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INSPIRATIONAL
POETRY QUOTES
Christianity Oasis Ministry has provided you with
this Inspirational Poetry Quotes book with
Inspirational Poetry Quotes message. This
Inspirational Poetry Quotes book with Inspirational
Poetry Quotes message looks into the Inspirational
Poetry Quotes topic and how it can affect your Christian
walk. Understanding the Inspirational Poetry Quotes
message is very important and knowing what the
Inspirational Poetry Quotes message means can help you
to understand many things more clearly. Let us delve
into this Inspirational Poetry Quotes book and find what
this author has to share on the subject of the
Inspirational Poetry Quotes message in this
Inspirational Poetry Quotes book, shall we? |
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POEMS FOR
TOMORROW’S GENERATIONS
By Lynda Doyle-Rodriguez
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Tears
of a Child Named ‘Stevie’
Tears of a child named, ‘Stevie,’ don’t mean a
thing to a monster,
He calls, ‘daddy;’ this child innocent and
scared, his bruises
Soon to heal, but not his broken heart; in time
he might forget, but
Never will he forgive this, ‘daddy,’ from hell.
Its funny
how he say’s, ‘if you’d just behave, Stevie, you wouldn’t
get hit or
called names; tears of a child, Stevie, just won’t go
Away;
he'll, keep it secret some place to be used against another
innocent
child some day; and on and on, the cycle of abuse continues
Until, you
or I make a change; only then will it go away;
Only then,
will the cycle of abuse be broken.
I want to
live, I’m much too young to die; but like a withered
Tree, the
beautiful like, ‘Stevie,’ lay down and die;
I could
say, ‘it was the monsters,’ in my head, but that’s a lie; as
Time
marches on the beautiful always die; getting
Left
behind; leaving only memories of what once lived inside .
As
lightening strikes, a scared little boy runs to hide;
But where
are you running to little boy, where are you going to
Hide this
time?
Once you
were a precious angel, sunny and bright as the morning
Star,
until darkness crept into your mind; Stevie, your
Eyes used
to shine, until the darkness crept into your mind;
I could
say, ‘it was the monsters in my dreams, how they made
Me scream,
cursing and striking
Somewhere
in the back of my mind; but mama, you never heard
Them, you
never came to my rescue .
I told
myself never to let them see me cry; but times
Marches
on, the beautiful ones get left behind;
Run little
boy, run and hide, don’t let their evil, angry
Words
destroy your mind, don’t let them see
You cry,
remember Stevie, only the strong will survive .
Don’t let
him take away your life too soon; his angry
Words are
just another lie; God does love you
Even when
you’re bad, quick Stevie, run and hide; we are
The same
you and I, only the strong will survive .
Don’t let
him see you cry, run and hide, ‘Stevie,’
But where
do we run to, where do we hide this time?
The woods
are full of boys like you
And girls
like me, like us, all of them are seeking
Shelter
from the storms of life, like
You and me Stevie, all of them are searching for
Places in
which to run and to hide.
Tears Of A Child Named ‘Stevie’
Written by Shawn Stephen Butler
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I remember
screaming, ‘Mama, there is a monster
In my
room!’ But mama you
Never
heard my scream, you never came to my
Rescue;
you didn’t hear my
Cry when
he hit me, you didn’t hear my cry when
He raped
me, because
Mama, you
never came to my rescue.
Even now
mama, I see his face, I hear his laughter
In my
head; he took away
My
childhood, he took away my life,
He took
away my dreams; he took away my hopes,
he took
away everything; now, he’s
Coming
back for more, but I have nothing left
To give,
except my soul.
Mama, you
never came to my rescue.
I'm dead?
or is this what I get for being a child?
It makes
me wonder if
God really
does exist; the pain in my heart
Leaves no
room for joy .
Don’t cry
mama, it wasn’t your fault, because you
Didn’t
know; but
Mama, you
never came to my rescue.
But tell
me mama, where do I go, heaven or hell,
Earth or
space,
Or,
someplace in between?
Tell me
mama, I’m alive or dead? Confusion
Is the
knife that cuts us all; lying
Here in
this pool of blood, suddenly, there is
Darkness
all around; don’t
Cry mama,
its not your fault, you didn’t
Know; it’s
too late now,
Mama, you
never came to my rescue.
Written by Shawn Stephen Butler
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Ever since
I was a child, I’ve been searching, searching
For
something to call my own,
Mine and
mine alone; I’ve seen my face many times,
yet never
knowing who was inside.
How can
anybody know, at the age of nine, searching
For the
answer to the question
Of, ‘Who
I’m? It made no sense to love
Myself,
when all I’d been taught was to hate what I
Did not
understand.
We were
taught never to be afraid, that everything is
All right,
that it would work
Out in the
end; but it didn’t and like little
Soldiers
going off to
War, we
must learn to be brave, in the end soldiers
Die, what
are we fighting for?
Sometimes
I wonder, if I’m just a character
In another
person’s dream,
An
imaginary face, only I can see.
Ever since
I was a child, I’ve always felt this way,
Seeing my
face a thousand times,
Yet, never
knowing the boy inside; like puzzles, the
Pieces
don’t fit this face I see.
My ears
hear the strange sounding words my lips
Speak, is
this really me? Or, I’m
Just a
character in another person’s dream?
Written by Shawn Stephen Butler
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There is a
woman with three children
Standing
by the side of the road;
She is
scared and all alone and crying
In the
rain; the hungry eyes
Of her
children show no laughter, no
Joy, just
despair and misery.
There is
one more mile to go Lord,
Down that
lonesome road.
In a rain
soaked alley hidden under
Blankets
of newspaper
His
shelter from the rain and biting
Winter
winds huddles
A homeless
man, whose
Lost
everything he’s ever owned.
There is
one more mile to go, Lord
Down that
lonesome road.
In
daylight hour’s people pass him
By; some
judging
Other’s
calling him names.
Some,
feeling compassion throw change
At his
feet; other’s turn
Away,
pretending not to see.
All forget
Lord, ‘by the grace of God,
There go
I’ there
Is one
more mile to go Lord, down
That
lonesome road.
One more
mile to go Lord,
One more
mile to go.
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Tomorrow’s
generation, baby bottles and diapers,
Fussing
and crying, stories of pied piper’s.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, playing quietly with their
Toys on
the floor, hug’s and kisses,
For
daddy’s at the door.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, swinging in the park,
Laughing
and playing, unaware
Of the
dark.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, learning to read,
Counting
his numbers,
Planting
his seed.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, dancing to the music
Of his
times, escorting
His first
date, learning early his lines.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, pumping gas at that
Local
station, saving for his first car.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, running wild with
The crowd,
a little pot, too much booze.
Tomorrow’s
Generation, celebrating
Graduation, a spin
Around the
block, wheels that screech, but
Can’t
stop.
Late that
night, police knock at the door,
Sad, but
too late, tomorrow’s generation
Is no more
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From field
to field he wanders,
From camp
to camp he roams
Never
knowing a place
To call
his home.
From the
orange groves of
Sunny
California, to hot sand
Beneath
Florida grapefruit
Trees.
From field
to field he wanders,
From camp
to camp he roams,
Never
knowing a place
To call
his home.
From the
grapefruit trees of
Sandy
Florida, he heads
North to
the tobacco
Fields of
the Carolina’s.
From the
sizzling heat of
Southern
suns to frigid cold
Of
northern hills,
The
migrant worker.
From the
Carolina’s, north
To the
apple orchards
Of West
Virginia, Virginia
And
Pennsylvania.
From field
to field he wanders,
From camp
to camp
He roams,
never knowing a place
To call
his home.
His work
is hard, his pay is low,
His
housing is always
Shameful
and always unfit.
The
migrant worker,
Looking
across fields and farms
You will
find him there,
Harvesting
the crops; breathing
Dust and
sprays,
Pesticides, that one-day soon
Will take
his life.
At the age
of 49, his work
Is done;
with no
More
borders to cross, and no
More
fields to harvest,
He is
free.
As family
and friends lower
His body
Into a
pauper’s grave, who
Will
grieve? Who
Will care,
that pesticides took
His life?
Friends
and family lay sprays of
Flowers on
his grave; he
Was not a
king or a man of wealth
The world
would miss.
He was
only a migrant, a lowly
Servant of
wealthy men
Whose life
ended way too soon.
From field
to field, he wanders,
From camp
to camp he
Roams,
never knowing a place
To call
his home.
The
migrant worker, when the
Harvest is
finished
When the
season is done,
He moves
on.
From field
to field, he wanders
From camp
to camp he
Roams,
searching for better
Crops,
higher pay and
Decent
housing, the migrant
Worker.
From field
to field he wanders,
From camp
to camp he roams,
Searching
for
The
elusive American Dream.
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The Price HE Paid
He was
born of a virgin in a place
Called,
Bethlehem, but the King of
All Kings,
had no place to lay His
Head, His
bed a cradle of straw,
Where
animals were fed.
A star in
the East, lit a path for
Three wise
men to tread,
Stopping
to rise
Above The
Christ child’s head.
Gifts of
gold, frankincense
And mirth,
they
Laid at
his feet, they bowed
Down to
worship
Him, their
new born King.
This Holy
Child of God, born
Of humble
birth
Left His
Father’s mansions
On high,
To dwell
with men on earth.
Oh what a
price he paid.
As time
went by, this child of
God, grew
strong and
Tall,
filled with knowledge
By the
Holy Ghost;
Like His
earthly father
Joseph, He
Was a
carpenter by trade.
He was
called, ‘A Nazarene.’ baptized
By John in
the river of Jordan,
He set
about doing His Father’s work,
Preaching
in the synagogues,
And
teaching on the shores of Galilee.
Calling to
all men, ‘take up your cross
And follow
me,’ He healed
Sick, made
blind men to see; He
Never
married and raised a family, at
The age of
33, He
Paid sin’s
ransom for folks
Like you
and me.
I did not
deserve the hefty price He
Chose to
pay, He took
My place
on that old rugged cross,
Trading
His life for mine.
Oh what a
price he paid.
His name
is, ‘Jesus,’ and on an old
And rugged
cross, He looked
Down
through the years and when
He saw me,
He cried,
“Lynda,
come and follow me.”
He hung
His head,
And gave
up His life, I did not
Deserve
the
The hefty
price He chose to pay
But, it
was all part of God’s great
Plan, that
His Son
Become,
“The Sacrificial Lamb.”
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Oh, to
recall once again those
Lazy days
of summer;
School is
out, no more books.
Flying
down the hill, on my
Old red
Murray,
Defying
the wind, sailing my
Dad’s home
made kite
Across the
hill.
Childhood
days, days filled
With
curiosity, with
Dreams,
plans and schemes.
The aroma
of freshly baked
Cookies,
drifting
Down the
hall, floating under
My bedroom
door, mom’s
Cookies;
Tantalizing my senses,
Teasing my
empty stomach;
Mom’s
cookies;
Flat and
round, with bits of
Sweet and
chewy
Chocolate,
melting in my
Mouth.
But time
has no meaning
When one
is young.
All too
soon, summer takes wings
Flying
away, prisons
Of brick
call us back, from nine
To three,
once again
We go;
fall turns to winters of ice
And snow;
making
Days of
summer and freedom
Seem so
long ago.
While
childhood days are wistful
And lazy,
sadly,
They do
not belong to us forever.
It’s
happy, carefree
Days are
not ours to keep.
Like days
of summer, seasons of
Childhoods
are all too
Short and
gone way too soon.
As adults
we are banished from
A world
that in reality
Never
existed, some of us are
Banished
way too soon.
Yet,
whether by miracle or by
Divine
intervention,
Through
trials
And error
of selfish, youthful
Arrogant
ways,
We muddle
through
Some of us
even manage to
Learn a
lesson or two.
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I’m, ‘too
old,’ the young people say,
Too old,
to see the reality of their world
Today;
‘Too old,
Your world
is dead, buried along with
The
beatniks and coffee shop
Poets of
the fifties,” the young people
Say; in
their world,
It is okay
to stand crooked, straight or
Whatever
way.
It is,
‘politically incorrect,’ to speak
Against
lifestyle
Choices I
do not understand.
It is,
‘politically incorrect,’ the young
People
say, ‘to openly teach
Laws and
Commandments of a non-
Existent
God; I’m too old,
I don’t
understand.’
There are
many things that I may not
Understand, like computers
And the
delicate work of a surgeon’s
Hands;
But life
has taught this, ‘older
Generation,’ that
No matter
how the world may
Change,
Some
things remain the same.
It was by
the efforts of this, ‘older
Generation,’ and
Those
before us, which created
The
changes
Young
people enjoy today; but we
Are, ‘too
old,’ they say;
We need to
step aside, step down,
Retire to
our rocking chairs
And
nursing homes, and like old
Flowers,
just
Wither and
pass away.
But where
would this generation
Be without
the
Writers,
the directors and its old
Actors and
actresses
And even
the coffee shop poets
Of
yesterday.
Where
would this generation be
Without
its, ‘old,’
Veterans
who fought and died to
Keep our
land free?
Where
would this generation be
If,
‘women’s choice,’
Had been
one of our options,
Way back
then?
How would
our, ‘old,’ men have
Dreamed
their dreams
If,
‘doctor death,’
Had been
allowed to roam our
Town, way
back then?
Tell me
young people, you’re
So smart
with
You’re
computers geniuses
And stock
Market
portfolios;
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be, if this, ‘old,’
Generation
of
Feeble
minds and shaking
Hands had
not set
The path
and led the way.
But we
are, ‘too old,’ the
People
say.
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be, if our, ‘old,’
Men, had
not
Built the
skyscrapers, laid
The pipes,
poured
The
concrete interstates?
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be, without our
‘Old,’
truckers,
Without
our, ‘old’ coal
Miners,
who dug black coal
From the
earth?
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be with our, ‘old,’
Factory
workers,
Oil
riggers, and labors,
And our,
‘old,’
Steel
workers too?
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be without this,
“Old,’
generation
Of
teachers, who took their
Time to
teach?
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be without this
“Old
generation,’ of
Farmers
and migrant
Workers
too?
Tell me
young people, where
Would
you’re
Generation
be without us, ‘old
Folks,’
Of
yesterday?
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Salvation, Faith, Hope,
Love and Charity
Faith was
born on a tiled bathroom floor
In a small
four-bedroom house,
In
Augusta, West Virginia, the exact date
I don’t
remember, it was a cold
November
day, during the year of 1975.
Hope was
born in a two-bedroom house
In
Fairfax, Virginia; the month
Was
September, in the year of 1992;
One month
after mother’s death.
Salvation
was granted, God’s free gift
To me,
during a Catholic
Prayer
meeting in Arlington, Virginia;
This date
is engraved upon
My heart,
forever I will remember,
September
29, 1992.
Love, not
mine, but God’s Holy love
Took root
within my heart
At the
very moment of Salvation.
Faith is
believing in God the Father,
In His
Son, Jesus Christ,
In the
Holy Ghost, faith is believing
In things
unseen.
Faith,
Hope and Salvation from sin
Were the
gifts my
Precious
Savior gave to me .
The most
precious words, I heard
Him say
were,
“By your
faith my daughter you
Have been
saved.”
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“Looking Ahead”
It’s too
late to change those
Things,
that could
Have been
changed way
Way back
then;
Its too
late for wailing and
Groaning,
bemoaning
Those
things that
May have
been and were;
will
never have
The chance
to be again.
It’s too
late now for looking
Back,
wanting
To change
that which
Was;
Into that
which was not .
And to
change that which
Was not
into that
Which
could have been;
But the
future is not ours
To see;
its
Not too
late to change
What will
be;
It’s
always too late for
Looking
back;
But never
too late for
Looking
ahead.
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I like to
celebrate Christmas
The way
other people
Do; but my
gift cannot be
Bought,
It comes
from me to you .
Material
things I have little
Of; my
gift comes
From
within a mother’s
Heart
Bursting
with love .
My gift I
gave to you on
The day
each
Of you
were born; my gift
You will
Never
outgrow and with
The
passing
Of each
new year, my
Gift
Is
refilled with my love;
I know
you’d like bikes
And dolls;
hot
Wheel
cars, and many
Other
things;
But my
gift of love is all
I have to
bring.
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Each of
you, two little girls
And two
little boys;
Are my
bundles of joy; you
Have given
Me hours
of love with your
Golden
smiles,
Devilish
grins and endless
Noise.
Sometimes
you have worn
Hand-me-down
Clothes,
seconds, and
Bargain
basement specials .
Though
life was
Tough and
sometimes very
Hard,
through it
All,
seldom if ever did any
Of you
complain .
Within
your wisdom of
Childhood
Ways, you
seem to under-
Stand;
instead
Of
expensive toys, you
Found joy
In the
little pleasures, life
Had to
offer;
As I look
back on those
Years, I
thought
You should
know many
A day,
your
Hugs and
your kisses
Too, wiped
Away my
tears .
Tending to
your needs filled
My nights
with
Happy,
pleasant chores; the
Love each
one
Of you had
to give, filled my
World with
Purpose
and gave meaning
To my life
with
Each
passing year; looking
At each of
you
Now, all
grown up you have
Become;
Your love
is still my treasure,
Your hugs
And kisses
were my reward;
I know, I
was
Blessed
from above; you are
My
children;
And what
rich mother could
Have
Asked for more.
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On golden
wings we soar above the clouds,
On golden
wings of angels we fly;
Sorrow
fills our hearts; we should not have
Died, we
had yet to be alive.
We are the
souls of the dead, most of us
Are the
souls of God’s
Unborn
children; to our death’s we carry
His love
that
Some men
will never sow.
Soaring
through God’s blessed heaven
In
triumphant victory
We shout;
within the breasts of those
Of us who
once enjoyed
Life rests
the swords of the afflicted,
Of the
Weak and
the oppressed.
From
beyond the grave their voices
Ring! “We
were
Poor, we
were hungry!” They
Shout,
“And
Your world
knew us not.” We were
Old, sick,
and dying
Of our
fate, your world knew us
Not; no
place
In this
world was safe.
While
asleep in the wombs of our
Mother’s,
death
Awaited us
still, to destroy us;
We are the
unwanted
Offspring
of mostly young, scared
And
unmarried women.
In your
world we were nothing,
Only a
mass of tissue;
Unworthy
of life, worthy only
Of death.
“You’re
body, you’re choice.” In
The name
of,
“A woman’s
right to chose, we
Were
slain; yanked
Out of our
mother’s wombs and
Murdered;
for us the
Choice
between
Life and
death was not given.
God
breathed life into our souls
In his
wisdom, man
Gave us
death; Is that tears we
See? Don’t
cry
Mother, we
forgive you,
And God
Has
forgiven you; as Eve was
Deceived
In the
Garden of Eden, so you
Have been
also.
Abortion
is not a choice, it is
Not a
right; it
Is a
child; abortion is nothing
More than
state
Sanctioned
murder; it is also
Political;
it is
Nothing
more then population
Control;
like
China and
Japan, control of
The
masses.
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Among the
ashes our voices ring, our tears
Fall like
rain from a smoke laden sky.
Without
having lived, we are doomed to die.
We have
not made cakes in the mud or
Danced,
splashing in rain soaked
Streets;
climbed a tree, jumped a fence,
Or done
any of these
Childhood
things, yet death is our fate.
We were
not born children of the elite, we
Were born
into a culture
The world
has chosen to eliminate, we
Are
children of Bosnia.
Hated for
our ethnicity we are trapped,
Plagued by
destruction.
In the
name of, ‘Ethnic Cleansing,’ we
Are pawns
in the dreams
And
schemes of evil minded men.
The world
looks on in silence at our
Fate, not
a voice is raised
In
protest, no, not one. As were the
Jewish
people before us,
So have we
become, ‘Adolph Hitler’s
Slaughtered lambs.
Among the
rubble of our burned out homes,
Our shops,
our schools, our
Churches
and our playgrounds, our voices
Cry out
for mercy, we look
Towards an
uncaring world for justice, but
Justice is
not found.
Within the
game of political power, our
Pleas fall
on deaf ears.
The world
turns away, as if they do not
Hear our
cries, as if
They do
not see our plight.
With greed
and speed, armies march
Forward to
victory. Our
Bodies lay
trampled beneath marching
Feet,
thrown along
Dusty
streets,
Tossed
aside in open pit graves.
Without a
backward glance
To the
destruction left in their wake.
Those of
us lucky enough to survive
Those of
us lucky enough
To have
found a place to hide will
One-day
rise like ghosts
Reminding
A silent
world that, ‘Hitler,’
lives, he
lives
In the
hearts and minds of,
‘Evil
men.’
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As into
the heavens I stare,
I do
wonder,
What other
worlds are there?
Surely, in
this vast space,
There must
Be
brighter stars then ours
Alone?
Other
beings beyond
The stars,
Other
worlds so near
Yet so
far.
Other
beings who come
And go,
Other’s we
do not know.
Are we so
naďve to
Think, we
Are the
only ones
who live
And
breathe?
The only
ones who
Who
Laugh and
love?
Oh, what
other worlds
Did God
Create?
What other
Worlds
Does He
own, surely,
Not ours
alone?
|
|
Where
there is a will,
There is
a way.
Where
there is sin,
There is
Hell to
pay.
For
those of us who
Know
Jesus
Christ
as Lord
And
Savior, there
Is no
price.
He paid
it all
On
Calvary’s hill.
Bowing
His
head, he said,
‘Yes,
Father,
I will.’
|
It was
born of seed, nourished by the sun,
Nature’s
reward for a job well done.
Air
flows through its veins like a river
Of life,
its shape is formed
After
the destiny of man with many
Up’s and
down’s, like
Man, it
comes in all shapes, all colors
And
sizes too.
Through
love and tender care it grows
And
multiplies, like
A loyal
friend it is always there.
Like
man, when it reaches old age it
Withers
and pass’s away.
With
each new fall season a new one
Is born
to takes its place.
Thus the
cycle of an oak leaf begins
It race,
a race
Towards
an unknown destiny
No man
can trace.
|
|
My old
heart pounds, sharp, like a hammer striking against stone.
After
many years of wandering other distant lands, fate has once
Again
brought me home; to revisit this haunted land of enchanted
Youth;
to relive once more that stormy night fifty-odd years ago
After
all these years I had put behind the many thousands and me
Of miles
which separated us, I thought at last I had escaped it’s
Memories; not so my friend as life is sometimes cruel biding its
Time to
strike, holding its memories in its heart, waiting…
These
emerald hills land of my father’s pride, land of my birth,
Land of
long ago days of innocent and trouble free youth, land
Of
enchantment, of mystery, lands of strange hauntings are these
Irish
emerald hills; like stretching fingers dawn’s early light,
Streaks
across an early morning sky racing towards its destiny,
I stand
on the valley floor in awe of it all; to my right, rays
Of
dawn’s early light reveals a dark gray woods, silent and still.
Before
the woods broken headstones litter a ruined church
Yard,
like hammer striking stone, my heart pounds, ‘Be still!’
I
command, ‘be still.’ To my left standing like sentinels
Of the
queen’s old guard green with age is all that remains of
Crumbling castle walls; like hammer striking stone my
Heart
pounds, with a will all it’s own memories travels back
Through
tunnels of time to those last fading days of
Endless
youth, helpless, trapped by forces of destiny, locked
Within
memories trance, I am transported to another
Time,
another place, early morning light gives way to a dark
And stormy night
within those castle walls
As a
youthful lad of sixteen sent to learn my
Father’s
trade; servant to the Master of,
Manchester Castle; arms heavy laden with
Bottles
of the master’s favorite red wines;
A
howling wind screamed, thunder deafened
My ears,
lightening struck, causing
A great
crash, the earth shook; heavy wooden
Shutters
banged against the glass
In the
great front hall, on the big round oak
Table in
the servant’s kitchen, I
Sat my
burden down, chilled, I stroked the
Fire,
made a mental note to bolt
And
latch the shutters before retiring to my
Bed that
night; walking into that
Great
front hall, I stopped dead still, there
By the
fireplace stood the master,
The
poker raised in his hand, ‘Thump,’
‘Thump,
Thump! It sounded,
As he
struck her three times on the back
Of her
head; shaking in terror
Like the
coward I had become, I turned
To flee,
hiding behind the cellar
Door; I
wanted to shrink into the stone
Castle
walls; I dared not breathe
Afraid
he would hear it and know I had
Seen
what he had done; he
Wrapped
her lifeless body in a bed sheet
Dragging
his burden across
The
floor, into the dark, stormy night.
Into the
driving rain and through the trees
I
followed him into the ancient church
Yard,
where he laid his burden down; like
Hammer
striking stone my heart
Pounds,
‘Be quiet my heart! Be quiet!
It’s
only a memory!’ my heart
Groaned
and cried with each strike of
The
spade into the mud soaked
Earth;
his evil deed done, my master
Rolled
his burden into it’s
Grave;
the ground rumbled, shaking
Beneath
his feet; screaming
The
hills came alive! Breathing rest-
less
souls whom could
Slumber
no more! Within it’s grave
Her soul
cried for revenge!
‘If only
to block out the memory of
His
evil, heartless deed
Done so
long ago! Horror haunts
This
mind no longer sane!
Returning day after endless day,
Night
after endless night!
‘Be
quiet my heart! Be quiet, be
Quiet!
It’s only a memory!
I slap
my hands over my ears, if
Only to
shut out the sounds
Of those
restless screaming souls!
Like
hammer striking stone;
My heart
pounds, in vain I scream
Out,
‘It’s only a memory!
Restless
ghosts arise still, screaming from
Hopeless
graves their voices
Slip
into my own dark and stormy nights,
Haunting
my nightmares,
They
linger still, “Justice has yet to be
Served!”
they cry; from beyond
Their
graves they scream, “ Justice has
Yet to
be served!” Lightened
Flashed,
thunder roared, the earth
Rumbled,
shaking
The
ground with its fury; the souls of
The
damned would not
Be
still, their groaning rang through
The
trees, louder then
The
thunder, filling the air with anger,
Dread
and fear.
Graveyard diggers dropped spades
And
picks, fleeing
Down the
mountainside, screams of
Terror
died on frozen lips!
Running
in great haste they laid
Open
barren land
Exposing
coffins and crates; the
Earth
threw up its dead.
Stumbling they came forth an army
Of dark
ghost’s with
Missions
of terror to complete;
Angry
howls from
Within
Satan’s bottomless pit,
‘Be
still my heart!’
Terror
emptied rain soaked streets in the village
Below;
mother’s grabbed their young,
Father’s
slammed and bolted shutters and cottage
Doors,
as if bolts and nails could keep
This
army of dead at bay, priest’s stumbled out
Of their
beds to the church alter they
Fled;
the fearing divine intervention was at hand
The
wicked ran and hid!
Sniffing
the wind forest animals arose, swiftly
On wing
and hoof stampeding
Their
offspring they fled to far-off woods, caves
And
other secret places.
Hidden
behind boulders praying not to be seen
Crouched
a lad of barely sixteen,
Trembling, frozen in dead he was, yet unable
To hide
his eyes from that God
Awful
sight he did witness that night!
When the
master could no longer stand the howls
From
within the graves of the damned
Clamoring to be set free,
Grabbing
the bed sheet he had laid his burden
In,
throwing it over the lowest
Branch
of a near-by tree wrapping it around
His
neck, he dangled there.
Like
hammer striking against stone my heart
Pounds!
“Be quiet my heart!
Be
quiet! It’s only a memory!” Screams
Of
terror pour from this young
Lad’s
lips, watching until his master’s body
Stopped
it’s twitching, this
Young
lad of barely sixteen ran from
The
God-awful sight
He did
witness that dark, stormy night
When the
dead came alive!
Until
this very day her spirit lingers
Still;
the body he tried
To bury
refuses to stay dead, or turn
To ashes
and dust; on this
Day,
October 31, the anniversary of
Her
death, her restless
Spirit
rises from its grave to haunt these
Emerald
Irish hills, stalking
The
living, the locals say, searching for
Her
killer;
Like
hammer striking against stone my
Heart
pounds.
|
|
What if
God had never created the world?
Where
would my spirit be; would
It be
floating adrift in that dark void sea?
What if
Eve had never partaken of God’s
Forbidden fruit; where would
The sons
and daughters of Adam be?
Oh, how
different life would have been,
Different for you and for me.
What if
the world had been flat, not
Round,
would Columbus
Have
sailed over the edge into a sea
Of
infinity?
What if
I had never been born? Would
The
world have been different;
Or
plowed ahead still towards it’s
Unknown
destiny?
Racing
madly into oblivion of eternity;
What if,
what if, our two paths
Of
separate lives had not been destined
To
cross?
If I had
never known you, if by my
Way you
had never passed;
If we
had never met, never loved;
Imagine
if you can, how lonesome, how
Empty,
our two worlds would
Have
been, if I had never known you, if
By my
way you had never passed.
What an
albatross it would be floating,
Swimming
alone among azure
Seas of
God’s infinity, if by my way
You had
never passed…
|
You were
so much older than I twelve, mom said,
When I
was born; you were almost a grown
Man
before my time; we should have been closer
You and
I, seeing there were just the two
Of us;
but I was such a baby, it could not be…
While I
was still a child you ran away, time it
Seemed
would not permit you to play
The big
brother act for me; you ran away to join
The army
mom said, ‘to play the games
Soldiers
play,’ but don’t think Dal, that a little
Sister
of six could ever forget a big brother’s
Love,
showing the pictures of you
To all
my little friends, proudly I’d brag,
‘This is
my big brother,’ I’d say; after all these
Year’s
big brother, it’s time for you
To know
that, they’re never was a little sister
More
proud of her big brother then I .
I
remember to all the baseball games, ‘the
Washington Senators,’ ever played we
Went,
happily and sometimes
Not so
happily, you’d drag your bratty little
Sister
with you!
Though I
never told you, and hardly, if ever
Showed
it, you need to know
How much
I enjoyed the time-shared with
My big
brother;
You were
not always patient when I’d get
Into
your stuff; for I seemed
More
than determined to make a big
Mess!
Always leaving the
Evidence
of my crime trailing behind!
But you
always loved me and we’re
Willing
to forgive!
My Dal,
how the years have passed us
By, it’s
true what they say
About
this thing called, ‘time,’ it
Seems to
sprout wings
Fly .
As these
childhood memories fill my
Mind, I
wipe at the tears
When I
think of all we have shared;
Dad’s
death in 1959, we laid him
To rest
on a cold
February
day, mom followed in 1992,
Leaving
just the two of us.
No mater
how this thing called, ‘old
Age,’
creeps around
My
corner and your corner too, just
Wanted
you to know
I will
never stop loving this, ‘big
Brother
of mine.’
|
|
I am
really growing tired dear of this silly game
We must
play, living apart you and I, you
Have
your place and I have mine; both of us are
Lonely
and unhappy, sadly for now this
Silly
little game we must play; so close is your
Love,
yet, so far away; I cherish
Each
night I steal away to sleep in your big bed
Instead
of mine; for now, this silly
Game we
must play; yet never forget my sweet,
We are
separated by miles, walls and fence, by
This
silly little game of pretend we
Must
play; yet, never forget my sweet, its only
A silly
little game we must play;
I love
you now, as I did ten years ago
When you
placed that gold band on my finger
And I
became your wife; for now
This
silly game of pretend we must play; it’s
It’s
only on paper my sweet; it’s not fair I know
To
punish the hard worker and reward
The
lazy, until the system changes for now this
Silly
game of pretend we must play;
One day
soon, our marriage on paper, will end;
But with
our two hearts entwined,
Together
thirteen years we’ve been, you belong
To me;
not man nor government
Rules
can tear asunder what God has brought
Together, remember my sweet, this
Silly
game we must play, our separation is not
Real.
It’s only on paper.
|
|
‘What do
I see looking back, thinking of years gone past?’
“If
only, I could live them over,” I wonder what
Those
things would be, I would have done differently?
After
reaching the age of wisdom, sometime after 50, or
So, to
look behind criticizing those things done before,
Wondering, how life may have been if lived differently
|
A brave
new world looms ahead, a new beginning dawn’s on man’s horizons.
Finger’s
of darkness reaching from within Earth’s invisible curtain of time, the
World’s
hour draws neigh; but like the ostrich, man prefers the sand………….
Shadows
invade, spreading poison throughout the land, European nations rise;
Arising
from within a long-dead Roman empire, ‘A New World Order,’ is
Coming
together for one last battle, soon to be fought; but like the ostrich,
Man
prefers the sand……………………………………………………….
A world
of, ‘peace,’ or so they believe, but old-time prophets disagree, there
Will be
no, ‘peace,’ only death and destruction, persecutions for those few,
Who
refused to take the, ‘mark of the beast,’ let the world remember that his
Number
is, ‘666; but like the ostrich, man hides his head in the sand………
What an
awesome world man inherited created from a dark blank and dark
Void,
spoken into existence by the mighty voice of God; a world of rivers,
Of
emerald mountains with snow-capped peaks, a world of dry lonesome
Deserts,
of inspiring majestic valleys, a world of bounty and beauty,
A world
formed by the Mighty Hands of God, my creator’s, ‘free gift,’ to
Mankind;
with one last battle soon to be fought, like the ostrich, man
Prefers
to hide his head in the sand……………………………………….
As in
the days of, ‘Noah,’ the people laughed, mocked and scorned, ‘crazy
Old
man,” they yelled, ‘ building a boat!’ But as the rains came down, they
Laughed,
mocked and scorned no more, ‘let us in,’ they begged Noah, but
It was
too late; God had shut the door……………………………………...
As it
was in those long-ago days of, ‘old-time prophets,’ America is to-
Day, she
has lost her way; she has betrayed her God with her lusts, lusts
Of
greed, political power, riches and worldly gain; with one last battle
Soon to
be fought, like the ostrich, America hides her head in the sand…
Different as our world’s may have been, the hearts of men
Have
never changed, ‘wicked, deceitful, puffed up with
‘Pride,’
God’s Word, not mine; (Psalms 14:1) ‘The fool has
Said in
his heart, “There is no God.” Within his own
Knowledge, arrogance and power, man denies the existence
Of his
creator; like the ostrich, man prefers the sand………
As it
was during the feast of, ‘King Belshazzar,’ (Daniel 5:)
So it is
in America today, God’s handwriting is on the wall;
But like
the ostrich, man hides his head in the sand………..
As
branches on a dead and dying tree, our generation is soon
To
wither and pass away, what legacy do we leave behind?
To your
grandchildren and mine……………………………
As did
Jerusalem right before she met her end at the hands
Of a,
‘Babylonian King,’ America today has turned her
Back on
God, replacing Him with idols of her choice, not
Melted
down statues of gold, but idols just the same……...
Idols of
greed, idols of lust, idols of the flesh, with one last
Battle
soon to be fought, like the ostrich, America hides
Her head
in the sand……………………………………….
America
has learned to play God, in the name of,
‘A
woman’s right to choose,’ our laws sanction, ‘murder,’
The
lawful slaughter of the unborn, the unwanted,
Stand up
for choice? How is that choice, when the life
Being
taken has no voice? Abortion is not a, right,
We need
to call it for what it is, ‘murder’……………….
By,
‘dolly the sheep,’ we can create, ‘life,’ under abortion,
And, ‘
euthanasia,’ ‘The right to die with dignity,’ as a
Society,
our doctors and scientist have the power to decide
Who is
worthy of life and who is not, no matter how one
May feel
on these issues, the power over life or death is a
Very
dangerous power to be placed in another person’s
Hands,
be it, doctor, scientist, president, lawyer, congress,
Or
whoever, no one has the right to play God; God is the
Creator
of all life, be it animal or human………………….
‘Abortion is, ‘political,’ it has nothing to do with, ‘rights.’
It is
population control of the masses; ‘euthanasia,’ the
‘Right
to die with dignity,’ is a way for society to be shed
Of it’s
old, it’s sick, it’s poor and it’s dying,’ where will
It end?
With one last battle soon to be fought, like the…
Ostrich,
man prefers the sand……………………………
America
has kicked a ‘Judeo-Christian God,’ out of her
Public
schools; in 1962 prayer was removed……………
In 1963,
the Bible was removed, in 1980, God’s laws….
The Ten
Commandments were removed……………….
We are
losing our freedom to Believe and profess that
Belief
in our Judeo-Christian God, we can pray and
Worship
any,’ other,’ God that man believes in,
Our
children have the right to wear, ‘head coverings,’
But wear
the cross and they’re expelled, why?
The
Cross-represents the God of the Bible, the Cross
Represents the WORD of God and a belief
Which
leads into faith in the God of my Bible………
America
has kicked God out of her courts, kicked
His Word
out of the workplace, God has been
Banned
from all places, our pastor’s no longer
Have the
religious liberty to preach the Word of,
God,
preaching instead, doctrines of men………
Changing
the incorruptible Word of God into …
That
which is pleasing to the ears of men with,
‘Itching
ears,’ (2 Timothy 4:3-4), not my word…
It is
the Word of God; like the ostrich man
Prefers
the sand………………………………..
In his
quest to do his own thing man becomes
A victim
of his own delusions, deceiving
And
being deceived, (2 Timothy 3:13)…
Lacking
Spiritual rules to govern his behavior
Man
becomes scattered like mindless mice, in
His own
wisdom man declares, ‘God does not
Exist’…………………………………………
Man was
not a, ‘created being,’ he was not
Formed
out of the, ‘dust,’ of the ground this
Creature
called, ‘man,’ crawled out of the sea;
Evolving
into, ‘whatever,’ nature meant it
To be;
within the passage of time, give or
Take a
few billion years, this creature called
Man,
learned to walk up right……………..
Evolution is not a science, it is a religion
That
denies God as man’s Creator, when
A Holy
God does not exist, nothing is
Taboo,
man has learned to justify sin…
Nothing
is right or wrong, the Bible with
Its
story of Creation, of Adam and Eve,
Is
nothing more than poetry and fairy-
Tales of
a long-dead generation………...
With one
last battle soon to be fought…
Like the
ostrich, mankind prefers the
Sand…………………………………….
Wait!
All is not lost, there is still hope!
Man’s
new quest is searching for that,
‘Invisible God,’ which resides in all
Of us;
man is now walking the bridge of
Denial;
denying the Almighty God
Of
Abraham, Issac and Jacob, man’s
Final
hour draws neigh………………
Like the
ostrich, man prefers the
Sand…………………………………
Heeding
not the warnings of old
Time
prophets in his final hour man
Stands
alone; helpless, floundering,
Like a
soon to be dead fish,
Flopping
and squirming at the end
Of the
fishermen’s line, begging to be
Set free
from the sharp hook
Digging
into its jaws. But the hook
Is
buried too deep…………………
Proud of
his catch, the fishermen refuses
To throw
back his prize; as the helpless
Fish is,
America has become, caught in
The grip
of her sins; with one last battle
Soon to
be fought, like the ostrich
America
hides her head in the sand…
And like
the old-time prophets those of
Us who
know and believe that, ‘God is
The
Truth and the Light and the Rock of
Our
Salvation,’ shutter at the price our
Country
may pay for her sins, when you
Choose
to walk away from God there is
Always a
price to pay………………….
As a
country haven’t we learned
Any
lessons from the attacks of 9/11?
That
because America’s sin is
So
great, God has withdrawn His hand
Of
protection; after that terrible
Tragedy,
all the country knew that God
Existed;
it was, ‘politically correct,’
To pray
again in public, to thank Him
For
keeping our loved ones safe.
“Politically correct,’ to give the God of
Heaven
and earth, Glory, Honor and
Praise,
then back to business as usual;
Fighting
over the Ten Commandments in
Public
Square in Alabama, fighting
Over the
words, ‘under God,’
In the
allegiance to our flag; back to
being,
‘political correct,’ as if
Nothing
had happened, as if nothing
Had
changed; as a country we
Had been
brought to our knees in
Prayer.
With one
last battle soon to be
Fought,
like the ostrich, America
Hides
her head in the sand……...
|
Black
clouds gather, thunder roars,
Lightening splits the dawn,
Animals
run to hide;
A storm
is coming……………….
Like
tornados funnel clouds whirl
Across
sand dunes, ripping
Past dry
gullies;
A storm
is coming……………..
Wild,
howling winds moan
Across
the plains,
Cashing
giant red oaks down to
The
earth.
A storm
is coming……………
The moon
is turned to blood
By God’s
unseen
Hand,
turning day into night;
A storm
is coming…………..
Mountains topple into the sea,
Stars
tumble
From
God’s heaven;
A storm
is coming…………..
Violently, the earth shakes her
Fist at
mankind,
World
armies march forward;
A storm
is coming…………..
Jerusalem is their goal, sights
And
wonders to be seen,
Old-time
prophets rise from
Their
graves.
A storm
is coming………….
With one
voice the prophets
Cry,
“Repent! Your
Redemption draws neigh!”
A storm
is coming…………
One last
warning from God,
“How
long, Oh
Lord,
will justice be denied!”
A storm
is coming………..
But
humanity is too blind to
See,
Revelation
Prophecy
ringing true.
A storm
is coming……….
|
What can
I give in return for all He has given me,
The
Bible tells the story of the sinless life
He
lived; on Calvary’s Hill, He bowed His head,
Giving
all He had to give……………….
What can
I give in return for all He has given me?
Betrayed
by one of His own, for thirty pieces of..
Silver,
in the garden where He prayed;
What
gift do I bring worthy of my great King…
Quietly
over the years, He whispered my name...
Oh, what
gift can I give, for all He has
Given
me…
Being
the only true friend I have, He never gave
Up on
this lost sheep, He just waited
Patiently for me to say, “Lord, here I am,” Oh…
What
gift can I give in return for all
He has
given me…
What
gift do I own, worthy of Him, a humble…
Servant,
who became my King…
What
gift can I give in return for all He has..
Given
me; I will give Him all
I have
to bring………………………………..
I will
give Him my life, I will give Him,
Glory,
Honor and Praise, I will
Worship
Him when times are bad, I will
Give Him
a life washed by His
Blood………………………………….
I will
give Him a life tried in His fire,
When He
is finished with His
Perfection of me……………………
The end
result will be, a life clean…
And
morally pure, a life...
Worthy
of the gift He has given me…
|
|
Dear
Charles: As I grow older, attacked now and then by nostalgic
Memories, lost in spaces of times past, I wonder, if again the…
Choice
was yours to choose, what would you do differently this….
Time
around……………………………………………………….
Would
you take stock of your situation, viewing it from a different
Light;
perhaps, this time around, you would count each sweet…
Second
of the ticking of the clock, stopping if only for a half.
Minute
your choice again to ponder……………………………….
Renewing
again your thoughts…” maybe life’s not so hum drum.
Dreary
in reality as it seems to be..” Or, would you again take the
Easy way
out; what would you do this time, if again the choice….
Was
yours to choose……………………………………………….
Would
you choose death over life, or would you just grumble and
Return
your rifle to its resting place upon the closet shelf………..
Renewing
again your options to make, “well on second thought...
Maybe
not today”…………………………………………………
You
missed the best part of those golden childhood years………..
You
missed too, those rebellious, misunderstood, fighting teenage
Days;
Charles, you missed all the love they each had to give, but
Most
importantly by losing touch with reality, you missed the…
Best
part of all…………………………………………………….
You
missed that glorious transition of four butterflies from……...
From
gangling unknown youth into the wisdom of adult ways….
You
missed the pleasure of grandchildren too, four little girls…
Three
little boys, seven of them now……………………………..
You
missed those sweet baby days again, of bottles
And
diapers, of longings to be fulfilled in the…
Loving
arms of grandmother; Charles, you missed
The next
generation, that shining moment of pride.
The
oldest four, all girls, will in time as nature…
Demands,
give birth to a fourth generation, one….
One
already has and you missed it Charles, you…
Missed
the birth of your first great-granddaughter..
I
remarried two times after, and before moving….
Trying
in vain, to start my life over, I did my best,
To help
each one grow into womanhood and man-
Hood
too; it wasn’t an easy job Charles, being…
Being
both mother and father too, your boy’s, are
Still
struggling through it on their own, they did...
Not have
a father to teach them what they should
Know…………………………………………….
Just
thought I would tell you that nothing was….
Ever the
same those twenty long years ago after,
You put
a bullet into your brain; I am a senior….
Citizen
now, as you would have been…………..
Through
God’s love Charles I found the strength
To
forgive you, a long time ago; but you were…
Selfish
to end it all the way you did……………
Your
marriage would soon be over, I…………..
Understood too well your pain, my marriage….
To the
dummy from hell, would soon bite the..
Dust
too; we could have worked it out then, it..
Wasn’t
too late to make amends, but you…
Chose
the easy way out; on the fifth day….
Of cold
November of 1984, depressed…
You
grabbed your rifle and squeezed the…
The
trigger, forever ending my dream of…
Us
getting back together; and your………
Timing,
oh God, it was just perfect..! Two
Days
after our first son’s birthday……….
I wonder
within the madness of your…
Brain
that day, did you stop, even once…
To
consider the pain your death would…
Cause to
those of us you would leave…
Behind;
the anger, the confusion…………
And the
guilt felt by those of us who, in…
Spite of
your faults, loved you still……....
Through
their tears and pain, they ………
Questioned, ‘why?’ Charles, your name…
Sake,
clutching your old guitar to his…
Chest,
tears falling like rain, begging…
Pleading, for you not to be dead………...
‘I
didn’t know him, mom,’ he’d cry, ‘he…
Took
that chance away from me, why…
Mom,
why?’…………………………….
At the
age of fifteen, he was as much of,
‘A man,’
as his dad had once been……….
“Tell us
why mom, tell us why?” How…
Could I
Charles, how could I tell them…
What I
didn’t understand……………….
And
Shawn, so much the duplicate of his
Dad, he
wanted so much to be with you
Charles,
big tears welled up in his eyes..
“I don’t
have a dad anymore.”………….
Today,
both your boys carry still………
The
tell-tale signs and scares of your….
Suicide;
making my heart thump with…
Fear,
that one-day within their own…
Depression, unable to cope with life…
They may
follow your example and...
Take the
easy way out of life and its…
Problems………………………………
Kelly,
our first daughter, a mother and
Grown
woman before her time, she…..
Cried so
hard, holding our first grand...
Daughter, Rosa in her arms, ‘oh mom,
She
cried, “he held her only once, my..
Little
baby will never have the chance
To know
her grandfather; he will never
Hold
her, feed her a bottle, and tuck her in
Bed for
the night, sing her a song…
Or kiss
her good-night; “ Oh mom...
Why did
he do it, why? Didn’t he…
Know,
that no matter what was going..
On with
him and Carol, that he still…
Had us,
that we still loved him, that….
We still
needed him in our life, why….
Mom, why
did he do it!?”……………..
And
Susan, the little girl we had tried
So hard
to conceive, it was her…
‘Fault,’
you took the easy way out, ‘if
Only she
would have been there,’ you
Would
have been alive today; out of
All four
of them Charles, it was…
Susan
that understood you the most;
“Oh
mom,” she cried, “If I’d only…
Been
able to be there, he wouldn’t..
Have
done it!”……………………..
Twenty
years, is that all its been…
Charles? Seems life a lifetime to…
Those of
us you left behind; the…
Saddest
part I guess is not having..
Had the
chance to say, ‘good-by….
God
speed, enjoy your eternal rest..’
I blamed
you for it all you know…
For
everything that went wrong in,
My life
from that day forward; it…
Was your
fault, all of it, until 1994,
My life
was a mess, and it was all,
Your
fault for leaving me all those
Years
ago; if only you’d been…
There,
like you’d promise to be…
When the
dream first began back...
In
1963………………………….
The fall
of these my middle days creeps
Away
ever so slowly, pressing into…
Those
golden twilight years, quickly…
Stealing
whatever time is left………….
Within
realms of it’s old age, wisdom’s
Insight
tends to study past events…
Begging,
longing, sometimes praying...
For one
last chance to change the…
Course
of one’s destiny………………
If again
Charles, the choice was yours
To
choose……………………………
Would
you choose life over a violent,
Untimely
death……………………...
Or would
your choice be the same…
As
before on that sad, tragic day…
Of
November 1984…………………
What
would you do Charles, if again
The
choice was yours to choose…
|
|
Can you
not forgive me mother?
As I
have forgiven you; can…
You not
accept me, as I have….
Accepted
you…………………
You
needn’t treat me like…
A child,
you needn’t hold…
My hand;
if you leave me…
Alone on
my own two feet…
I will
stand…………………..
But no,
you do not accept me
For who
I am, you want to….
Mold me
into someone I…
Can
never be………………..
In your
long years of life…
Mother,
why can’t you…
You
understand, I can………
Never be
you………………
Why
can’t you understand?
Can a
wild animal be………
Caged,
and still be free…
You
cannot change me…
Whatever
life’s path I am…
Destined
to follow, I…
Alone
must choose……….
And I
choose to stay free…
And
always be……………
Only
me…………………..
|
|
Beings
clothed in white sang praises
To His
name, glorious they were…
Brighter
than the brightest star…
I
dreamed I was there, in His………
Presence
at Heaven’s gate…………
No more
rain, no more tears……….
Done
were earthly cares…………...
Gone
were earthly fears……………
I
dreamed I was there, in His………
Presence, walking streets of gold….
Oh, I
dreamed I was there, joining...
In that
angelic choir, singing……...
Praises
to His name……………….
The King
of all Kings welcomed…
Me home
through Heaven’s gate...
I
dreamed I was there……………
It’s
true what the prophets say…
There is
no more sadness, no…
More
pain, He wiped every tear…
From my
eye, as I walked…….…
Through
Heaven’s gate……….…
I
dreamed I was there, in His...
Presence, walking streets of…
Gold,
singing praises to His…
Name……………………….…..
Shouting
in triumphant victory,
Walking
through Heaven’s…
Gate…………………………..
What a
joyous day that will be!
When the
King of all Kings…
Welcomes
me home! What….
A
glorious day that will be…
Singing
praises to His name…
Walking
through Heaven’s…
Gate…………………………
|
When
everything is broken, take it to the master
In
prayer, look not to man, but to Him who…
Made
heaven and earth………………………..
My world
had crashed, pieces of my life lay…
Like
shattered glass at my feet; old wounds….
Could
not, would not, be healed…………….…
When a
quiet, soft voice whispered in my ear..
“Give it
to me..”………………………………..
It was
then I learned that when everything is
Broken,
take it to the Lord in prayer………..
Only the
Kings of all Kings, can fit………...
The
pieces back together again…………….
When
everything is broken, take…………...
It to
the Lord in Prayer…………………….
|
When
everything goes wrong, how often
To we ask, “God, where are you?”……..
When
pain fills our hearts, when tears…
Fall
like rain, when the storms of life…
Fill our
days and our dark nights……...
Never seem to end…………………….
How
often do we ask, “God………….
Where
are you?” How often do we…..
Seek his
face; how often on bended….
Knees,
do we seek His Grace………..
How easy
for us to complain………...
When
prayers go unanswered………...
When
trials come our way…………...
How
often do we want His………….
Blessings………………………….…
Without
the trials………………….…
Without
the pain………………….…
How easy
it is to bicker and judge…
Stumbling through one trial………...
After
the other………………………
How easy
it is to lay blame………...
On the
King of all Kings……………
How hard
it is to humble our pride..
Saying,
“Lord, here I am…………..
Your
will be done Father………….
Not
mine”…………………………
Forgive
me Lord, instead of being God
‘Oriented,’ I have been ‘self’…………
Oriented, forgive me Lord……………
Forgive
this lazy servant of the, ‘me.’.
Generation, I am guilty as charged…...
Forgive
me Lord, for not responding...
The
first time to Your Call…………...
Forgive
me Lord, when in the mist…..
Of
plenty, I whine and complain……..
Forgive
me Lord, when I cry over that
Which I
have not, instead of being…...
THANKFUL
for Your BLESSINGS...
Which I
CANNOT COUNT…………
Forgive
me Lord, for fretting over….
TRIVIAL
matters, instead……………
Of
plowing ahead for the GLORY…..
Of Your
KINGDOM…………………
Teach me
Lord to Pray……………..
Teach me
Lord to be humble……….
Teach me
Your WAYS Lord………
Take me
Lord, here I AM, Ready….
Willing
now to answer Your Call….
Take me
as Your Servant Lord, here I AM,
Use me
Lord, YOU are the POTTER Lord,
I AM the
CLAY, shape me and mold me..
FATHER
into who you want me to BE….
You are
the potter Father, I am the clay….
|
|
Oh Lord,
how easily Your Holy Name
Is
denied and blasphemed from their
Lips;
while a diamond cross of gold..
Dangles
from around their necks…...
Oh Lord,
how the world dares……..…
To mock
spiritual things they do……
Not
understand; how dare they……...
Lord,
how dare they………………...
How dare
the world decide………….
That
death is the fate of forty………...
Million
of You’re unborn; how dare…..
They
Lord, how dare they……………
How dare
they play God…………….
“How
long, “ David cried, “Will……...
Your
justice be denied!”…Oh Lord…
How they
dare play God…………….
|
Where
are those who said, ‘you never will, you have no skill.’
Where
are those who laughed, mocked and scorned our……..
Childhood dreams and plans…………………………………
Where
are those whose taunts invade our dreams still……….
Where
are those who lived in glass houses and threw……….
Stones
our way, where are they now………………………...
Where
are those who were too quick to judge and condemn..
Who
laughed at us, too afraid to look in the mirror, too……
Afraid
of the shallow image staring back from within……..
The
looking glass…………………………………………..
Where
are those long-ago bullies who took our lunch……..
Money
and our books, who stomped our jackets………….
In the
mud and chased us home from school……………...
Where
are those who tormented our days and invaded……
Our
nightmares on stormy nights…………………………
Where
are they now……………………………………….
They are
dead, buried in the sea of forgetfulness………..
Buried
in the sea of God’s forgiveness………………….
Where
are they now, buried in the past………………….
Bathed
in God’s Love…………………………………...
|
|
Today is
the first day Lord, help me
Not to
waste it; remind me Father...
When I
complain, of your blessings,
My heart
cannot contain…………..
For
there are many a different path..
They
walk, knowing not of you nor,
Of your
great plan of Salvation for..
Man……………………………….
How
helpless they must feel Father
Never to
be forgiven, knowing……
Not the
warmth of your love nor…
The
sweetness of your grace……...
Remind
me Father, as your child I,
May come
boldly to your throne….
Seeking
your face, making my……
Repentance known……………….
Keep me
Father, let me always…..
Walk in
the sunshine of your love;
Let my
mind always be open…….
To your
thoughts and my heart…..
Receptive to your voice……….…
Remind
me Father that today is…
The
first day, let me not repeat…..
The
mistakes of yesterday, for…..
Today is
a new day; …………….
Another
chance I have by my……
Actions
to show, that I belong…...
To
you…………………………...
Another
chance I have to respond
Willingly to your call; let me not..
Forget
today, to lift you up……..
From the
earth………………….
Let me
not forget today to sing...
Praises
to your Holy Name; by…
My
actions, with my words…….
And by
my deeds, let me glorify..
You……………………………..
That
others, friends, neighbors…
And
strangers too, will know…...
That I
belong to you……………
When
this day is over and I am..
Tucked
safely in my bed, let me
Not
forget my prayers; giving…
Thanks
to you Lord…………...
For
being my Savior, my……..
Shepherd
and my guide………
With a
smile on my face a song
In my
heart and your words on
My lips;
let me look forward...
Towards
tomorrow for……….
The new
day you will bring….
No
matter what new trials may
Come my
way with the rising..
Of each
new sun, let me be at..
Peace;
knowing always it is…
You Lord
who is in charge….
Not
I………………………...
If you
choose Lord to take me
Home
before the dawning of..
Day
break, in your presence I,
Will be,
one more angel……..
In that
heavenly choir singing
Praises
to your Holy name….
It is
not important Lord, on…
That
day, how little, or how…
Much I
leave behind………..
It is
not important Lord, on...
That
day, the car I drove……
The
clothes, new or old, I…..
Wore……………………….
It will
not be important Lord
On that
day, in which………
Neighborhood I lived, rich…
Or
poor……………………..
What is
important Lord, on that day,
Is, from
my lips those I loved……..
Heard
your words and were saved...
What is
important Lord, on that day,
Is that
my life was given to you…...
And
lived by your standards Lord…
Not by
the world’s………………...
What is
important Lord, on that day,
Is that
your words had taken root in
My heart
and in my mind………….
And your
spirit dwelled within me...
What is
important lord, on that day,
Is that
my talents were used in…...
Your
service………………………
Most
important of all Lord, on that
Day will
be that loved ones………
Friends,
neighbors………………..
And
strangers too…………………
Knew
that by my words, by my….
Actions
and by my deeds, that I….
Belonged
to you…………………
|
|
Oh Lord,
let me not be too quick to judge;
That is
your job Father, not mine………..
Let me
instead look for that which is…...
Kind,
that which is spiritual…………….
Where
there is hate, let me replace it…...
With
your love………………………….
Where
there is anger, let me replace it…
With
your peace………………………..
Where
there is sorrow, let me replace it,
With
your joy………………………….
Where
there is despair, let me replace..
It with
your hope…………………….
Where
there is sin, use me Father to…
Speak
your words to replace the sin…
With
your forgiveness and show…….
Your
plan of Salvation………………
Where
there is homelessness, by your
Love,
let me offer shelter…………..
Where
there is hunger, in your name
Let me
offer a meal………………..
Where
there is deception, where there
Is
darkness, armed with your Holy…
Word,
let me show your light……….
And
offer truth………………………
Forgive
me Father, so many times
These
acts of human kindness…
Have
been left undone…………..
Let me
not be too quick to judge..
Lord,
that is your job Father…
Not
mine………………………...
|
|
I want
to be a sheep, not a donkey.
A sheep
is obedient to the voice….
Of his
shepherd…………………...
A donkey
is stubborn, headstrong,
Wanting
it’s own way, with a will
All its
own……………………….
A sheep
is meek, gentle and mild,
Willing
to be led; trusting in His..
Master
its needs to be met…
Lord
help me to be a sheep……..
Not a
donkey; trusting in you…
Lord, my
shepherd……………...
My needs
to be met…………….
|
Dedicated to the loving memory of my mother;
Amelia Louise Doyle;
2/22/1913-8/29/92
If only I
could have you here
Taking
back words
Spoken in
anger so long ago.
When I was
just an
Immature
kid;
If only I
could have one more
Chance; if
only God
Would
grant this grown up
Daughter’s
wish
Returning
to long ago days
Of
childhood;
If only,
‘mother,’ I had the
Chance to
see you
One more
time, having on
Last
chance to say;
“Thank you
mom, for raising
Me the way
you did,’
“Thank you
mom, for loving
This
selfish kid,
Thank you
mom, for doing
Without.
To give to
me;
If only
one more chance I
Could
have, to
Wrap my
arms around your
Neck;
If God
would only grant your
Selfish
little girl
One last
wish, one last chance,
To say:
“I love
you mom.”
|
Red,
yellow, orange and greens,
Purple
pink hues, lighter
And darker
shades of blues .
A glorious
mixture of different
Tints and
tones; separate
From its
neighbor each one
Stands
alone .
Yet, when
combined together
The
blending of its color,
Each
lending part
Of its
life in support of
The other;
Creates
within its self an awe
Some
inspiring
Sight of
heavenly delight;
The
rainbows of colors working
Together
as a team,
A glorious
sight to be seen;
From the
very
Moment of
its birth nature’s
Gift of
beauty
Imparting
its wisdom of
God’s
design
Of colors
upon His earth;
As
nature’s rainbow of colors
Take in
stride the
Differences between one
Another
allowing
Each it’s
moment to shine;
Promoting
peace and harmony
Within the
skies;
Providing
valuable lessons
For
man-kind;
Like the
tranquility of a rainbow
After
passing of
Summer
storms, ought the races
Of man to
be
In
relationships toward one
Another;
Allowing
Each
member a time to shine;
Understanding the
Differences between you and I .
|
|
The Price He Paid:
This poem is a gift from
the Holy Spirit. The poem is about
God’s love, and the price His son,
Jesus Christ, paid for the salvation
of men and women. This poem is
dedicated to my Lord and Savior,
Jesus Christ.
Too Old:
This poem is a political
statement on the subject of,
Euthanasia. It is dedicated to my
life long friend, Bonnie Zuech, of
Sun City, Arizona. This poem was
intended to remind some political
folks that age is wisdom and
knowledge. And, that not all of us,
because of sickness or pain, chose
to end our life.
The poem was intended to
remind some of those in political
power that, whether sick or old,
that life, is a life granted by God,
not by man. God is the giver of
life, and only God has the right to
decide when that life is over.
My life long friend,
Bonnie, left this earthly world on
her birthday, March 11, 2001; She is
now with the Lord. Even though I
will miss her, I know she is in a
better place. Until we meet again
Bonnie.
This Brother of Mine:
This poem is dedicated to
my only sibling, Rev. Dallas Doyle
of, Butte, Montana. Keep preaching
the truth brother, no matter who
does not want to hear it.
The Migrant Worker:
This poem is dedicated to
the loving memory of a deceased
spouse.
“Javier Hernandez,” who
left this world on, December 11,
1989; Pesticides and the misuse of
them, were responsible for his
death.
While trying to deal with
his death, I wrote this poem as a
political statement on the
discrimination at that time faced by
Hispanic workers in the orchards and
the fields across these United
States of America.
And, about some, of the
employers, who failed to follow the
rules of, OSHA, exposing Javier and
many others to dangerous
pesticides. During that time
period, if you were an undocumented
Mexican worker, you had no right to
speak out
Against your employers; I
felt, it was another form of
slavery.
Freedom:
This poem was written
during my, ‘teenage rebellious
years,’ it is dedicated to my
mother, Louise Doyle, who went home
to be with the Lord, on August 29,
1992. It is because of mother’s
death, that I became a child of God.
Thank you mother, for all
those things you tried so hard to
teach me while I was growing up.
Thank you for the values you
instilled in your rebellious
daughter; thank you for the love you
so freely gave; Thank you for being
my mother.
|
|
Writing is my escape from the pressures of everyday life. It is a
vehicle for expressing thoughts and feelings too difficult to express verbally.
‘Freedom,’ was my first attempt at the art of poetry.
I will not reflect on all the poetry, but I feel the need to reflect
on the poems dealing with issues of my life and the lives of my children.
My poetry centers on, Jesus Christ, first, and deals with moral
issues of this generation. Secondly, some of the poems, deal with tragedy and
everyday obstacles my children and I faced during the rough times of our lives;
Some of my poetry is whimsical. And
some are political statements on issues, which are important to me.
Tomorrows Generation:
This poem was written in 1977; I was unemployed at the time, working
only seasonal jobs in the fields and orchards of, Romney, West Virginia. I was
divorced and trying to raise four children by myself, without the help of their
father.
Due to the energy crisis facing the nation during that time, the
factory where I had been employed for almost three years, felt the need to lay
off workers and I had been among them. Out financial necessity, I moved in with
my ex-husband, his new wife and their family.
The household consisted of, Charles, (my ex-husband), his wife,
Carol, and her six children, myself, and my four children, and a crazy old
border, ranting and raving, on the second floor of the big old farmhouse. Life
was idyllic!
It was the middle of summer, the temperature outside had climbed
into the low ninety-degree mark, and that was early morning. Because of the
lack of fund, the propane tank sat empty on the back porch. The only other
stove we could use for cooking was, a nice old-fashion cast-iron woodstove.
The kids had picked Blueberries the day before and all ten of them,
were gathered around the kitchen, clamoring for me to fix, ‘flapjacks,’
(pancakes).
Cooking on a cast-iron stove is nice, in the middle of a blizzard;
but that was not the case on this day. The temperature inside the house felt
like it had passed the 220-degree mark and was steady climbing!
The kids were hungry, running around the kitchen loudly voicing
their demands;
Beads
of sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes; with all of them yelling and
fussing, I felt that I was about to lose whatever sanity I left!
In frustration, I yelled something about, ‘kids,’ wishing at the
time, that I didn’t know any! I fussed at everyone in sight, and though, I
can’t remember, I probably threw in a few threats of bodily harm, if they didn’t
settle down.
One of Carol’s daughters, Donna, made a remark that stuck in my
mind.
“If
there wasn’t any children, there would be no future generations.” That remark
stuck in my mind,
Later that night, after the kids had been tucked into their beds and
all was peaceful and calm, I wrote. ‘Tomorrows Generations.’
The Migrant Worker:
Before 1977, I had worked in factories, in and around, Winchester,
Virginia; but due to the energy crisis of the early seventy’s most of the
factories reduced their work force. Work in the hills of West Virginia, was
scarce; to provide for my children, I took whatever jobs were available.
I began working in the orchards and fields, everything from picking
strawberries in, Moorefield, West Virginia, to thinning peaches in the spring,
and harvesting the apple crop in the fall.
The strawberry patch was hard work, hard on your back and your legs,
with all the bending and stooping; and you had to hustle to make your money.
There is a difference in picking berries to make jams and jellies, and in
picking them to make a living.
The orchards were something else all together; thinning peaches was
a real trip!
You
worked all day in the hot sun, wearing long sleeve flannel shirts to protect
your arms from the peach fuzz. And the pay was great too, fifty cents to a
dollar a tree, depending on where you worked; some orchards paid better than
others.
Later, after moving to, Martinsburg, West Virginia, I became
disabled; but while taking Carol to and from the orchards, I became involved
with a migrant worker, Javier Hernandez. It was the best and happiest
relationship I had experienced; for me it was, ‘love the third time around,’ and
the shortest marriage on record.
We were married on, May 2, 1989; Javier died on December 11, 1989.
He had been exposed to dangerous levels of pesticides. These pesticides cause
an infection to form in his lungs, called, ‘pulmonary fibrosis,’
The fibrosis caused a bacterial infection, which ate up the, Aorta
valve of his heart. After his death, in the process of writing a manuscript of
our life together, I wrote, ‘The
Migrant Worker.’
The poem was intended to depict the hardness and drudgery of the
life of migrant workers; the poor housing conditions in the camps where they
lived; the low pay scale; the unsafe working conditions; and, the discrimination
and injustice often faced by the migrant worker.
Tears of a
Child Named ‘Stevie’:
My son, Shawn, wrote this poem. Its theme is about child abuse, as
he experienced it, at the hands of a stepfather.
Monsters in
My Closet:
My son, Shawn, also wrote this poem. Its theme is about mental
illness and how it disrupts his life. The poem is Shawn’s thoughts and
feelings.
On
Second Thought:
The theme of this poem is about suicide. It’s the feelings of my
children as we dealt with this personal tragedy of the death of their father on,
November 5, 1984.
The poem also describes my thoughts and feelings as I look back on
the event, telling their father in a letter, what he missed out on by taking his
life.
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