Sunday, June 30, 2013

Poetry Sunday ~ Shine On


Job 33: 30 To bring back his soul from the pit, to be enlightened with the light of the living.

Shine On...

My yesterdays have gone astray
they lurk forever more.
hiding behind the pain inside,
they seek an open door.

My today’s have been quite lovely
whenever I praise His name.
nothing can hold me captive;
through Him I’m not the same.

My tomorrows will be brighter
more days of sun not rain.
it’ll wash away my sorrows
driving off the inner pain.

My past is gone forever
I hold the hidden key.
On a chain around my neck
it’s locked all memory.

The future of mine has promise
as a beacon holds my gaze
I long for life within the realm
where I carry all my days.

The Lord is the comforting arms,
my strength, my shield, my rock.
I may hold the key to my soul
it is HE who made the lock!



Saturday, June 29, 2013

Quotation Saturday




SYMPATHY

Life is eternal, and love is immortal,
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
~Rossiter Worthington Raymond

Tears are God’s gift to us. Our holy water. They heal us as they flow.
~Rita Schiano

It is the will of God and Nature that these mortal bodies be laid aside, when the soul is to enter into real life; 'tis rather an embrio state, a preparation for living; a man is not completely born until he be dead: Why then should we grieve that a new child is born among the immortals?
~Benjamin Franklin, 22 February 1756

Unable are the loved to die.  For love is immortality. 
~Emily Dickinson


SMILES

Today, give a stranger one of your smiles.  It might be the only sunshine he sees all day. 
~Quoted in P.S. I Love You, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.


Before you put on a frown, make absolutely sure there are no smiles available.  ~Jim Beggs

Every smile makes you a day younger.
~Chinese Proverb

No matter how grouchy you're feeling,
You'll find the smile more or less healing.
It grows in a wreath
All around the front teeth—
Thus preserving the face from congealing.
~Anthony Euwer

LOVE

“Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary.”
~ Oscar Wilde

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”
~ Oscar Wilde

“To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced
life.”
~ Elizabeth Gilbert

“True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well-being of one's companion.”
~ Gordon B. Hinckley

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Poetry Sunday ~ My Father's Daughter


My Fathers Daughter

What can I say, it happened one day
“You’re your fathers daughter.”
You like to read, do crosswords too
you’re definitely your father’s daughter.

The stubbornness the same;
Your minds think alike.
You love the mountains
and relish a good hike.

Adventuresome too
mesmerized by the water,
Yes my sweet child,
you’re your father’s daughter!

Is it so bad to be like him?
It’s where I learned my strength.
Insight to provide my freedom of mind,
that reaches immeasurable length.

No he’s not perfect, nor claims to be
he’s so much more I can say.
To illuminate my soul in a father’s role
the most ever-loving way!

Yes I’m my father’s daughter
I state it proudly so.
I may not be there, and him not here.
but he’s with me wherever I go!

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, DAD!

Sunday, June 09, 2013

The Opening


The Opening

Opening my mind I try to see,
the luscious land surrounding me.
Like all the flowers standing proud,
underneath a rain-burst cloud.

The fields they sprout a gushy green
whether corn or crop of soy bean.
Rows and rows in my view
I’ll share the beauty with all of you.

The sounds they call me in the night
the wicked howls of wind in flight.
Trees all mourn from daytime heat
leaves they clamor like little feet.

The pasture wakes with vibrant breath
awaiting harvest its imminent death.
Pivots roll across the land
to moisten earth with guided hand.

Fluttering petals with gracious class
all salute you as you pass,
A blade of grass can be seen
bowing down as you preen.

This place is home, with springtime flare,
a perfect place to sit in prayer.
As one door opens another closes
I’ll spend my time just smelling roses!

Saturday, June 08, 2013

Quotation Saturday


Writing

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
~ Stephen King, Different Seasons

“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.
This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose...

...Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty - describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attentions to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. - And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.”
~ Rainer Maria Rilke

“nothing can save you except writing.
It keeps the walls from failing.”
~ Charles Bukowski

“Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more.”
~ Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality

“Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.”
~ Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

“Write only if you cannot live without writing. Write only what you alone can write.”
~ Elie Wiesel

“Writing is the only thing that when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.”
~ Gloria Steinem

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.”
~ Winston Churchill

“A writer is a painter without paint, he’s a painter of words.”
~ Joni Zipp

Sunday, June 02, 2013

Poetry Sunday ~ Home: Alone



Home; Alone


In my ideal world
I isolate myself from the society
that has let me down.
I run through the fields of
golden streams.
I play in the solitude of bliss.
I long to hear the sounds
of rustling leaves.
No voices to distract me;
just peace and quiet.

Even  the quiet carries a hum;
a rhythm of  cascading nothingness
that takes me to a place in my mind
where I alone can talk to God;
and He can talk back.

I yearn to be left alone.
No cares or wares for me
to treasure; just the basic
needs of food and water.
I need to be alone for it is
where God cradles me and allows
me to cry in His arms.
My eyes unleash a river
as my world gets muddled;
He caresses me as His robe is
puddled ...by my tears.

Am I home yet, Lord?

Sunshine Award

Sunshine award