Poetry Two By Living Faith
Again Jesus spoke to them, saying,
�I am the light of the world.
Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness,
but will have the light of life.�
Hey boy, get on out thar' and slop them thar' hogs,
they ain't gonna feed 'emselves.
Little Timmy headed out that thar' door, his good ole'
hound, Beller, right behind, good ole' feller she was.
Beller, ya knows, when I grows up, I'm gonna get
me a big ole' patch 'o dirt, have me lotsa younguns' too,
and they ain't gonna slop no hogs, nether'.
Boy this dern ole' pen stinks, gosh dang, why's I
hafta always tend these dad bern pigs, you'd think I's
da' only one lives here.
They never ask sis to slop dem' hogs, no sir, she's a
lady, now can't ask dem' lady's to do mens work.
Ha, all Jenny ever does is wear dem' perty dresses,
and hang 'round ma's shirt tail, ain't dat' sometin' Beller.
Hey Beller we's goin' fishin, I ain't gonna ask Pa,
we's jus' gonna go, kay.
Now that ole' Beller, she's almost people, little
Timmy u'd talk to her all day, she'd jus' bark and
snap, ya'd swear she knowed everthin' he's a sayin.
Down at da' fishin' hole, ain't caught nuttin',
Beller it's a gettin' dark, we best head on back
to da' house.
Little Timmy a'd fergot the way, and didn't have a
lickin' of an i'der where he's a goin, it was dark and
he's a tad skerd', he climbed clean up in da' tree
ole' Beller she's down low, barkin' and a snappin, till
he come down, she took off a runnin', Timmy had ta'
foller her, ya' knows, that dern ole' hound led him all
the way home.
Twadn't no yellin', everone jus' dern glad ta' see em'
home, supper waitin' and Timmy crawled right in
dat' good ole' bed.
Now the next time Pa hollers', get our thar' and slop
dem' pigs, I's gonna run, me is, cause dat' ain't ner' as
bad, as gettin' stuck in dem' woods, alone in da' dark,
While Nature Prays
Coming summer paints her waltz beneath
the brightest sky, amber hues, symphony
in color, and a new spirit comes alive
Cherry blossoms, lilacs freshly bloom, tiny
apple buds, and peach seed peaking from
the ground, whispering, come watch me
dance, beautifully arrayed simplicity,
the orchestra, and the trees conduct with
limbs as wands.
Singing waters motion of a quiet swan
beneath the tender weft of sunlight, sends
a golden glow across the almost rosy pond,
a gentle breeze serenades the pebbles, as a
dancer tapping quietly, a tierra glistening
golden, on an easy velvet bed.
If only love would grow in this auriferi,
created for the eye, if only love could touch
my menagerie of gentle green and red, if
only I could be within this dance, a gentle
babe in arms, be still oh longing plume,
for the daft are sleeping incoherent
by the pond.
Sunlight Dancing On Moss
Upon this bright morning, pausing to concieve this
long neglected beauty, God has given in life.
Oh, this course of daily struggles, yet the wound'rus
blessings, as shelter from the battles of being.
As the sun shines bright, bringing new blooms, clouds
waltz in mystical patterns, imaginations flow.
For truly living is an event, all its own, suckle
nature's golden glow, caress aromas of the soul.
Each day takes another journey, growing
from before, envision intervals ahead,
nhancing new spirits.
And t'was all given freely, with love greater than
existance itself, by a wonderful loving God, who
causes even lowly moss, to dance beneath the sun.
who am I pondering my laments alone.
The weeping season's wind, beckons
love from beyond.
Lilac's gentle aromas, borrow
a fresh passion.
Tender feelings return with
Enchant me anew, my love, with
with your sweet fragrance of
nature, for you will not soon
As the morning peeks thru the trees,
a haze encumbers the heart.
A droopy, gloomy sadness to brush away
the soul of sweetness
.Ah love, a pretentious feeling given
to another to capture what one needs.
Something we think is real, a lasting
lifetime of emptiness
Yet in the shadows reality creeps,
crystal clear, a slight glimpse of
untruths, then hope, a desire,
visions of something genuine.
Where is the dream?, The sincere loving
companion we all seek? In the unknown
perhaps, waiting in the balances, but
never found in this lifetime.
Go ahead, chew me up, spit me out, like an
old stale donut, stick your sword into the
very core of this poem, for I have no soul,
no mind, just ramblings on a neatly written
page, to stir the critics eye and ear, the
slashing leaves only a slight tear
.An aftershock of a worthless piece, another
for the garbage can, but wait, a calling
from the distant shore, for one truly does
adore, and if but one positive comment, the
would-be poet can go on, at least for one
And can you the critic, still admire this
poor hopeless excuse of an attempt to
express, or will you continue to run with
daggers, piercing the very essence, the
driving need, the heart, the mind, the will,
loving expressions, stuck between the fear
and the tear.
Symphony At 1802 Sunny Brook Side Drive
The clock ticks quietly, across the way,
as the mountain bellows with thunder.
Trees glisten and sway in silence as mute
conductors, to the urgent spring.
Boulevards are seldom barren, headlights
radiate, caravans whistling like bullets
.Dogs sporting in the grass, while we are
surrounded by overpowering quietude,
punctuated by insanity.
We Exist! Cronologists, overseeers to
sights and sounds of life.
Fanciful are the momentos, as we bathe
in that glorious sunlight!
Faceless images arrayed in a portrait
hanging on the barren wall.
Translucent buildings, shaded hollow
windows, walkways lined with
minature, frivalous silouettes.
The trees holding velvet shadows,
as if waiting to be touched.
In the distance, a caddie travels
the sunlit cobbled streets.
Splendid blend of salt and pepper,
ornate personified beauty.
Truly an imaginative piece, grand
unfolded genius, colored by the artist.
The morning is awake, bright,
alive and so am I.
If only the tears would flee
Pondering the inevitable of love
lost, tearing at forbidden thoughts,
stirring emotions that were silent.
Is it the creature within, that calls
herself insecure, or the needed desire
To undo the hurt, kiss and make amends,
yet, will it be as it were, the continual
beating on the subconscious, to endless
loss of strength.
The forever longing fear,
will he return or remain
another shadowed dream.
In the evening light, beneath the willow
tree, an old guitar across his knees, born
the sound of gentle fingers pressing string,
creating lullabys, and memories, the silver-
tones of times long past.
He has no notes before his eyes, the
sound that lives within his soul, devoted
to a composition in his mind, stirs the
spirit, tears begin to flow, and a sweet
inner peace tenderly unfolds
.The symphony continues, with melodious chime, and
fine spun lyric of another time, catches every ear,
bathes them in symphonic poem, smiles and winks,
and with this one-man orchestra, has touched this
living, lonely soul.
Web Of Life
Passing beyond her prime, never having found
love, pondering what lays ahead, dreams of a
romancing spirit, the night is cold, and a
walk outside sends a chill down the spine, a
tingling, an eerie sound, as tree branches
brush together with the howling wind, an
empty lonely feeling, locked deep within
\Existing, but having no will to try, and now
too tired too care, wishing for a forbidden
place in the sun, allowing the tears to flow
freely, from this bleeding heart, as once
again life weaves her tangled web, snagging
the very essence from me, leaving only lost
hopes and fear of being forever alone
Do rainbows really lay beyond this gloom,
will the sun shine tomorrow, are the stars
still sparkling in the sky, waiting and hoping
for happiness to come, and yet, it seems
an invisible dream.
May the Lord richly bless you!
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