Please, won’t you come along with me
Up river in the fall?
We’ll float at leisure, passing woodlands
Burnished, thick, and tall.
We’ll watch thick clouds give way to sun
That breaks horizon’s crest
And choose a course that guarantees
Delightful Autumn Rest.
photo courtesy of Larisa Koshkina @ pixabay.com
It seems Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I have too much of childhood left,
So much that I don’t know.
Why, I still love to color
And to play with paper dolls.
I still delight in bubble pipes
And bouncing rubber balls.
Ah yes, Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I still feel like a coed,
Full of life from head to toe.
I hear Old Age a-calling me,
But my decision’s made.
I’m just too young at heart to go.
Old Age’ll have to wait!
Holy Bible, Luke 24:13-35
Two walked along Emmaus’ dusty road.
And there was none to soothe their aching hearts.
‘Twas only days since they’d stood at the cross,
And watched as death tore all their dreams apart.
The Teacher they had come to love and serve
Had spoken words they’d never heard before.
They thought He’d bring about more drastic change,
And were confused when He’d walked through death’s door.
But suddenly another trod with them,
And questioned them about their solemn air.
They couldn’t believe He did not know the tale:
The prophet’s death and how His grave was near.
And as they stopped for evening’s rest, they asked
If He would join them in their humble meal.
And as they ate, He spoke to them with love,
‘Till their hearts burned, and they saw Him revealed.
This teacher who had blessed them with His life,
And whom they’d reckoned dead until that hour,
Now quietly revealed Himself alive,
Risen to reign in unimpeded power.
Painting by Robert Zund, 1877
When you feel your emotions are starting to sink,
When you’re fed up with politics and all the stink,
When you’re so mad your panties are all in a kink,
When losing your sanity’s just on the brink,
And why should you choose such a color, you ask?
Because when we choose in pink’s color to bask,
We’re cuddled and coddled in this pleasant shade.
It pampers and pets us and makes our hearts glad.
God, in His infinite wisdom did choose
Pink as a color important to use
When bringing the dawn of a new day alive
And when setting the sun to usher in night.
There’s something quite primal in pink I have found —
So elemental it’s almost profound.
We respond as if there’s an umbilical link.
So whatever the problem — to fix it, think pink.
How deep and dark the grave in which they laid the Lord.
And naught to give Him hope except the Father’s Word.
But ’twas enough, for God had said, “When day three comes,
You’ll rise with life anew and come again to Home.”
Throughout the vigil, silence reigned and men did mourn.
And in the halls of Hell, the demons, they did groan:
This man from off the cross had stormed their barriers staid.
Hell panicked at the word from Heaven: “The price is paid!”
Then Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, stepped forth
And grasped the keys of Death and Hell with violent force.
Then rose through realms beneath to burst from earth and grave.
His shout of victory rang abroad: “Mankind is saved!”
O, Lamb of God
So pure, so holy, undefiled,
You came so meekly,
Vulnerable, a tiny child.
You took our sin
And took all of its consequence.
You chose the cross,
And on it your lifeblood was spent.
But for what cause,
When tempted in the garden that night,
Did you still choose
To let yourself be crucified?
You told us, Lord;
If we’d just listen, we would know.
You said, “Because
I love the Father, I will go.”
Lord, work in us
That holy and obedient love,
That we, when tried,
Will speak and act only for God.
(Photo courtesy of Karen’s Whimsy)
Turquoise is not a color pure.
It is a combination –
Yet it does such lovely things
To my imagination.
Turquoise – I find it all around:
It spreads throughout the sky,
In water flowing by.
It’s woven throughout lovely stones
That catch my eye.
And so, a paradox I find:
That such a hybrid shade –
From other colors made –
Has beauty so distilled it makes
My heart quite glad.
Image courtesy of KreativeHexenkueche @pixabay.com
Nathaniel was a man who knew no guile.
He walked with Jesus, loved Him all the while.
When first he heard His name, a question posed
But waited ’til the answer was disclosed.
“From Nazareth can any good come forth?”
He asked of those who knew that city’s worth.
He asked for meditation, not reply,
Yet found the answer true in Jesus’ eyes.
And although from the garden he did run
With others as they scattered one by one,
As Roman guards led Jesus, bound, away,
There came a reckoning after the third day.
As Mary ran to spread the glorious news,
Nathaniel, hidd’n with others, all confused,
Received her words with doubt, and hope, and fear,
And hungered so His Master’s voice to hear.
Then Jesus stood among them, His work done:
Salvation for the world from Nazareth comes.
A shackle placed upon the brow.
And scarlet robe on shoulders bowed.
The tortuous, mutilating pain.
To give me peace and health again.
To execute the Father’s plan.
Now empty stands:
He’s paid the price for every man.
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. A few years ago I wrote 7 poems during Holy Week — or Passion Week — leading up to Easter Sunday. This year in commemoration of our Lord’s suffer, I’m going to repost those poems on each Wednesday in Lent — and then post the last of the 7 on Easter Sunday. I hope they bless you and inspire you to gratefully meditate on how our Lord Jesus suffered for our sins and in our place to work our total redemption and salvation.
My heart pounded
As they dragged me out.
They stood me close beside Him,
And I looked about.
The crowd was frenzied:
With rage and raw disgust.
I wasn’t sure the real cause–
Why they fumed and cussed.
I glanced beside me
To catch a glimpse of Him,
But what my eyes saw in His
Convicted me within.
When guards shouted,
“Who is it going to be?”
Then I understood they’d choose
To set one free.
Set Barabbas free!”
I could not believe my ears:
They chose, not Him, but me.
“What of Jesus?”
Then asked the guards.
“Crucify Him! Crucify Him!
He is not our God!”
My shackles fell off:
By law a free man.
Pilate called for water then
And there he washed his hands.
The day grew dark
As He hung there,
Upon a cross with thieves each side,
Then He said a prayer.
He prayed, “Forgive them.”
Did that include me?
When He said, “It is finished!”
I knew He’d died for me
I just can’t seem to tell him how I feel.
Hearing myself say the words
Makes it seem so real.
And if he doesn’t feel the same for me,
It would be an unhappy fate
That spoken words would seal.
So what to do about it I’m unsure.
I’ve thought of possibilities
But nothing quite secure.
But wait! I’ve found the answer to my need:
I’ll say it with some candy hearts —
So childlike, sweet, and pure.
It’s been difficult to find time to post much lately. But today, I was looking at this picture and enjoying it so much that I had to write a little ditty. This picture just makes me happy. I like to credit the artists, even when they post their work on a site like Pixabay, which requires no attribution. This particular graphic artist has an identity that totally matches the picture: Happy_Life. So without further ado, let me offer you this little moment of happiness in the middle of your day.
Happy mountains, happy snow.
Happy trees in sunrise glow.
Happy artist, giving joy;
Happy colors he’s employed.
I gaze upon this landscape free
And bask in its serenity.
It soaks into the heart of me,
A happy day to guarantee.
I have a little note pad, new, with polka dots.
Teal green with border shiny gold and golden spots.
And since I’m one who writes to live and lives to write,
As soon as I beheld it, ’twas love at first sight.
There’s something mystical about a virgin page.
And notebooks filled with pages pure my soul engage.
It’s calling me, this tablet with gold polka dots.
But subject matter — what to write — I know not what.
Frustratedly, I sit here, holding pen in hand,
Seeking words to start a poem — something grand.
This primal urge to slather ink across the page
Is in control ’til its demands I can assuage.
It could take hours, or even days, but what care I?
So many times I’ve let whole days go drifting by,
Until my muse and I fin’ly came into sync,
And thus inspired, I filled each pristine page with ink.
Oh Christmas tree, oh geometric Christmas tree,
Updated decoration of this century,
Combining old tradition with technology —
Eye-catching combination set for all to see.
I wonder if the architect has realized
That though his modern concept is a structural prize,
The Light that gives it meaning appeared to Moses’ eyes.
From burning bush to modern tree, it’s Jesus Christ.
photo courtesy of Ana_J @ pixabay
I hear jingle bells:
The sound of Christmas ringing.
Come now — let’s rejoice!
photo courtesy of AnnaD @ pixabay.com
Pilgrims reached the blessed shore,
But bitter winters were in store.
Death and anguish played their part.
Still, ’twas with a thankful heart
That they gathered to expound
Upon the God whose gifts abound.
We, who in their footsteps trod,
Though they lay beneath the sod,
Now do take the lesson learned
From their lives, and, in our turn,
We prepare to thank and praise;
To that same God our anthems raise.
And just as they faced troubled days,
Through hardships grievous made their ways,
So, now, such grievous times we face,
That ne’er before have taken place.
Yet from their lesson we take heart
And lift our songs with grateful hearts.
We will not bow to troubled thoughts,
Nor in the throws of fear be caught,
We have too rich a heritage.
So with forefathers we engage
To praise and sing and laugh and play
And celebrate Thanksgiving Day.
© 2013 Sandra Conner
I’ve wondered round this earth for years,
And known my share of joys and tears.
I’ve laughed with love and cried for loss,
And broken dreams like rubbish tossed.
I’ve seen sights soaked in splendid sun
And bathed by moon when day was done.
But ’til today I’d not seen such
A sight that stirred my heart this much:
A giant, handsome, stately tree
Bedecked with ribbons midst the leaves.
Such gorgeous bows of silk, blood-red,
Tied as if on maiden’s head.
I stood and pondered what it meant:
This work of art to nature lent.
Who ties these bows, and why, I asked.
Who set himself this tedious task?
Some lover dreaming of soul-mate,
Who joyous love anticipates?
But there was none who, passing by,
Could tell me who, or how, or why.
And though I stood ’till set of sun
I found no answer; no, not one.
So on I trudged my weary way,
To reach my post by end of day.
But as I went, I sang a song:
Though much in this old world is wrong,
Still someone with a heart of love,
Took time and, with care, beauty wove –
Amidst the branches of old tree –
A gift of ribbons for all to see:
To lift the heart and light’n the load
Of each soul passing ‘long this road.