Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares down the darkened hall.
A solitary line of pink light sneaks through a crack in the door.
Fighting tears hanging loosely in my eyes, I listen.
“Please tell daddy that I love him and miss him.”
It has been two months since he died. Long, hard months.
“Keep him safe.”
His smell still lingers on his clothes in the closet.
“and bless mommy to be happy…”
How can I be happy, or even smile, when all I want is to be numb?
The tears burn in my eyes, but I can’t cry, or I might never stop.
“so that she will play with me like she used to”
I can scarcely recall the last time I was able to focus; to give her all my attention.
“help her to forgive me,”
Oh sweet baby, it’s I who needs your forgiveness.
“help her to love me again, even though sometimes I’m bad”
Oh God, is that what she thinks!?
“and please help me to find dolly so she won’t be scared tonight”
Ok, focus…just breathe.
“in Jesus name I pray, Amen.”
Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares into the room lit by a solitary pink lamp.
I sneak through the door, with tears rolling down my cheeks,
and enter with a promise, that all her prayers will get answered.
Submission for Prayertime Memories
Hosted by Isaiah Zerbst
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
Amazing Grace, how sweet the taste
A song I dread up to these days
Mommy, can you hold my hands?
Show me how to make God understand?
Will you hold my hand, like when we would pray,
maybe then he will listen to the words I say!
How do I ask God, If I can keep you for another day?
I promise this time to pray for you every day
Mommy, please share beautiful words before you say good-bye.
I thank you for the shoes I've grown to love and tie
What am I going to do when I want to talk and be with you?"
Now who's gonna take care of me when I'm feeling blue?
Mommy will you still protect me, when you are gone?"
Defended me, no matter the trouble I will put myself in.
You always explained the reasons why I was here.
You also taught me, how to face my fears away
Now how am I going to find my way home?
Are you still going to whisper words, saying "I'M NOT ALONE!"
Mommy why is everyone offering their sympathy?
No one compares to your supportive heart when it came to me.
Mommy, can you make the suffering stop?
Don't you know you are all I got
Mommy, I have no cure for what is in you
All I can offer is what is in me.
I want to go and outside and play, with you
Hold my hand and take me with you to the other-side.
The place you spoke of when it came to Amazing Grace.
Your new sweet surrender resting place.
*** Mom I'm here to visit you again.
A place where baskets are offered by family and friends.
Mom, can I stay here forever with you?
Hold me the way you use too.
Mom, to you I sing a lullaby of praise
Mommy, can you hear me?
Digging deep into the ground,
There and only there can you be found.
One last breath shared with the open skies.
Mommy, can I go with you?
*to my mom*
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
Sometimes, I cannot help but sigh
wonder deep inside of me
whether I could ever be like you.
I riffle through the pages of my soul
and find a lot of them empty
Unlike yours, which seem to be bursting, blinding,
bursting, and still continuing to burst with brilliance...
So much so,
that your soul's light
has spread far and wide,
very much like sunlight's fingers
opening the morning sky curtains,
touching and warming
those who need it.
Each step that you take,
each breath that you exhale,
each prayer that you whisper,
each beat of your heart
I receive a smile,
with that man
who you've helped change...
Because of you,
the silent man now speaks, smiles.
You sit down to rest,
I see you talking to someone,
and I am almost fooled,
since you seem like old friends.
Because of you,
the lonely strangers become kindred.
It mystifies me sometimes,
of how you never seem to get tired.
It seems like I am the one who gets tired for you,
who gets worried for your own strength...
Then I see that glow from all around,
and I am reminded how you glean from this glow.
I see you as this beautiful ball of energy--
bouncing from soul to soul,
illuminating parts of themselves
that even they never knew existed.
It is so amazing seeing this at work,
since the next thing I know,
the place is lit up,
...and it is all because of you.
It makes me feel unworthy at times,
but oh how it also makes me feel so proud,
that I am a part of you,
and you are a part of me.
I have a lot of catching up to do,
since it seems I am lightyears from where you are
But I will try.
I will catch the tail end of your light,
clutch to it with my life, winding it around me,
let it embrace me--tight, so tight.
And I will never let it go. Never.
Until I also begin to glow.
Until I too, become that ball of light.
Hopefully when someone
riffles through the pages of my soul,
they will not find it blank,
but filled with gilt pages of light.
Just like yours.
Bursting and brilliant just like yours.
Tanglaw is pronounced "tang-lao"
Where I live, mothers are said to be the "light of the home"...
Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2012
' '''''''' ' ''
Somewhere a hand is reading out loud
a Dickinson, a leather-worn journal
recording daily life’s soirees,
memorizing rain and shielding little girl’s eyes
from the blasting words of the sun.
Somehow someone reaches
from darkness to drive the shadows
that meet the body of her child: trembling
with excitement or fear,
sliding tender fingers on the back;
parts the arms like wind that rushes in
all seasons to reveal the lush, delicious
landscape of summer ; then rubs the elbow
down the forearm to greet the cheeks
with a kiss and watches while
the hands move back without help or
guidance from the daughter sleeping. ~
Somewhere a mother, grandmother,
godmother, stepmother, or mother nature
weeps over love’s broken child;
uses her hair to bandage
the wound on the youth’s head …unfolds
her hands from prayer to widen
the window of angel psalms
pressing her lips into alleys
of the sapling’s mouth: a tear transforms her
from receiving to giving. ..and she feels without
seeing the last light of the night; lit for
the heart of those who witness its extinguishing
Somewhere death’s chariot prepares for
a long journey, away from the living:
pack the roses from tomb to womb,
remove the thorns for gracious sake,
like knives that pierce the heart of loved ones
who cannot move on, pulling
the orchards over her head;
a name whispered in every fireplace she flamed
And somehow tonight, I hear her stir, still
clinging to the waning voice of the hours;
she bequeaths stars I will inherit
until she, at last succumbs to wispy bliss.
And I, a sighing child must tell her:
“ Wake up, you've been in bed so long,
Mother, you should not be sleeping…”
........ .... ........
*with love to my Mom who had passed on*
Gautami Phookan's Poet lll Contest
by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2011
Mother shares all, sacrificing 'til barren.
She and I are one, united in breath and dust,
the atoms and spirits spinning, fragments of failures,
curiosity and constraint... I was tempted in the orchard.
I was cold in the desert. I felt abandoned...
Dreams are feathers fleeing on wings.
Birds of Paradise in the mind's eye...
Destitute yesterday, fruitful tomorrow.
Decadence is a disease. No one is healthy.
We are changing, dying from birth to grave,
I hold onto the internal, eternal while I ramble on and on...
Mother, are you listening?
I live in a trench of contentment, sheltered
in my little world of sun and shadow, small
in my birthplace, blaming and forgiving,
striving and settling...digging my hands in the dirt.
Mother, you are the daisy, dainty and demure,
fair to the admiring eye, silent like the sunrise.
I pick daisies from your garden and pluck the petals hoping for love.
I may never know...
Mother, you are the redwood, strong and mature,
praising golden sky, healing and wise.
I climb your branches and gather leaves for the wind's scrapbook.
A lifelong search...
Mother, who are you? Who am I?
We are the distant stars.
We are the rivers nigh.
the daisy and redwood live;
we are earth, water, sky, life and death.
A dream on wings, laboring land,
A prayer on bended knee,
we dance, swim, fly, stand tall.
I call her friend...
Mother shares all, giver and taker of life 'til the end.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012
Sweeter than a flower special as could be
A little girl softly asleep
Kneeling in prayer singing a tune
Beautiful young one baby girl
See her face glowing
Know that she's going to a better place
Surrounded by angels
Near the pearly gates
Safely in the sacred arms
Looking up at Jesus face
Sweeter than a flower
Special as could be
A little girl softly asleep
Close your eyes right now
See her going
To a better place
Your little baby girl
Copyright © amie scheitel | Year Posted 2006
The sky is not the same.
When I don't see her eyes and her smile it starts to rain.
Please God tell me your Angel is okay.
I don't know what to do if she goes astray.
Please guide your Angel back to me.
I miss the sweet words of her melody.
Show me she has not departed from us,
and will promise not to fuss.
Give me a sign or a hint of her existence.
Let me know that she is in no need for assistance.
If you do I shall promise never again to be distant.
Copyright © Mariela Ruiz | Year Posted 2007
Once soft meadows so full of life,
now hold shadows, blocking the light.
Words unheard, and dreams untouched,
once your eyes laughed so much.
Distant sounds, still call your name,
within a body silenced by the game.
Love can't touch, and tears can't clean,
that part we know as self esteem.
Yesterdays of you, bring me joy,
recalling back when you were a boy.
Shiny blonde hair, and smiling blue eyes,
my heart forever hypnotized.
As tomorrow comes, and life goes on,
somewhere happiness must belong.
My prayer for you I humbly ask,
may light surround you within God's grasp.
A blessing for me, when you were born,
but somehow evil has sent this storm.
Jesus You know him, but he has lost his way,
hold him tight, don't let him stray.
Bring him safely to me once more,
as the waves get higher on unknown shores.
Lost is lonely, and screaming for help,
but I can't save him all by myself.
I give him to You, as I sit and cry,
a mother in pain, I cannot lie.
Your mother watched, as you died on a cross,
a mother in pain, for her son she had lost.
You gave her comfort, You called her name,
now I give You mine, my heart feels the same.
Bring him safely back into the flock,
as You guide a lost vessel from hidden rocks.
Let him know joy, let him feel rain,
as Your Love gently brings, my son home again.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2008
With raised sword and shield,
The Norseman yells to Odin
The Viking Death Prayer*
* The Viking Death Prayer
Lo, there do I see my father.
Lo, there do I see my mother,
My sisters and my brothers.
Lo, there do I see the line of my people,
Back to the beginning.
Lo, they do call to me,
They bid me take my place among them
In the Halls of Valhalla,
Where the brave shall live forever,
Where thine enemies have been vanquished,
Nor shall we mourn but rejoice,
For those who have died
The glorious death.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2016
Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.
But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed. What she feared was true.
So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.
“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, sixty years a Sister, said,
“Oh, thank God. I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
I Folded My Mother Up
I folded my mother up
Into a creased peace of paper
Folding memories into intentions.
Flattening the dementia of unstructured emotions
Into a neat, file-able document.
We arc this abyss; tightening ropes over time.
We are not our worst intentions,
but we are the acts that follow.
Like clobbering footsteps tripping over
broken pavements of Being.
We are the not sum of our categories
or the crimes that we have witnessed
But we are the balance
That keeps us falling forwards without stumbling
Over our own shoelace sense of time.
Copyright © Igor Goldkind | Year Posted 2015
Creatures of earth
Where do thou draw thy mirth?
Thou fumble through bed of roses
And flaunt thy jewels and dresses.
Then thou smile and chortle
But where do smiles go after?
I am a lady
Voice little, inaudible.
Yet a prayer must not be loud
Not even like a tiptoe
Or the shingles of ornaments from Cleopatra’s neck.
A prayer must be as silent as that of the nativity scene,
As humble as the child in that manger.
I wish not of silvers or golds
Neither of clothes that mark differences
Nor cars that make distance
I desire of armor not for myself
But for my son and daughters
That they may tread on life,
Free from evil’s snares.
I pray for an Evergreen tree
Planted on my husband’s heart.
For like that tree, love must not wilt nor fade.
I light a candle.
Copyright © Glenn Sentes | Year Posted 2011
I want my child to be like me, in every single way,
No, I want my child to enjoy her youth and scream and jump and play,
I want her to defend herself in walk, in talk, in stance,
But I want her to defend herself without using her hands,
My child, I want her to be smart like me, so she can control her heart,
Let no man come and insult her intelligence and then take her apart,
I want her to be strong and brave so she can face hard times,
But I don’t want her to be afraid to cry at any time,
I want my child, my only child to live a holy life,
Not wallow in incertitude until the day she dies,
Dear God, I know this is too much, but please just grant me this,
I want my child, my precious child to be the very best there is.
Copyright © Tasha Dilbert-Bennett | Year Posted 2007
All I hear are sirens echoing off tall buildings; a drunk man ranting, a prostitute looking for her next trick, a drug addict looking for his next fix. Young teenage kids who seem to have just learned the art of curse. A young couple fist fighting in the streets---more sirens. A homeless man pan-handling, picking up cigarette butts and smoking a hole into his neck, gum pushed deeper into concrete marked blacker with every step. All I hear are sirens and I say a little prayer for the person in the back. Trains and boats chiming in the distance, a stray cat limping into an unknown existence...must be nice to have nine lives! Yet, all I hear are sirens in this concrete urban forest, where trees are replaced with buildings and cars are the only waves I hear, street lights in place of the stars, sirens in place of the wind.
I close my paper eyelids tight, i can hear in this concrete urban forest of man-nature, for a glimpse, a stolen second in time, the sound of Mother Nature...she still sings and she's crying. She's crying for the people in the back of all those sirens. She cries for her bush the drunk man urinated on; the puddle of blood collecting on her blades of grass that a young man drew from his womans lips. She cries for her branch the teenage kids snapped for fun. She's crying - Mother Nature - is crying, because man - nature takes her place. In this concrete urban forest...all I hear are sirens and I close my paper eyes; i try to reach out and steal the tear off of - Mother Nature's - face. All I hear are sirens and im saddened, man-nature takes her place.
Copyright © amy epiphany tunks | Year Posted 2012
I Know of Someone Holding Unforgiveness!
I know of someone holding unforgiveness!
This has led to a life of much bitterness!
Toward his brother, he’s held on to a grudge.
From his viewpoint, he won’t even “budge.”
No matter what God’s word has clearly spoken…
He’s walked with a heart
that’s been broken!
His son prayed that God would speak to him!
That he would forgive, so God could heal him!
Forgiveness is a powerful thing to do!
If you want God’s mercy to
flow through you!
We’re not called to “hold back,”
the love God’s given!
Through Christ shed blood…
We’re all forgiven!
May the love of Christ come and touch us!
It’s no secret how much God
really loves us!
Please come Lord Jesus! And touch our soul!
May we express your love, wherever we go!
May God’s gentle love, be what always binds us!
HIS words; “love one another,”
do remind us!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
A Mother's Prayer
I kneel in front of the alter praying the rosary to keep my sons protected while they’re serving their country to keep us safe.
As the Persian Gulf War drew to a close, Saddam Hussein ordered six hundred wells to be blown up and set on fire that burned for seven months so no one would benefit from its riches. In the meantime while the Navy ships were in close fighting providing navel gun support, the men were inhaling the smoke of the Kuwaiti oil fields fires. Livestock and other animals perished from the oily, mist.
down on bended knee
for strength and serenity
suffering heart prays
© By 11/12/2014
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014
In her womb she carried her child nine months,
Bliss and joy he brought forth.
Satiate her a ray of hope in newborn eyes,
She bosomed her gracile in first cry;
Nurtured, fostered and fledged.
He grew up a young lad,
Belligerent and wasteful he turned;
Scathe her emotions and physical,
Never heed mother’s wist.
deplore her for damsel beauty,
Abandoned and ill he felt;
Whence mother’s forbearing love aided.
Spued blood for months,
And in no hope of survival;
Mother’s earnest prayer and supplication convalesced him.
Lackadaisical and Impenitent natured,
By and by he erst;
Wend the lady who abased him his manhood,
His love forsook,
His last days embodied in insobriety.
On the day of funeral oration,
Mother retold unchanging love for her child,
And tears that never dried,
Bid her son last adieu.
And lived the rest of her life bewailing,
Till one day her body gave away to ageing,
And died a mother whose love for her son
Never be bought by any gold or silver.
Copyright © sukkum chang | Year Posted 2012
Science can’t save you, neither can religion,
at least Popper and Niebuhr, philosophers and poets,
are entertainers, which is why actors and athletes
are paid so much. Thanks for the summaries.
I was teaching Shakespeare’s 92nd ridiculous sonnet
to my student who lays blacktop in the off season
Shakespeare bellyaching about dying without her love
a feeling foreign to a modern adolescent sensibility
although many teens are pretty far gone searching
for their mothers or fathers in their dazed lovers’ eyes.
Which is why we call it “the wound that never heals.”
Or the lesion that’s always lengthening. And bleeding.
Muslim fundamentalists and their Christian counterparts
are a mystery to me. Pews and prayer rugs, the airless
indoor environment of religious worship, reading
scriptures, hypnotized by hymns and fainting from staring
at candles through stained glass windows, almost certain
the preacher is faking his certainty about the afterlife.
It’s not my problem. A more immediate concern:
receding gums and tooth extractions, swollen joints,
poor lubrication and circulation, wave after wave
of viral infection, the occasional antibiotic-resistant
bacterial attack, usually urinary, and who knows
what internal organs are dividing and conquering
without mercy or cease, i.e. the wound that never heals.
It is wise not to overvalue your continued existence,
good not to be innumerate, unable to compare
a mere 80 years with say 6.0 x 109 or all of time
(to date) times the multiverse. Conversely,
it is interesting all of space and most of history is contained
in your little mind (realizing of course it’s just a map
of the cosmos not the cosmos itself, or is it?). I’m
unable to wrestle free, tongue in that cavity
and locked in my memories, so separate and disparate
from the biomass in the crosswalks, even my spouse.
Alone, so alone, even your doctor can only devote
limited thought to your situational mortality through
the redress of poetry—also a wound that never heals.
Snow for eternity, that’s what this February’s been.
All to the good, for someone it’s the final February
so enjoy it to the extent you can. By that I mean joy.
Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy. All times. Anyway.
That was Shakespeare’s message: even tragedies are comedies.
May, a Buddhist, chants each morning.
Her husband, Marc, who’s Jewish, plays league tennis.
Their son, Aaron, will soon make Eagle scout.
How does it relate to your wound that never heals?
Luck runs out. For D.H. Lawrence in New Mexico
or Ulysses S. Grant in Ohio or Yasujiro Ozu in
Tokyo or Satyajit Ray in Bombay or Rabindranath
Tagore in Bangalore or at the Battle of the Atlantic in the Azores.
The night is a poultice, winter or summer solstice.
My anonymity will not effect the anomie ghettoside
seeing for myself how season by season
vacations and accomplishments accumulate, late in life
and early on, sunrise over mountains or moonrise over Bronx.
Masturbator, prisoner of war. Hospice of the Holy Roman Empire.
Numerous blue notes: the 3 flat, 7 flat, 5 flat,
the 6 flat and the 2 flat too. I don’t get
what Wallace Stevens means by imagination.
When groundhog shows up as a totem, there is opportunity
to explore the mystery of death without dying.
This then is the purpose of purposelessness (and of eating less)!
Now what about that wound that never heals.
The Skeptical Observer column in Scientific American
was somewhat alarming when he accepted a paranormal
explanation for how his wife’s grandfather’s inoperable
transistor radio played music from its hiding spot
in his sock drawer on, and only on, their wedding day.
Now I’ll have to believe my father (or mother!) is watching me
perform private sexual acts with (or without) partners
or that they could even know my thoughts. Or aliens
are attending our committee meetings and making
perfectly reasonable decisions given the available information
and the world is rotating just fine without humans.
These possibilities–angels, ghosts, aliens–are better
than holocaust and genocide. In this way,
and only in this way, does doom become endurable.
The wound that never heals in the end is all you’ll feel.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Mother, mother can't you see?
How much are you putting the needle,
Deep inside of my heart?
I know the pain won't go away!
I know you are blind to see the truth!
Pain pain pain,
When will you go away?
Anger, hate & discouragement
Always comes my way!
What am I supposed to do?
I feel alone deep inside,
I feel the empty pressure against my chest,
In a prison of hate,
I am sick of the people who I love,
Betraying me & ruining the trust,
God above who sees your actions,
I hope He will never forgives you,
For you who keep on sin.
One day you will see
Throw my eyes & my pain,
One day you will stop on pretend,
Realize your mistakes,
It will be too late,
I will be gone far away,
I will never come back again!
Copyright © shirin neshat | Year Posted 2013
I release a prayer
into the air
it flies on high
into the sky
I know not why
but where it goes
Copyright © RUDOLPH RINALDI | Year Posted 2014
I know I could never repay her for what she's given me. For she's given me a treasure worth more than gold. I will die a thousand times if something tragic were to happen to her. A Prayer For Mother, Always And Forever.
Protect her day by day
When enemies do surround
In fervent prayer to God I pray
To keep her safe and sound.
For she's given me a perfect gift
A gift of love and life complete
Her sunken spirit may you lift
To thrones above where seraphs meet.
As once I weaned upon her breast
Fearless, safe and warm I lay
So Lord I plead, not more not less
Chase far her troubles away.
But if by time my soul expire
That my life had met its doom
Lord in your arms I do aspire
To love her beyond the tomb!
Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013
As sin and perversion often
So many lives and families
are being “disintegrated.”
Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force…
It’s no wonder much of this country
is way “off course.”
The morality and values that once made a great nation.
Are evaporating…. Leading to a
Love, honor, and respect of God…
Is often a “thing of the past.”
Anything of God seems to be
God is our only hope! And him alone!
Only he can bring healing to our broken homes!
He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds!
It’s only God that can meet all of our needs!
He’s our provider… The great: “I am!”
Won’t you reach out to him?
And give him your hand?
Why not give him a chance? And allow him in?
A brand new life for you…
Is waiting to begin!
May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach
down into our hearts…
Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!”
Is a good place to start!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
I lower my head and pray
Confessing to God
All I have to give
A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Would have a given me a chance
Walls of barriers bearing on us
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.
Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day,
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.
Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013
A Very Inviting Temptation!
I remember of a particular situation.
I was offered a very "inviting" temptation.
The situation I was in... I didn't belong!
And lost any sense of "right and wrong."
At first... I felt no guilt or shame.
And brought embarrassment
to my family's name.
I tried to explain this to my wife and kids.
I heard; "Dad... please... no more fibs!"
The Godly principles were "tossed to the side,"
As the sin inside caused arrogance and pride.
Soon, all in my life that truly mattered...
Was gone! My life was empty and shattered!
I was sorry for all of the problems I caused!
This time... I took a moment to pause.
I cried to God to rescue me from my sin.
I confessed! Would God help me once again?
I read in the Bible of Jesus’ grace and love!
This time the help I needed had to come from above!
I asked him for a fresh and brand new start.
He removed the stain from a broken heart.
He restored to me the joy I once had.
I'm so blessed! Jesus has made me glad!
Jesus is the reason I'm here today!
I LOVE HIM more than words can say!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
A Momma Bear Climbed Over The Mountain
And What do You Think She Saw
She Saw Another Mountain
So that Momma Bear Climbed that Other Mountain
And So On
And So On.....
As She Looked up into the Heavens
Careying Her Cub this Far
Never Looking Back
Their Destiny is in Gods Hands
Faith in the Lords Love has brought them many Miles and over many Mountains
Momma Bear Prays Everyday that her Cub may find her way......
...and May have Peace again in Her Day.....
Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2016
Mother Teresa, I salute thee!
Thou art,a pious soul and
Indeed God's chosen messenger
and harbinger of hope to millions
of suffering downtrodden -
destitute women,orphaned children
Sick men and women and lepers
whom the society hated to see even;
The gentle touch of thine hands
healed their sufferings and gave them
A ray of hope to live and self-assurance;
And indeed you've performed miracles
Which the Pope has recognized, and of
which in your noble life time
You never even spoke or mentioned
And that speak volumes of your humility;
And you lived a glorious life of selfless service
To the uncared for poor and innocent humans
And I look forward to the day
The great church of God bestows
Sainthood on thee so that the world
would soon remember thee as Saint Theresa
God's chosen soul and saint of the twentieth century
I salute thee Mother Teresa!
Copyright © Vasudevan Desikachari | Year Posted 2015
I feel the winds and smell the sea,
The Earth's a living entity.
The Earth's alive! SHE is alive!
SHE breathes, SHE moves; yet does SHE thrive?
Somehow SHE strives and lives aware.
SHE still survives and I must care.
We all must care and be aware.
There are problems we all must share.
We'll let it be a challenge then
and though we are mere mortal men;
working together makes more sense,
together makes the difference.
There's simple things we all can do
to make our hopes for Earth come true.
There's simple choices we can choose.
Reduce, recycle and reuse.
This is now my Light-House prayer.
Once made aware we all will care.
We'll be enlightened and aware.
The future's bright if we but dare.
I feel the winds and smell the sea,
The Earth's a living entity.
Copyright © Dory Chrest | Year Posted 2010
It's like a weight lifted off of my heart;
I am no longer torn apart.
Thank God you are safe;
Everything is okay.
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013