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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?


 

CLICK ON LINK BELOW TO FIND TRUE INSPIRATION

CONFIDENTIAL CHRISTIAN COUNSELING

 

CHRISTIANITY OASIS

PRESENTS

PURITY PUBLICATIONS


POEMS FOR
TOMORROW’S GENERATIONS

By Lynda Doyle-Rodriguez
 


 

POETRY INDEX

I II

Tears of a Child Named ‘Stevie’
Monsters in My Closet
A Sinner’s Prayer, ‘The Missing Chapter’
Down That Lonesome Road
 
Tomorrows Generation
The Migrant Worker
The Price He Paid
Childhood Days
TOO Old
Salvation, Faith, Hope, Love and Charity
Looking Ahead
My Christmas Gift
My Children
On Golden Wings of Angels
Listen, Hear the Cries of the Children
Are We Alone
Sin

A Seed of Life

The Castle’s Secret
What If
This Brother of Mine
It’s Only On Paper
Looking Back
Like The Ostrich
A Storm Is Coming
What Can I Give
On…Second Thought
Freedom
Heaven’s Gate
When Everything Is Broken
God...Where Are You
How Dare The World
Where Are They Now
Today…Is The First Day
Judgment
The Donkey
IF Only

Rainbows

DEDICATIONS
REFLECTIONS

 

I

 

 

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
 

 

 

 


Monsters in My Closet

 

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
 

 

 

 

 

A Sinner’s Prayer, The Missing Chapter

 

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
 

 

 

 


Down That Lonesome Road

 

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.
 

 

 

 


Tomorrow’s Generations

 

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
 

 

 

 

 

The Migrant Worker

 

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.
 

 

 

 

 

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.”
 

 

 

 


Childhood Days

 

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.
 

 

 

 

 

“Too Old”

 

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?
 

 

 

 

 
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.”
 

 

 

 

 
“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.
 

 

 

 


My Christmas Gift

 

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.

 

 

 

 

My Children

 

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.
 

 

 

 


On Golden Wings of Angels

 

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.
 

 

 

 

 

Listen, Hear the Cries of the Children

 

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.’
 

 

 

 


Are We Alone

 

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 naïve 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?

 

 

 

 


‘Sin’
 

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.’

 

 

 

 

 

A Seed of Life

 

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.

 

 

II

 

 

The Castle’s Secret

 

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?”

 

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…

 

 

 

 

 

“This Brother Of Mine”

 

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.’

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s Only On Paper”

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

“Looking Back”

 

‘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

 

 

 

 

 

“Like The Ostrich”

 

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……...

 

 

 

 

 

“A Storm Is Coming”

 

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”

 

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…

 

 

 

 

 

“ On Second…Thought”

 

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…

 

 

 

 

 

“FREEDOM!”
 

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…………………..

 

 

 

 

 

Heaven’s Gate
 

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”
 

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…………………….

 

 

 

 

 

“God, Where Are You?”
 

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….

 

 

 

 

 

“How Dare The World!”

 

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 They…….Now”
 

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”


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…………………

 

 

 

 

 

Judgment
 

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………………………...

 

 

 

 

 

The Donkey

 

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…………….

 

 

 

 

 

“If Only”


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.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Rainbows”
 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

DEDICATIONS 

          

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.

 

 

 

 

 

REFLECTIONS 

 

            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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