigeons And Falcon
Thousands of pigeons flock to the Vatican
They are not there for Sunday Mass and prayer
But to perform aerial acrobatics
And to produce droppings from up there
Feathers follow them in the air on hot dry currents
Unpleasant summertime aromas fill St. Peter’s square
People speaking a multitude of languages stare in amazement
Follow the waves and movements of the birds in flight
And think of pigeons as nasty filthy creatures
(in their respective dialects of course)
They seek God in all His perfections and dwell on nature as they reflect
But that is not manna falling from the heavens on arms and hair
Bird droppings fall everywhere
Enter, the noble falcon on the scene
Hungry and hunting for something delicious to eat
Like an angel or saint swooping down on a golden band of light
Pigeons act purely on reflex as they take flight
Without lofty thoughts or motives
Their brains are oh so tiny and miniscule
Not wired like that
Falcon will educate them anyway
Enforce the rules of God and nature
2 Our Father’s, 3 Hail Mary’s and a good act of contrition
Are not required as penance for their sins
They are expelled from this paradise for dropping in
Pigeons simply don’t understand religion
Copyright © Earl Schumacker
oh priceless faith
this quiet place
where we can
share it all
let us sing
every night bird of prayer
Copyright © Gregory Golden
The Eagle, the Dove or the Turkey: Which Bird?
In January 1784 Benjamin Franklin said,
That “The bald eagle…[was] of bad moral character”;
Called him poor, lousy and a thief, validated the turkey,
Which, he said, was “a true original native of America."
Although the turkey’s eaten at Thanksgiving,
And every American should appreciate their life,
It’s beginning to be enjoyed at Christmas time,
About which some religions don't give a hoot, and are not acting.
The dove traditionally signs for peace,
And forever will, all things being said,
And although America is a superpower,
It is not to me, and never will be, the world’s head.
Even though Russia just now is playing with power,
And America may be valid as interacting with it,
The United Nations for me is the force,
To call the shots for how governments should sit.
To me, America, stands for all people,
Any person can emigrate and find a life,
Because its weak and vulnerable are nurtured,
To get a challenge out of strife.
The bald eagle for me, with its wide and large nest,
Should be the symbol of America, with its Great Seal approval,
Because it says to me just anyone has stance,
By that pure white head which its brown body does enhance.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan
The snow doth fall upon my face
with cool spots of icy water that soon melt from the heat of 98 point 6
The snow fills my bird bath 'til it piles up and creates a dome no bird will negotiate
The river, behind my house flows slower as snow and freezing temperatures begin to solidify the water
And there is my neighbor, struggling to remove the snow from her driveway
I see her breath as each shovelful advances her progress to the street
Within a few moments her driveway is clear as I whisk my snow blower through the 3 foot berm to the open roadway
She says thank you in her soft and bone chilled voice
I call back,"Merry Christmas".
Copyright © Preston Hill
I do not know?
Have you ever wondered why the Caged bird Sings
Sings a joyful noise from heaven
He is grateful for a new day of life
Living for the future that s right
He Sings for hope
Peace and Tranquility
Joyful noise for us to hear
Have you ever wondered why the cage bird leaves his nest
Taking new challenges and try to do his best
He leaps and falls
Dives then crawls
He never loses this mind not at all
The lesson I want you to learn to day
Be like the cage bird
leave the nest
do your best
take life challenges
Trust in God and he will do the rest
Copyright © Poet Dody williams