I want to let my readers know that I am closing this blog, and starting a different one.

I'll notify you regarding my new blog via facebook. Thanks for following!

 

 

 

The light of dawn grows pink.

Her tender rays will melt the frost.

And herbs that nature loves the most,

Become an opium drink.

 The robin perched on utmost height,

Endured the midnight chill,

But with a renewed strength of will,

Drinks all, then takes to flight.

My heart is utmost dark and frost-

Your sympathy, the light.

I drink you to dispel the night-

An antidote I like the most.

 

 

 

 

A BIRTHDAY
Christina Rossetti

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.





 

 

 The tendrils of foreign powers mask my ears and eyes. 

I cannot move; I am as one hypnotized, 

Blinded by the luxurious allurement of greater ascedencies.

 A beckoning force (almost too strong to be born) breathes, whispers, 

Shouts promises, commands, and paragons, known and unknown. 

 The fragrance of these mysteries leaves me drenched. 

I can see immortality clearly. 

 Born upon the wings of intercession, 

 I savor this encounter and adore.

 

 A solitary pilgrim stood,

His face turned toward the west,

Care worn lines and calloused hands

Unmasked his severe quest.

Straining an ear to listen

For a distant, faint sonance,

Resolute to hear a score

From an immemorial dance,

He stroked his chin and pondered

(With a philosophic bent)

How mire, sturggle, and toil

Can spendorously be rent

By the common grace allowed us,

So a symphony breaks in

To calm a weary pilgrim

Through the world's cacophonous din.

 What if there were another world, exactly like our own,

And situated in the skies, its mysteries unfold?

Imagine it the new earth, surpassing time and space,

With perfect, righteous, holy, unmitigated race.

On that earth, another me, re-echoing my gaze,

Parallels the self-same thoughts in her congruent face.

What would I say unto myself as I stand close to me,

My perfect self looking agast, yet somehow lovingly?

If humankind could spy the earth as it will be remade

What thoughts would we have of ourselves; what words might we then say?

If time and space were relative, a thousand years, a day....

 

GO QUICKLY

Go, then!

I won't exhort you to stay

While it's your wish to be gone.

I would not alter your course

 If I could. Nay, flee in haste!

Quickly, before it's too late!

Your resolve might grow faint.

And decision may falter.

 I'd have you leave, as you will.

 Once you're gone, you'll be forgot -

 Missed by no one, much less me.

Be gone, you! My moistened eye

You'll never see, I'll shed no

 Tear in front of you, so go! 

 

 

An uncanny discipline trains my mind,

 

as the heart looks dubiously on.

 

The one loves memorization by rote

 

the other prefers obsession

 

Not at war, but still at odds with both

 

my lips drink them gone through a flagon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I spy you distantly through fog

in the mind.

madrona bark peels open lids

now too old

to recognize a memory

that is you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I danced with gladness

while notes of praise

your name upheld.

 

And sang mightily

until my heart

broken would melt.

 

Begging tears upward

sent back their rain,

quenching despair.

 

No vow of my love

can stir thine heart

But, still, I dare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The guide that turns dross to gold

Can stay the seraph's wing,

Or make a thunderclap unfold -

Stir deadened hearts to sing.

 

The drive that excites angel praise

Applies sweet salve to pain,

And in the winter's chilbain days

A small hope comes from rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

Mercies Untold

 

I'm given jewels instead of dross,

Joy instead of pain,

A cushioned bed without a cross -

Ambrosial domain.
 

Overflowing deference

From a chalice made of gold

Is cradled to my thirsty lips -

Opulence untold.
 

Why pour out hidden treasures

On one homely and vile,

While most of fine society

I constantly revile?
 

 You can make or break me,

For I am just a child.

My life is held within your glance -

My soul inside your smile.






 

 

 

A Thousand Years Are But a Day
 

 

 

To live today as if I could
Serve you in a thousand years,
Means dwelling in epiphany -
Wiping your joyful tears,
Washing your feet,
Fearing your name,
Thanking the Lord who cheers
My heart toward that eternal day
(In just one thousand years)!







 

A Lady of Grace

(Please bear with me. I do not excel at writing essays.)

    Lady LaVerne is what I like to call her in my mind. Because she was a lady in the best sense. She exemplified grace and dignity. She was always courteous to others, no matter what their status. Wisdom was always in her speech, and her children will arise and call her blessed. 
    Witty is another name I'd use to describe Mrs. Rayburn. Her dry humor was constantly a source of amusement to many of us, I'm sure. One day I was astounded to hear her say, (I hope this doesn't sound inappropriate or distasteful, because she was such a lady) after she made a slight burp, "Well, must have been the beer!". It probably was her sublime intent to have me on the floor, rolling with uncontrollable laughter.  Because she succeeded, not only that time, but many times. She could say anything, and not step away from the role of a dignified lady.
    I have grown from Mrs. Rayburn's wisdom, wit, and steadiness of character. She had absolutely, the most  even temperament of anyone I've had the pleasure of getting to know this intimately.  I think I'm learning to not feel so sorry for myself, when I might otherwise indulge in lavish pity, because I never witnessed LaVerne taking such liberties.   
    Immensely grateful is how I would describe Mrs. Rayburn's prayers. Petitioning the Lord to aid us in being ever mindful of our blessings, and to be grateful to He from whom our blessings flow was a constant refrain. Her example of prayer, in its execution and content, called me into more reverence before God as we lifted our voices to Him. I hope to carry that mood with me always as I pray.
    It most certainly goes without saying that LaVerne was an intelligent lady! She was not only an English major (and taught for a year), but was an avid reader of the classics, a connoisseur of opera, and an absolute "Bird Lady" (she said that in younger years, she would tuck a bird book into her house apron and carry it around during the day, so that when an interesting bird alighted near the house, she could quickly pull out her portable identifier and name the sweet creature).
    As an English major, LaVerne knew the principles and etiquette of our language. She taught me, through example, the proper use of pronouns and the significance of diction.
    Cleanliness and order were HIGH on Mrs. Rayburn's priority list, from linen closet sheets, folded so well, you could bounce a quarter on them, to such order in the pantry, that everything might have been alphabetized. Any speck of dirt on the floor might receive a cluck from LaVerne's tongue and a scowl.
    Patience is the strongest character trait I would give Mrs. Rayburn. I saw this exemplified especially in my relationship with her. Not only did she accept my very clutter-filled disorganization, but she strove so graciously with my less-than-perfect temperament. Her overall manner toward me was so implicitly accepting, that I believe few have won me over, as did she.
    Some particular special memories I have of her include: Seeing her eyes enjoy a blue sky (with her blue eyes), seeing her perfect contentment in eating a ready-made, microwaved dinner each night (most of us know how she loved to cook and entertain), letting me chose our Friday night movie - every Friday night, our reading together after dinner each evening, hearing the delight in her voice when she spoke of her grand children and great-grand children, and witnessing her fellowship with loved ones.
    In a certain measure, Lady LaVerne's grace will never die. The impression she has left on us will (has) become a part of who we are in Christ. Oh, to fellowship with her in the Heavenly realms!  The thought is so joyful and promises such fulfillment. I will practice her patience and wait for a sweet reunion at last.

 

 

 

 

Photosynthesis is quelled
With blighted summer's fairytale.

The members oak of forest mass
Eulogize the season's past

In flames of bronze, yellow, and red -
A tribute to the passing dead,

Yet summer's coffin nail.

 

 

 

Your instant smile,

tilted head,

lilted voice,

kindness said -

the way your eyes look

when you're pleased,

(like dancing gems

on sparkling seas)

your shining features that expel

gloom from any long farewells-

farewells that I don't mind awfully,

because I love you so, truly!

 

 

A spirit turns its face from home.

The waning of the moon

Forgets to breathe.
 

It lingers between divided realms,

Called by an ephemeral sun,

Unsheathed.
 

Eternity demands its own.

Only when this life culminates,

Does the spirit know release.



 

 

 

Revelation

 

The soul that enters Heaven surges with fresh love.

We give our best love to everyone who's there.

The enthusiasim we have in that place

is so overwhelming, but not too much to bear,

for we are mature enough to hold it.

The spiritual and physical haze through which we view one another here

will be absolved into the cross of Christ. Like seeing clearly

with new lenses, we will see Heaven. Our eyes will see with understanding

into the hearts and lives of others. We cannot see sin. Our hearts throb

with joyful longing for the salvation of many. We ache with holy expectation for

the fulfillment of all that is pure and pleasing to Christ. When God's heart

swells, ours does too. We can never want anything that is apart from what

He wants. Heaven is all about the true love that we only know slightly

because we live in a haze without corrective lenses.

Incarceration

A copious load of misdemeanors,

Like many laden weights,

Compressed a guilty corpse.

Asserting castigation,

Affirming vile death,

A stringent and harsh force

Smothered labored breath.

This pen could be a weapon

To hold warfare at bay,

Or attempted thrust at enemy

That I might surely slay.

This style of writ might flatter

Through subtle, bold haiku,

Or poetry and prose-

What e'er I chose to use.

Instead this pen's a heart valve

Connected to my soul,

Through which I bleed my character.

Surely this you know.

Please judge my writing kindly,

But not with frail sense

For I am still in process.

God's grace is my defence.