The icy peak beckoned
Sun easing itself into bed
Tendrils of fingered shadows fled
Our guide was busy chatting
Seeking favored secrets
Prompting subtle whispers
Our snow-capped trophy
Caught a tinge of sunshine
Shed a raspberry tear
I kissed its frozen face
Licked my lips
With a slurping smile
©7/15/2023
Beholding bountiful compassion-blessings of God* beyond bankruptcy…
Brothers and sisters, let’s be braced-up, becoming better
bouncing against bitterness borne by crises’ bondage
breaking free from backsliding midst burdens
built-up now: healed heart, soul and body
bowing to the Saviour Lord, blissful
beckoned toward hope’s beam.
Bestowed with bread and butter from the Creator’s barns …
Beloved, let’s share, battling against selfishness’ bouts
Blowing away boastfulness in stewardship business
beautified along faith-blooms of love’s benefits
buttressed upon biblical belief
besieged by divine boldness
bringing service best.
*2Samuel 22:47 The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and exalted be the God of the rock of my salvation.
December 19, 2020
1st place, "Alliteration" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 12/22/2020.
beckoned by sun's radiance at the end of nature's tunnel of trees
Written Dec. 5, 2015
If ever beckoned by the broken glass
I offer instantly these scarred hands
And bleed
Embracing sharpest, cruel edges,
most exquisite lines
And bleed
upon piercing, jagged, penetrating points
brilliant with dancing sunlight
And bleed
poured out into a universe benign, hard surfaces
warm in crimson puddles of all I was
And stand
And bleed
And know then –
Broken glass does not love back.
Many busied minutes have been spent upon my brow....
As formed of sweat that be hanging on down as if not enow.
A toilment of movement has haunted my graying cloud about my head...
Following oh following b'neath my dread.
Will'st this dread bring about my unlying day reckoning of being dead? ...
Watching and waiting the spread of dread, whilst it does do change
into it's renewed spreading dread.
That clock on yonder wall does well haunt me...
Ticking it's unconcessive sound well ached to ear.
How will i manage to unbitter this sounding well resounding attacked
to my one good ear? ...
Haste to thee these all wasted many year.
Alas i must bid not one good fare thee well as not...
Hence my choice to die and proceed straight into that dismal hell.
Death still mocks me as i sit and dwell...
I shan't ever feel safe as well.
Death promises to me a long yearning respite...
This in the end to me will finally delight.
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