Grace
dry earth
shifting ever-down
to lowest ground,
dust sifting
autumn's blight,
to winter's,
longest night,
until Grace
unrequested, freely
given, undeserved
fills with unreserved life
springs, white-water
rising higher
than could ever
have been
conceived!
poem by Steven Federle
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Water Anew
From mountain high to valley low, the warmth of springs thaw runoff comes clear cold water from the melting snow.
Spring rain, cool and clear, mist and fog, early morning's dew, creeks, rivers, lakes renew.
Though mud stained from the thaw, the water soon will clear, life sustaining, life anew.
With summer weather comes light or heavy rains, sprinkle, mist or fog, life sustaining, life anew.
With autumn arrives the cold, then frost, soon after winter follows, sleet and snow, water turns to ice.
Though covered with ice and winters snow, the water in creeks, rivers and lakes renew until springs thaw, the water still flows.
Whether spring, summer, autumn or winter, water, life sustaining, life anew.
poem by Alvin Schaut
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In Winter's Arms
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane.
Subdued by touch of winter's frigid hand,
I pray for spring to find me once again.
O'wind, you whistle to the winter's tune.
Your melody is heard 'pon day and night,
but one day spring will come to rescue me,
and wisk away your song of winter's blight.
O'tree, you're frozen in the winter's dream.
Your leaves have left you 'neath a moon of white,
but when my prayers are answered 'pon spring's dawn,
you'll thaw beneath its sun with warm delight.
O'field, your harvest has been reaped and spent ~
and winter blankets you 'neath snowy mounds.
Yet one day soon in springtime's rising mist
you'll feel the greening of your earth rebound.
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane ~
but deep within I somehow always know,
that spring will come and find me once again.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Autumn Leafs
Twirling
Swirling
Dancing
The leaves spin
Rising higher
And higher
The trees
Rustle and sway
With Autumn's gentle breeze
Red
Yellow
Brown
Vivid colors
Collide in the
Wind
And gently
Float to rest
On the ground
poem by Autumn Winds
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Yet By Grace
I’ve experienced a lot of grace, while on earth I’ve run my race,
This race on earth, we call life, while being led by Jesus Christ;
The Grace of God, so undeserved, yet by grace I have served,
The Eternal God and Creator, when by Grace, I met The Savior.
God’s Grace I had never known, while Truth I was never shown,
Bible Truths from God of Eternity, yet by Grace, He saved me;
It was God Who loved me first, while an unbeliever at my worst,
Deceived, lost and totally depraved, yet by Grace, I was saved.
After cleansing me of my sin, His Grace to me would just begin,
As I began this life brand new, God’s Grace did see me through;
Starting life on the narrow way, with God leading me day to day,
His Grace was apparent in my life, guided by the Spirit of Christ.
The grace God had granted to me, in a weary world set me free,
Freed from the anxieties of life, in a world that’s filled with strife,
And as I live my life day to day, His Grace given, is here to stay,
To quiet all that anxiety and fear, as life’s troubles do draw near.
His Grace is there at every bend, being all sufficient with no end,
Especially in the darkest of time, surely dispersed by His design,
Grace that brings comfort and light, while in that darkest of night,
Along come trial’s gloomy rays, yet His Grace comforts my days.
(Copyright ©12/2011)
An Image Springs to Mind
An image springs to mind:
A child, with childish innocence
upon the shores of life, inclined
to play, without pretence
or mask. Or, if a mask there be,
it still retains a quality
allowing all with empathy to penetrate behind.
An image springs to mind:
So freely see the child dispense
the sifting sand, so unrefined,
with slight apparent sense.
It takes some perspicacity
to see each grain is memory -
dispersed or treasured as may be - quicksilverly defined.
An image springs to mind:
The shifting sands are implements
used differently by different blind
for good or ill intents immense.
Some knowledge is acquired for free,
transmitted some, instinctively,
the balance, finely tuned as we progress or slip behind.
An image springs to mind:
The grain in youth packed tight and dense
Age often loosens, cannot bind, -
how great the difference!
If we could meet mortality
with every thought recorded, we
could help those after us to see the answers we can’t find.
An image springs to mind:
These answers must, in self defence,
be hid from those who’d grind Mankind,
enslaving innocence.
Both Time and Knowledge thus should be
weaved secret in Life’s mystery
from here until eternity - or so it seems designed...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cold winter night
It was a cold winter night.
All was deadly still.
My guts so tight
I must kill!
The cry of a wolf enters my head
Like a train whistle that echoes far away.
Can it be…something lives on this winter night?
Follow the sound and pray
It does not go away.
My hunger juices flowing; I go.
I and the wolf both now know
Neither is alone in the land of snow.
Oh, how I wish I had his sight
On this cold winter night
The north wind moved in the night before.
The ground all snow and bitter cold…so bitter cold.
The sky filled with stars.
The snow grows old.
My guts so tight
What a cold, cold winter night!
The wolf stays hidden from my sight
With it’s furry coat of gray and white.
He glides across the snow without sound
Like a ballerina tiptoeing over the ground.
My guts so tight
On this bitter cold winter night
I with my blood running slow
My hands burning cold; my face red glow
Driven by the pain in my gut
On this cold-cold bitter winter night
I must kill
To make the night still
So the hunger pains
Will be gone again
I hear nothing on this cold winter night
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
I fear the wolf knows
I turn
Crutch to spring
His fangs showing white; my knife in my hand
We circle like two roosters in a pen.
For one this will be the end.
The pain in my gut is still tight
I will kill but not for the trill
On such a killing bitter cold winter night
With the grace of a cat he springs to flight
My throat his aim on this cold winter night
My knife hits his heart…he hunches in pain;
His fangs rip my throat cutting the jugular vein.
The snows now stain on this cold winter night.
Blood and flesh flung upon the snow
Cries of pain, moans of death…soon will go
From this bitter cold ground
All is still on winter’s playground.
The wolf dances no more
My lips move but there is no sound.
My gut is still tight
I feel alright
No more time to fight
On this bitter cold winter night
Wind and snow now fill the air.
The wolf has an empty den.
The snow will be tracked no more.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Genocide complete
In a galaxy so far
poem by Ronald Brissette
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Snow In The Air
Snow In The Air
Snow in the air
comes gently down
and it is everywhere
as it hits the the ground
it can be love because it is pure and white
Snow in the air
love fills children with delight
because they do not care
they take a slieghride downhill.
Snow in the air
looks beautiful to me
the snow is on the ground this winter night.
it looks bright against the darkness especially
nothing is wrong everything is white.
poem by Meg Harrison
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Winter Is White
WINTER IS WHITE
Winter is white
.......dogwood white
..............forgetfulness
......... ..........an empty slate
Winter is windy
.......windless words
..............empty words
....................drifting aimlessly
Winter is cold
.......deedless words
..............barrenness
............ ........suffering cold
What sound goes there?
What meaning fills the void?
These white lies of life
...............blown sands –– no trace
.....................................–– no path
.....................blindness––no seeking
...................................... ––no faith
No seeing here
No leading love
White and no light
White and no sight
White and no flight
- March 6,2008
poem by Ben Gieske
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Just Why The Son Was Given
For unto us a child was born, and unto us The Son was given.
Through The Son I am reborn, and by His blood I am forgiven.
On a cross of shame and scorn, His life for all was freely given.
Many hearts indeed were torn, as the temple curtain was riven.
But that was the end of The Law, and began the Age of Grace.
And access was open to all, who in prayer would seek His face.
This was for men big and small, at any time and from any place.
He came to redeem from the fall, all the sinners of Adam’s race.
The only man, who had no sin, came into this world to be a light.
A world that was made by Him, and filled by men with evil blight.
His light in me He placed within, to guide me in the darkest night.
And as you faithfully follow Him, He fills you with eternal delight.
Christ came as God had willed, to become the Savior of all men.
Christ Jesus being Spirit filled, said that men must be born again.
But by His own, Christ was killed, as one who stood condemned.
However friend this only fulfilled, Christ’s set purpose for all men.
The reason Jesus came to earth, was to be God’s final sacrifice.
For short of Glory was our worth, and so The Son paid the price,
So from God we gain new birth, and this is through Jesus Christ.
And soon we will leave this earth, to begin with Him Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©01/2006)
It Was My Uncle Soul Sifting
it was my uncle soul
sifting in a leaned back
all the way chair down
by the old family lake
taking trout we spent
all day chasing through
reeds and lilies, dodging
loons and other birds
trying to outmaneuver
them in their own home
it was my uncle soul
sifting, lifting trout
entrails, rinsing off
blood and fish and dirt
in the cold lake water
telling me it used to
be a game of his, how
many fish he could trick
before the sun set.
it was my uncle soul
sifting, telling me his
favorite night was years
ago and how he had
only caught one lone
rainbow and was
sitting there, gutting
the heart out listening
to the radio the night
Roy Eldridge died.
it was my uncle soul
sifting, saying he forgot
how many fish he caught
just sat there listening
to old dead Roy play
while the fish cooked
over his burnt coal fire
it was the only way he
knew how to say
goodbye he said, and
tonight it’s me out
there soul sifting, lifting
bits of crumbled dirt and
dust, feeling a part of me
is out there still, the
big blue welling up
inside you, the hole
gone and filled up
with sky.
poem by Ben Paynter
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Autumn Changes
This love of ours is gradually fading
Something is wrong, or somebodys faking
Autumn changes
Shifting phases
Autumn changes
Turning stages
Surely something can help to patch it up
Too many nights sitting here waiting
Too many days hoping and praying
Something inside seems to be dying
Most of the time I just feel like crying
Autumn changes
Shifting phases
Autumn changes
Turning stages
Surely something can help to patch it up
Oh yes we can, sure we can
Sure we can, sure we can
Autumn changes
Shifting phases
Autumn changes
Turning stages
Surely something can help to patch it up
Oh, yes we can, sure we can
Sure we can, sure we can
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Ghosts Of Autumn
The threadbare weave of winter
comes after the last leaf of autumn
has only barely touched the ground.
A chill that inherits the air
tells of the new season around.
The last ghosts of autumn
linger as if in a dream
before winter’s blanket
shrouds all to hide the ground.
28 September 2o11
poem by David Harris
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Litany
This is a litany of lost things,
a canon of possessions dispossessed,
a photograph, an old address, a key.
It is a list of words to memorize
or to forget–of amo, amas, amat,
the conjugations of a dead tongue
in which the final sentence has been spoken.
This is the liturgy of rain,
falling on mountain, field, and ocean–
indifferent, anonymous, complete–
of water infinitesimally slow,
sifting through rock, pooling in darkness,
gathering in springs, then rising without our agency,
only to dissolve in mist or cloud or dew.
This is a prayer to unbelief,
to candles guttering and darkness undivided,
to incense drifting into emptiness.
It is the smile of a stone Madonna
and the silent fury of the consecrated wine,
a benediction on the death of a young god,
brave and beautiful, rotting on a tree.
This is a litany to earth and ashes,
to the dust of roads and vacant rooms,
to the fine silt circling in a shaft of sun,
settling indifferently on books and beds.
This is a prayer to praise what we become,
'Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return.'
Savor its taste–the bitterness of earth and ashes.
This is a prayer, inchoate and unfinished,
for you, my love, my loss, my lesion,
a rosary of words to count out time's
illusions, all the minutes, hours, days
the calendar compounds as if the past
existed somewhere–like an inheritance
still waiting to be claimed.
Until at last it is our litany, mon vieux,
my reader, my voyeur, as if the mist
steaming from the gorge, this pure paradox,
the shattered river rising as it falls–
splintering the light, swirling it skyward,
neither transparent nor opaque but luminous,
even as it vanishes–were not our life.
poem by Dana Gioia
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Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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An Italian Sonnet: How spring fell into winter
In my childhood spring blew a vivacious wind;
Soaring onto all life with magnanimous form,
Emancipating the flowers from winter's rough storm.
It flew capriciously and landed upon my skin.
How immaculate the wind of spring blew
Possessing an efficacy which passed with grace.
My soul reverberated it, when all life grew.
Until spring passed; winter's wind stung my face.
My innocence then ventured into winter's cold night:
All sunlight has fallen with the snow,
The life from spring lost their glow.
I became lost fighting in winter's blight.
The years have past in winter's flow
Until i recognized my own inner sunlight.
poem by Andrew Burant
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Love Has Its Seasons
A cool chill sweeps through the air
winter is approaching
soon the grass will have a blanket of white
nights will get longer
then soon it will be over for another year.
Spring will be with us
new growth will spring up from the ground
the days will get warmer
when summer once again appears
spreading its colours everywhere.
Then it is back into autumn once more
and the chilly air that it brings.
Love has its seasons also to share
sometimes it can be frosty
and winter chills fill the air
it can be cold
like the white blanket of snow.
Love can be like spring
imparting new life as it begins to grow.
The glow that if offers
is like the warming summer sun
that blossoms into beauty
before the ravages of autumn come
and the years trickle away.
poem by David Harris
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Summer Of The Unlocked Door
It is raised up from the dust this earth of the silver maker,
her for me it was higher than the arm could and yet
infused as the rose I scented, starry nights stretch out.
O dresses flowing silver, towards me, therein you reach
and it faces to each of us.
There is the petaled flower of which,
and you open freely as the sun without obstacle.
May the white leaf, the flower did not run off nor divide the silver
from that kind of rare silver; O it is white, it does become you,
your cluster, thickly with the veined branch,
summer of the unlocked door
and it has the fruit which it matures, do.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Autumn Night
leaves change color
the cool breeze flies
the song of the leaves roars
rustles and bustles in the brush
birds begin to sing to the south
sky turns red as the sun sets on an Autumn evening
clouds not white but pink
coco and cookies all around
coats and children surround
the fire of life
roads and streets quiet
what a sound, what a sight
what a wonderful Autumn night
marsh mellows in fire places
smoke of warmth fills the night sky
sweet Autumn night
make the stars shine bright
the sun rises
the moon disappears
stars that once shone
are now gone
what a night
what a sight
please Autumn day
bring one more
poem by Diana Americano
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Higher & Higher
Blasting, billowing, bursting forth
With the power of ten billion butterfly sneezes
Man with his flaming pyre
Has conquered the wayward breezes
Climbing to tranquility
Far above the cloud
Conceiving the heavens
Clear of misty shroud
Higher and higher
Now weve learned to play with fire
Go higher and higher and higher
Vast vision must improve our sight
Perhaps at last well see and end
To our homes endless blight
And the beginning of the free
Climb to tranquility
Finding its real worth
Conceiving the heavens
Florishing on earth
Higher and higher
Now weve learned to play with fire
Go higher and higher and higher
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Season's of the Soul
Quiet is the autumn sun
Purified in God's own light
This day star of divinity
As it fades into the peaceful night
Valerian dreams they hang in the sky
Like timber wolves tracks in the snow
Winter looms near after autumns last song
And the geese fly south, as they know
Now is the time when the bud doth decline
And the leaves they do carpet the ground
No sooner than this with the suns perfect kiss
Soon spring will be right back around.
As this tide of life is turning
God's sweet grace is soon imparted
Natures message to awaken
But only for the open hearted
Thus are the seasons of our soul
From the moment of our birth
Life a blessed thing of beauty
This joyful passage here on earth
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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