Beauty clearly dims, excess fears grow,
Yet your love glows constantly in me.
Its goodness my heart each day will know,
So your tender care becomes my plea.
Life means nothing, only prayer’s quest,
It’s your love that grants life true meaning.
Sadness ebbs swiftly, as hearts attest,
On your sweet love, my soul is leaning.
Read slowly to unwrap very well—
Then you’ll hear love’s true voice speaking loud.
Deep in the heart its pure feelings dwell;
Its diction can even make foes proud.
Just know lovers make new odd pledges,
None too heavy for their souls to keep.
Don’t ever be a doubting Thomas—
Sow love in my heart, and joy you’ll reap.
A lazy man sings
Of how much work his desk brings,
But too lazy is he
To do anything but sleep.
A lazy man gives
So many explanations, yet still
Nothing, nothing but sleep.
A lazy man's wish
Is to one day be rich
But not a day does he
Sow, so he can reap.
I walked in to my least favorite words,
‘Last call.’
We didn’t have an alternate plan;
What now?
So the streets will meet our mayhem;
Inflamed;
Should have given us your refuge;
Reap this!
Now we burn what you told us to write;
Riot!
The harvest that came from when deep the aim
All those seeds that we sow and beget
In life's little game we then reap the shame
Of those deeds that we grow to regret
Humbly;
With no disrespect,
Or ill manner;
Were I Jesus,
I’d build my church on her!
Simon Peter would deny me thrice,
But I could rely on her. I can.
She’s never let me down.
So, on her I’d build my church,
The foundation;
She’d be my rock.
And in her I’d plant my seed,
Assured; come harvest, I’ll reap!
Whatever you may think of this,
Precisely, it is as I mean!
@rudd_poetry
#PoetryNeverLies
#MyLife_MyPoetry
The sky
reflected in the harvested field
that laps up against the walls of
the Church of Saint-Paul de Mausole.
A surge of incriminating waves
upon which the Word is cast,
its roots in the church
that’s defined in outline
against the random aspect of the sky:
a nirvana,
or heaven –
not to be dictated to
by mere mortals.
A modest harvest
loosely stacked against the outer wall
representing the total sum of souls
still hoping for salvation,
but excluded
from the church’s close.
You shall reap what you sow.
Except in the darkest room
In it a figure would loom:
No time to cameras zoom,
Present as clean: filthy room…
Does capture like a good pen
Pimples up to painful ten,
All the smoke-stained teeth of Ben
And proves not the cock a hen…
Mirror: the Steadfast Biro
Misses out not feared terror:
Things which mortify Sarah,
Even a typing error.
Eyes which had ceased to taste sleep,
The ones, no alcohol, weep,
Pairs upset by an old jeep;
Men who don’t sow but do reap!
A failure to watch one’s weight,
A leaving of things to fate:
One who’d for casual sex wait;
Also, who shall become great!
- Certainly it is not all harvest
That Will Bear Healthy Fruits,
do not Wait for Harvest of Fruits
From Rotten Seeds "...
Who Plants Rain,
Reaps Storm ..
Who makes Vineyard,
Reaps Grapes
And we keep on falling into tomorrows,
A spinning particle with a soul,
In harmony with the spheres,
Sure as clockwork,
Till that final moment,
We meet dust,
We become wind,
And then we are for a while -
a phrase, a song, a scent.
Falling then, into yesterdays,
Each descending further -
Soundless, breathless, lifeless.
Why then should we be, as if
'forever' is the blood in our veins?
Have we not heard the phrase -
'life and death'?
Till the soil farmer, till!
As you live -
sow, water and reap.
For only then ...
the swan song can be of
a 'life full of years!' …
That dirge laments not...
For the epitaph sings of victories
Hosea 8:7: "For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."
Reap the whirlwind
By Michelle Morris
13/01/2023
Let us be careful of our actions
For they betray our thoughts and feelings
If we focus on the darkness
We will do damage instead of healing
If we sow the wind
We will surely reap the whirlwind
The consequences of bad actions
Will always find us in the end
Whatever you believe in
These are constant living rules
For every deed we choose
Will always come back fully
Let us be careful of our actions
Let us be careful of our thinking
Let us focus on the highest good
And allow love and light to twinkle
© Michelle Morris, 2023
When all has fallen,
when hell is outside your door,
the whispers of monsters become wallowing screams-
and tar flows through your veins.
Water the dandelions growing between concrete tiles.
Even when you are too far gone, use your dying breath to help.
Rub the back of a child who fell from their bike,
Say thank you regardless of who will hear,
Be kind, for cruelty reaps sorrow.
A mind that destroys is the same that could heal.
Pour burdens upon the arms of God
Thanking bountiful reap of good
Philippians 4:6
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."
I wake one day, again for long to sleep
All life to find: if life or death is fake,
And learn, man’s here to sow, seldom to reap.
Death lives with life all through lifetime to creep,
Crawling along like a slithering snake,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep.
A faithful friend, keen life’s friendship to keep,
Death would never even dream, life to take,
Beware, life’s here to sow, seldom to reap.
Life’s just a tiny blip of time, no leap,
It strives in fleeting time the most to make,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep.
And live, forget, fail to find truth so deep,
Try to swim but sink in life’s shallow lake,
And learn to sow, sometime later to reap.
Life’s to garner light in every round trip
That faintly burnish hereafter’s dark stake,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep,
Life’s just to sow, let death decide to reap.
_____________________________________
Villanelles | 05.10.2012, revised March 2022 |
Meditation does not merely work for me
It uplifts me in a quintessential spiritual way
I am able to release my conscious to initiate self-hypnosis.
This reach into the upper limits is a wavering line.
When I am in my meditative relaxed state things happen
That do not happen when I have not released myself
Sometimes I feel gusts of energy whip in and out
Over my head, under my arms, faster and faster.
My hands often begin circulating like windmills
Faster and faster and faster and faster and faster
I have no need to stop this impulsive energy
It is a reflection of my spiritual self
When I am in touch with my soul self,
the best parts of myself live a joy I cannot get anywhere else
My day is full of happiness and gladness.
A reminder that I am a spirit person trapped in this flesh body.
The negativity in the world shuns away from me.
She senses my aura
Likewise, the positivity runs toward me with open arms
I reap what I sow.
bouncing through the oaks
gathering acorns to store
for winter’s snow storms
Squirrel Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
February 1, 2022
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