A new borns cry
Tearful last good bye
Swaying waves of golden prairie grass
Shifting desert dunes - an hour glass
An acorn dropping among forest leaves
To mighty oak - a lifetime of dreams
The changing moon - to full again
Each morn' the sun - new skies begin
Eagles soar high - our hearts go there
These ripples in time - we all share
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair
She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke
The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm
Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said
As she once again started to dissipate
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”
As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face
Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”
Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true
I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways
The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight
Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble
From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me
I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth
I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way
I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain
She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”
“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”
With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”
As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”
“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”
One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”
When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011
A thousand steps in between
who I was and who I am now
do I wonder about the detours?
do I wish I took the dirt road instead?
Would my path have been smoother if I said no instead of yes?
Would the worries have been less then what they are today?
I guess I’ll never know,
unless I go back in time
choose a different path
choose the least attractive offer and run with it
pipe dreams that is all my journey back in time would be
‘cause I would not have met you
and you would not be reading these words....
Everything in life boils down to an immaculate plan,
it may not be my ideal plan or yours
but in the end the voyage continues
whether we want to or not…
‘Cause it is all part of the bigger picture
in that image is your life and mine...
We just got to embrace the journey
no matter how uncertain it might be...
Contest: Anything Goes
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2011
hushed breaths draw ebbing tide,
soft virgin sands, un-walked and damp, shine.
A delicate filigree of silvery brine
brings an interlude where grief and beauty entwine,
gently swaying between now and then.
Thoughts of ‘remember when’
Scattered far and wide,
bygones shimmer in rock pools,
scents on breezes ride...
elusive remnants of love
under bitter-sweet moonlight.
There is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs,
where troubles disappear in ocean’s sighs
and hopes return with happiness inside.
Where shades of blue, and rose hues coincide
to nurture promises of sweet reprise,
there is a place where reveries reside,
ensconced in time between the lows and highs.
A haven to reflect on love’s divide,
recall that smile, the twinkle of those eyes
with fondness, then let woven dreams arise
with threads of gilded memories to guide...
this is the place where reveries reside.
**For Jared Pickett's Trois Par Huit /Tanka/Rondel contest
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
Just when twilight and dawn finally meet
in the quiet passage of breaths released...
there in that moment, I witness
a thousand wishes dancing
through the shadows of my mind,
each and every one in the form of chiaroscuro
marked by restless eclipses black to white.
The yearning streaks of a journey
creating long and endless days
born from arrival and death of flowers
as season's rhythms cross the border
etched on zodiac runes : a pathway dictated
by calibrated blows of a horn trilling spaces
in moments caught in the web of hours, to seize
glimpses held by ticks of banged pendulums.
I find myself wrapped so tightly in woven memories
and places that I can hardly breathe or pause
when a traffic of past, present chapters
slices the flow offered by life
as chain-link of minutes quickly grinds
collecting people and milestones
along railways, while I desperately try
to escape the rising and falling by moon-sun,
endlessly bartering for more grace...
dear time, you steal my " now"
through your eternal, impertinent glide.
101 in a ROW contest -5
Sponsor: PD Linda
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013
What is this unseen power
It changes all that exists into dust
It shapes our lives and our landscapes
It sculpts and changes us.
What is this unseen power
That rules the world of men
That heals and teaches and equalizes
That triumphs again and again?
Time is that great master
Of power and wisdom and grace
Which by doing nothing but passing
Leaves its mark on every place.
Time...yes you can waste it,
But be aware when you do
Time will return the favor my friend
And eventually start wasting you.
Copyright © Melanie McLaughlin Reed | Year Posted 2007
ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN
The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning
Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces
Red Sun Competition
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps
Copyright © Winter Wallace | Year Posted 2009
bouncing off birch trees
capturing sound in it's wind:
blue birds at the screaming peak of hunger,
rustling of ants with the last haul of insects before winter
down deep into quiet tunnels of perfectly rolled soil and sand,
the singular first drop of rain on a crackling red leaf
still holding it's breath 'till it turns brown,
four hawks in a circular flight
bleeding the wind in wings
and me, lost in autumn
shot from your bow
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
Every time we fall we lose a bit of are selfs.
Untill hollow becomes the heart.
bare as a vacant stores shelves.
The dreamer finds solice in every new face.
That new love's illusion.
Cold is the afterglow when we reflect apon that
once passionet embrace.
Can the bitter heart find a reason to try?
Skipping stones alone across dark water.
We keep setting are selves up without
a single question as to why.
A room smoke filled yet every thing shows
Sometimes we play the cards.
And hold the best one aside in fear.
As vast as the ocean from its shores
the the innocent crawl.
Trying to capture only a glimmer of that true passion.
Every time we fall.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
So stay the gold.
foolish thoughts wasted
apon the old.
Your never alone except day and night.
did we forget the cause.
Or just grow tired of the fight.
Evergreen moments dont exist in books.
Or pictures trapped apon the page.
The wisdom of life is nothing without the rage.
Into a maze we go blind.
Far past the moment.
Nothing is left to remind.
Motions are not feelings.
Along with contracts and lies.
So many loser's with there double dealings.
Taken from the city lights
I lost all that was obscene.
My pasion was turned into my evergreen.
Time you change all but me.
Casting many storms.
That turn so very deep within the sea.
Erased are thoose moments
apon the slate is clean.
I wonder do you ever reflect my sweet evergreen.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
Flight of stillness;
Ladders point up
but they say the ground is greater;
sunlight knitting to their brown feet green socks.
They crestfall and
buckle at the knee.
Hear guts clap thunder off somewhere else
but no storm in sight to maitre d' this mesa;
got to rot the mud lest
an urge to ripen ripens.
But hear now
the locusts flood this rut,
hunt for want,
impelled to eat each lunch of your decay.
Earth uncorks her pores.
you drift upon the grass, lift the damp from the sod
like a pillow of cloud sopping Earth's steam-
to be made the steward of this land;
Pay in full the cost of water,
less labors not yet lost.
Copyright © Andrew Gallagher | Year Posted 2008
Wind so cold.
Fondles my face.
The tears from heaven.
I wonder if i wish
to stop them
The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin
with the pure coldness that you bring.
like it's my first time in the snow.
the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.
The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here.
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
And again I fold.
Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013
You look back and dream of days long gone
You can feel the tears as they're coming on
Just realizing how much you lost
It's no way to estimate the cost
Once you walked with purpose and your will was strong
Wouldn't back down now somehow it all seems wrong
Never found out how the dice were tossed
Just count the chips and estimate the cost
Oh the price was more than you thought it would be
You just turned your back so you wouldn't see
There were limits set but those lines you crossed
Never took the time to estimate the cost
Now time is closing down that open road
Memories become such a heavy load
Autumn years will bring an early frost
Too late to sit and estimate the cost
Now you're just a few steps ahead of the hell you made
It wasn't supposed to be how the game was played
Total disregard, oh how the rules were tossed
Now the time has come to estimate the cost.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2012
I always dwelled on my faults
never saw the beauty others saw
hidden beneath the insecurity
falter in search of validation
from the things and people that
would never mean a thing
trying to hide
until that day it was easier to face the truth
or maybe not easier just a time
where running away and cheating myself
ripped through the core of everything that is me
you come to a point where lying to yourself
is not second nature anymore
trapped in a space where you know
it’s time for change
it’s time to take the blindfold off
time to embrace you
and not what others see,
not look for gratification from outside
try to feel within, even if it means
having to deal with pain in the now
instead of chucking it away
and bounce around on an emotional see-saw
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2012
- "If you can walk away today, would you?"
Somehow that question stuck in her mind
as she was packing things in her suitcase
Can it really be this easy?
I hope not she thought -
How can one just pack up and go?
How do you forget the things that you cherished for half your life
things that made the most sense
even those you identified as your own?
How did you become the stranger in the family portrait?
lifeless hair, a face that reflect weariness
With an absent smile
I never realized I've lost myself
I got stuck
while everyone around me continued to grow
stagnant I became -
because I worried about everybody else
and forgot to love me
maybe it's time I rediscover me -
'cause how can one give love when you don't love yourself?
So this is not goodbye,
no I'm not leaving you...
Just taking some time out to rediscover me ---
*Inspired by so many situations out there*
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2012
The time will come...Then, let me lie easy in a box of natural pine
And please, no bouquets of store bought flowers will I want
Give the money instead to a soup kitchen, they need it more
A flower from your garden or the fields will do just fine
I'd love music; if there is I will hang around a little longer
Just listen as the soft breeze blows, I'll be whispering good byes
Should it rain that day, I'll dance in the puddles as I did as a child
Filled with excitement as cool drops rivulet down my face
As music wafts upon the wind, perhaps I'll frolic bare feet in lush green grass
Perchance it'd be a sunny day, I'd twirl in fields of golden wheat
Then anxiously, run to the whitest of white, sugar- fine sands
Stand on blue green ocean's edge; be teasingly chased by crested waves
Suddenly, I'd realize that I have all eternity; that time no longer has claims on me
I'd stand upon an ageless boulder; feel the vibration of rolling waves
All the while laughing as the ocean sprays cool mists gently wash my face
As I await the awesome moment - the grand reunion of light to light
For Paula Swanson's "When" Contest
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2011
Parchment turns yellow in time's orchard,
and colored ink disappears with age.
Written papers crumble into dust,
traveling back to Mother Nature's stage.
Store bought treasures feel the decay
from the invading touch of deadly mold.
Rust caresses with corrosive fingers,
feasting upon the metal bodies of the old.
The dazzling colors of pampered clothing
ebb with the endless load of years.
Stains paint their limp fabrics,
weaving memories of life's fleeting tears.
A human's decaying body accepts
the priceless gifts that noble time brings.
As a troubled youth fades into time's whirlpool,
growing wisdom lessens life's stings.
Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2006
There was a time in America, when the Bible
was taught in the schools.
The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.”
There was a time in America, where the
cross could be displayed.
Even in public places, people came together and prayed.
There was a time in America,
there was no “church and state” separation.
As people all across this country asked God to help this nation.
There was a time in America, where
people knew right from wrong.
You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song.
There was a time in America where one
was proud to be a Christian.
One could take stand for holiness,
without coming under “suspicion.”
There was a time in America, when
mom and dad were together…
Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever
There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.”
There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.”
There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say;
“I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.”
This is the time for America, to wake
up and try to understand.
We need to seek God right now! All over this land!
This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear…
The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near!
NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found!
The word of God needs to be read in every city and town!
Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today?
Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
Which road would lead me to heaven?
I've been looking for that road.
Which road would lead me to freedom?
I’ve been a slave since my birth.
Which road would lead me to sanity?
I’m going crazy with all the rules.
Oft voiceless 'neath society's shadow,
it’s time to get out of this life.
My mind's aching, my heart's slowly breaking,
they don’t realize what they are doing.
I can’t bear it all it’s time to get home,
they’re making me a fool I can’t go on.
Which road leads me to that long-lost place?
where everything is love, no trace of hate.
I’ll find it someday, tomorrow maybe,
although they’re blocking my way.
Which road would lead me to laughter?
I’ve been crying all my life.
Take my hand and come with me,
just say the word and we’ll be free.
Copyright © Wilfredo Derequito | Year Posted 2009
Pink faced, and warm, I stand at the kitchen counter
rubbing flour and butter briskly
through my fingers into a large mixing bowl...
Apples are already peeled and sliced, that lay
like petals, pale green, in the pie plate, waiting for a crumbled topping
I know they are mine, these hands, I see, deftly working...
So skilled, they are, that even I am amazed,....
Even before my own eyes, there is a moment, I watch, from outside myself
Yes these hands are mine... proven by the swirls and the valleys
as I when I'm asked to write my own name,...
as when I scribbled this new recipe, in a familiar, weary yellow notebook
Yet, as if I were wearing gloves,
my hands seem to live inside the skin of others...
I watch their motion and have no control of every small detail,
Rote tasks, of which I have seen before
No hand has held the amber weight of sun
or tugged in summer wind, but silently
some root has crooked a finger into the flour,
intent to foster a long connection, some ancient comfort,
a deep knowing, of heart and bone, of mind, and soul
that assures me, I never will stand alone, with flour on my hands
I will always have centuries at my elbow
Submitted for Nette's Contest: With These Hands
Carrie Richards 12/21/13
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Today, I spent some time alone
to settle down into my bones.
I nestled deep in songs at last,
soothed by the choir of loved ones passed.
Forgotten was the ache of loss,
I meditated on the cross.
My mind was clear of lists and worries.
My soul at peace was in no hurry.
I synchronized breaths with the breeze
and God’s empathic voice with ease.
I never uttered words of prayer,
just listened, in my silence bare.
Oh, how the world washes away
our innocence to love and play!
Our spirits fraught long to seek God,
Heaven’s envoy in His ballade.
Today, I spent some time alone
to feel my soul set free from bone.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
of your net
inquisitively into life’s river .
This time draw it's fill slowly back to shore,
taking great care
Robert A. Dufresne
Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2011
How did you feel when you woke? Were you frightened or lonely, or was your heart broke?
Do you feel alone or sometimes afraid? Is it clear that your life’s not meeting the grade?
Do you feel uncomfortable in your own skin? Do you feel that you’re losing, but just want
Are you having remorse about what could have been? If so, then it’s time to grab paper and
Jot some things down you’d like to achieve. Then read them each day and start to believe.
We cannot go back and change the past! Standing still today, just won’t last.
So get ready, prepare, and take care of your needs. It’s time to firmly plant His seeds.
Start with yourself and the rest will follow. I know right now it’s hard to swallow.
Be gentle and patient, for there is no doubt, you’ve been hurting so long, both inside and
If you know in your heart that something’s askew, you must be willing and ready to start anew!
There’s help for you along the way. You’ll receive it for sure, so start to pray.
Dear God, Please show me where to start. To You, I know I must open my heart.
So say each day, “Thy Will Be Done”, and you’ll see it, I’m sure, but just don’t run.
Be open and willing to hear and see, all that He is calling you to be.
Follow His signs and stay on the road, and when you ask He’ll help bear the load.
Don’t bring excess baggage for this trip. Keep it simple, you see or you just might slip.
You need to remember to stay on track. Once you start, hold nothing back.
For the new road you find is the only way. You’ll get there soon, if you just don’t stray.
Now is the time for discipline and prayer. You’ll start to believe you’re in His care.
As you practice and try to do the right things, you’ll be eager to see what the next day
Your life will be flooded with joy and gladness, and you’ll know he’s there in times of
Life is still life, but just stop and think. Nothing is solved by making a stink!
So put all your worries in God’s hands today! There’s no reason to keep them, let go and
I know that miracles do come true. Have faith and His promises will be given to you.
©October 17, 2006
Copyright © Michelle DeGironemo | Year Posted 2010
you can love
in a just a single moment
that the loss
is felt for a lifetime
it doesn't take time
to form love's bond
sometimes it is immediate
a connection of heart and soul
that defies logic or explanation
these thoughts crowd the mind
as flowers she lays
among her memories
petals with tears
for blue eyes now closed
forever gleam brilliantly
smiles given so eagerly
with tiny lips of kisses
still hold her heart captive
so she lays a white rose
for every day
that her little girl
blessed her with her presence
and one red bleeding rose
to represent the pain of her loss
for even in the agony,
the joy far outweighed the pain
time means nothing when you love
the gift is to love at all...
Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2007