Excerpt for Seasons by , available in its entirety at Smashwords




Other Books by the Author;



A Child’s Journey Through Darkness

Weeping Child to Forgiving Child

A Child Interrupted

And The Child grew Up

Crushed Violets

Love Letters to Daddy

Mining Town Girl

Unshaken

Wanderlust

Miriam’s Song

Story of Ruth



















Copyright © 2018 by Donna Nieri




Seasons



For all things there is

a season, and a reason

for everything.



A time to be born,

a time to die.



A time to plant, a

time to uproot.

A time to weep, a



time to laugh.

A time to mourn, a

time to dance.



A time to tear, a

time to mend.



A time of war, a

time of peace.*



* Referenced from the Book of Ecclesiastes





A Garden Enclosed



Rumblings of the earth

from within,

earth turning inside out.



Shallow roots expanding,

responding to light,

springing into life.

Conclusus hortus!



A garden once

rushing wild, now

lush with contentment,

ponds of serenity,



swans spooning,

roses and lilies

blooming.



On beauty now gazing,

fruits of life now

tasting.



This enclosed garden is

opening!



Grief



Six years, less 4 months

making seven,

an event happened.



It was never thought

to happen,



one of those things

that happens to



someone else but

never to her.



Call in the night

forbidding,



she is shaking,

for him looking.



A child missing,

never returning.



To stay or go she

is wondering,

it is perplexing.

Watching him grow,

playing and laughing

always hoping,



praying his life

would be happy and

lasting.



Mother and son no

longer bonding.



He is sleeping,

waiting for the

resurrection.



One night deciding,

plight succumbing,



seeming to be best,

it would be loving.



It is just too much,

such awful thoughts

resisting.



Nine months carrying,

body feeding him.



A womb providing

a room for him to

grow in,

breast for suckling.



This is a testing,

thoughts increasing,



she is trying,

nothing is helping.

.

Can't explain the

feelings,



thoughts are

reeling,

hoping this is

passing.



There is blaming,

there is shaming.



Back and forth

driving,



twists and turnings,

dogs vomiting.



Not to be late she is

hurrying,



carefull the right

road taking.

Road construction

frustrating,



grief succumbing

mind spinning,

depression visiting.

Unconsoling,

decisions baffling,

she is withdrawing.



People dying,

fears unresolving,



obituary disturbing

words troubling.



This kind of death,

met with frowning,

Eulogy confusing.



****



She is stopping,

the man is helping,



his kindness endearing,

altars of thanksgiving.



Turnings in the

road directing,



storms withdrawing,

passages protecting.

Comfort finding,

friends consoling,



medications helping,

sometimes lacking.



Eyes slowly opening,

ears hearing,



tears no longer

weeping.



Birds singing,

sun shining,



flowers blooming,

children sharing.

Shadows lifting,

she is talking.



She is writing,

on paper speaking,

slowly resolving,

process unfolding.



She is hoping, to

all things resigning.



All things loving,

doors are opening,

Acceptance residing!

Sevens



It seems that seven

is the perfect number -



7 days in a week, 6

days plus one day

of rest, makes a

7 day creation week.



There are -



7 continents

7 colors in a

rainbow

7 seas

7 planets and

7 angels *



Seven years is slowly

approaching,



if you multiply seven

times ten,

it could have been

close to a lifespan

for him.



But if you cut it

in half, it comes

out close to thirty

seven.



It happened on the

eleventh day in the

seventh month, much

too soon,



But things happen!







*Reference Google

Intervention



It was a sudden decision,

a force grabbed my mind,

to all things on earth,

I was blind.



A warm summer

evening, with beauty

all around, that I would

never again look upon.



A bottle of pills and

a bottle of wine, would

do this job just fine.



Driving up the road,

past the homes,

feeling all alone, but

it would only be for a

time.



The sun began to set,

as I parked on a far

off road.



My last night on earth,

I took one more look,

shadows lingering upon

the hills.



Twisting the cork,

tipping the bottle to

my lips, I took

the pills, with one

more look at the

lavender hills.



Falling asleep, death

would be a sweet

release.



****



Suddenly I awoke to

the sound of words,



I was placed on a

stretcher. They were

trying to keep me

alive.



I was angry, "why God

was I not taken, did

you have something else

in mind?"



"Did I try to stop my

clock, just for You

to rewind."



This was my

intention, but He had

plans of intervention.



The answer to this

question would come in

time.

Acceptance



I have tried everything

else,

trying to escape, not

able to think,



climbing the ladder of

grief.



The steps of the ladder

do not always come in

order,

sometimes I slip,

falling back on the

rungs of the others.



Sometimes it wavers and

then begins to fall,

holding on with dear

life, I tread these



steps, thinking I have

achieved, then it

suddenly changes.



My mind thinks in

theory, why can't they

all happen at once?

And then I see,



there are five stages

in all,



Denial

Anger

Shame

Blame

Acceptance

Of all these, ACCEPTANCE

is the answer to them all.



Daughters Of Jerusalem



Coming close to your

love, then drawing away,



Oh daughters of Jerusalem,

I hear you calling, your

song is sweetly singing,

urging me on.



You are my friends,

I have searched for Him

but do not find him.



Night after night you

have sought me,

in my troubles



upheld me, making my

way smooth.

The innocence of your

youth surrounds me.

Perfume of myrrh from

the garden imbues you,

your lavender dresses

glisten as sequins in

candlelight.



You appear when I shut

my eyes, moving with

your dance before me,



dresses swirl, with

sandaled feet,

playing music on your

tambourines.



You are like a fountain

in my garden, springs

of running tears,

lamenting my fears,



pleading with your God

to be a father to his

daughter.



He has heard your

prayers, my child is

no longer hidden behind

her veil,



He will meet her in the

garden!





Faith



Though it seems sometimes

we are forsaken, we are

not forgotten,



hard pressed, on

every side, yet not crushed,



perplexed but not in despair,

struck down, but not destroyed,



eyes weakened, yet we look in

faith, not by sight.



For we are earthen vessels,

waiting to take our flight to

heaven!





* Reference 2 Corinthians 4:7 and 5:7

Highs And Lows



You've been my friend

since long ago,

when I was up and down

and all around.



Dampening the highs and

lifting the lows.

You soothed my soul when

it was out of control.



Sometimes you are my

friend, sometimes an

enemy, sometimes

you get tired and



quit. Then things

pile up pretty quick,

this love and hate

relationship.



A mineral mined deep

in the earth, silvery

white alkali. Used in



many things, batteries,

medicines, brains and

mental pain.



You helped in my need,

wrapping around my

mind when I cried,



sending messages,

interrupting circuits

running wild.



Slowing the flow of

debris,

answering my plea,

when awake and when

asleep.



I'm not sure I need you

any more, even though

I have tried it before.

I really would like to

do this on my own.



Oh Lithium, I can't live

with you and I can't live

without you!



Just the thought makes

me weep!



Kickback



It seems this happens

a lot,

they are out

of stock and say come

back.

Do they know,

I have only one more

pill left to get me

through the night?



Do they know what it

is like to walk from

the parking lot,



through a maze of

shoppers, unsteady

from medication,

holding onto the



cart with all my

might, lest I fall

and cause commotion?



It seems like it

would be easier to

stay home and do my

meditations.



Returning,

thinking it is ready,

the girl says," that

will be one hundred

forty seven dollars

please."



What, that can't be,

twenty dollars last

month is what I paid.



"Well, call your

insurance and see

what they have to say."

She is right, they

kicked it back,

it went from tier 1

to tier 3.

I am in tears!



I didn't remember

to check at the

end of the year.



Wal-Mart walls, like

a huge monster, are

closing in on me,

running a marathon from

end to end.



It seems it would

make more sense to pay

a little extra, to



frequent a smaller store,

than walk through the

aisles searching from

top to bottom, till my

eyes are sore.

Well, all in all it

always seems to work

out OK.



Arriving home, nerves

off the charts,

it’s time to kickback,

taking a hot bath and

a walk.



I am ready to hit

tomorrow with all

its bouts.





Means



Sometimes the means used

to free us of things

that have kept us back,



are only for a time,

less we hold on to it

as a remedy,

for what other things

we lack.



The tendency to look

back is always strong,

instead of ahead where

we belong.



I know things will get

better, if I just let

it happen,

not criticizing the method

chosen.



Not expecting what worked

before, is the only way

to go.



I am not the one

orchestrating this plot

within,



I'm just the bystander,

sitting in the pew,

watching the stage

unveil its acts.



Some like happy stories

like Miriam,

some scary ones of

fiends and demons, so



I have tried to write

in both directions,

hopefully pleasing.



The rehearsal started long

ago, the story now written

is new, just the actors

are pretending something

that is not true.



I tried prose to express

the words, but it seems

poetry is the way to go.



I have heard words of

constant rhyme is no

longer pleasing, like



Poe's and Thoreau's

words once adored.



There is an urgency

here, I must get this

down in pen and ink,

till every thought I



think, stored in the

vast reservoir of

thoughts is restored.



Some seem childish and

immature,

can't please all the

people all the time,

but hopefully rhymes



and sometimes prose,

will tell the story

of this child within.







Seasonings



Fall and winter sleeping,

spring with new beginnings,

summer simmering.



A pinch of this, a pinch

of that, well-seasoned.



For what is an egg without

salt,



coffee brewing without

a cup,



a pie with no sugar,



stewing of a stew not

eaten,



dough without yeast,

forever kneading?

Song Of Psalms



His hiding place no

longer hidden,



preserving him from

troubles,



surrounding him with

deliverance.*



On the twenty ninth day

in the month of October,



he came into the room,

reading words he had

not believed before.



On the thirty first day

of October, one day before

the first day of

November, he passed



away, was this just a

coincidence? I think

it was providence!*





*Song of Psalms 32:7



**In memory of Paul





Spinning



When we expend more

more than we take in,

our heads begin to spin.



Feeling like we

are on needles and pins,

nerves worn thin.



Trying, ever trying to

keep things within.



Not learning to forgive,

we do not win.



When we let go, we live

again.





Temple Left Desolate



Wind, once constrained

from the altar's

flame, now blows with

fury.



A great storm of fire

descends.

Censers of frankincense,

fallen from broken chains,

sweetness turned bitter.



Sound of prayers

no longer ascending.

The veil is torn in two,

the bread and cup now

replace these symbols.

Harps and lyres cease,

there is no peace.

Priests are slained,

their blood stained

robes, fallen in the

street.



Golden vessels broken,

holy words not spoken,

keys thrown to heaven.



Melted gold flowing down

crevices and steps.

Charred stones become

wailing walls for the

penitent,

pleading for their

temple left desolate.





Raiders Of The Ark



There was plundering,

the night God's temple

was destroyed,



pillaging the vessels

in the holy place,

robbing them of truth

grace.



Entering the Holy

of Holies, enemies removed

the most sacred of all,

the ark of the covenant,

containing God's law.



Now hidden in a cave,

though no one knows

where,



chambers are

protecting this ark,

once borne through

the wilderness, ever



reminding children

of His presence.



Though it seems it is

hidden from our

sight, He has written

the covenant in our

hearts.



From the beginning of

time He has not

forgotten us.





Bottles



Mirrors reflect bottles,

shimmering in light,

iridescent colors,

red, pink and purple.



Some are tall, some

short,

they all have corks

and screws.



Crystal stemmed glasses

and brandy snifters,

sparkling before the

drinker.



Some can take just

one drink, others can't,

just a glance is all



it takes, to become

a prisoner to the

stool, unable to

move.

Appetite

brews in the mind,

unable to resist,

finally succumbing.



Do not gaze at the

wine when it swirls in

the glass, going down

smoothly, then the

adder bites.*



There are many bottles

to choose from, they all

have a name,



gin to make you grin,

brandy as sweet as candy,

wine from the grapes of

vines,

martinis dressed so

fine with a cherry,

mugs of beer

bringing much cheer.



But the labels forgot

to say,



"caution, these are

good for one drink but

no more,



to do so, can endanger

your mind, blinding the

senses and hinder your

thinking."







*Reference - Proverbs 23:31

Chit Chat



Oh, is that right,

do you really think so?



Well, I beg to differ

with you and let me

tell you why.



This conversation has

gone on too long,

your bickering and I.



When I listen to you,

I die inside,

when I listen to Him,

I live inside.





The Stump



The king is proud and

lofty,

his kingdom the largest

in the land.



Walking about his palace

in the city of Babylon

and its hanging gardens,

he is pleased, forgetting



a God who has given all

his kingdom into his

hands, but he does not know

one day it will fall.



****



Now it seems that God

loves this king, and

he will do anything to

save him.



One night the king lay

sleeping. He was given

dreams, and awakening,

he wondered what these

dreams meant.



Calling his wise men,

demanding they explain

them, they scratch

their heads, "it is a



difficult thing you

are demanding, asking

us to explain your

dreams."



The king is angry,

calling his servant

Daniel, the wisest in

the land, surely he

will understand.



Oh king, there is only

the God in heaven who can

tell you what this dream

means.



I must go and pray that

he will reveal the

meaning.



Daniel returning, "your

visions of your head

upon your bed are



these, that you may

know the thoughts of

your heart are lofty,

not bringing glory to

God but to yourself.”



The tree appearing

in your dream, reaching

to the heavens is

you.



Your kingdom will be

cut down and branches

removed,

but the stump of the

tree is left remaining.



You will be banished

for a time, dwelling with

the beasts of the fields.

Then your kingdom will be

restored.



A great image

appeared and stood

before you, an awesome

image of splendor.



You are the head of

this image of gold.



Its chest and arms of

silver,

belly and thighs of

bronze,

with legs of iron,

feet of iron mixed

with clay.



A second vision given -



Speaking the words

of prophecy,

valid and true,



never left to wonder,

of the kingdoms to

come after you.



This made the king very

happy to hear, he is the

very top of this image

of gold.



A great decree is

proclaimed,



calling all people of

his kingdom to bow down

and worship before this

image.



Then the king was told,

Daniel and his three

friends refuse to bow

down, worshipping only

their God in heaven.



The king is angry and

issues a decree, his

servants must be

thrown in a fiery furnace

and left to die.



The king drawing near,

sees not only Daniel

and his three friends

but a Man standing by,

delivering them. *

****



It grew slowly through

the years, not much

growth was noticeable.



Feeding and watering, it

suddenly began to

grow at an alarming rate.



Branches encroaching

the air, its limbs like

arms wrapping around it,

blocking the gate,



splintering the view,

there is no doubt it

must be removed.



The tools used are

several, a pick, shovel

and shears,

sweat and a few choice

words.



Now which tool to use

first, is the question?

Pruning shears is the

logical one, attacking

from the top, pruning

the branches, is the

less difficult part.



Coming to the very

bottom of the tree,

a more powerful tool

is thought to remove

the roots and stump.



Using the shovel,

I shoveled,

no matter what I did,

it would not move,

its roots bound in the

ground,

with a band of iron

and bronze

wrapping around it,

the stump level with the

ground.



Seeing my futile

effort to remove the stump,

led to more frustration.



I pruned the branches

back as far as I could,

but that stump refused

to move.



How would I ever remove

this obstinate tree, is

the question?



I finally gave up,

calling someone to do

what I was unable to do.



A strike of fury with

a pick and ax,

he removed that stump,

even hauling the debris

away, and I am happy!























*Reference The Book of Daniel 4



Nighttime Visions



Nighttime visions given

in dreams,

to King Belshazzar.



Tossing and

turning, waking



disturbed,

hoping these dreams,

will be removed and

taken away.



Gold and silver

vessels, stolen

from God's temple,

are holy, and He

is not pleased.



He orders his wives and

concubines to drink

from them.



To celebrate his glory,

a feast is ordered,

a party with

platters of food and

skins of wine.



He is merry and gay,

sitting upon his throne,

laughing and eating,



lifting his goblet

of wine, he is sure

this fun will deliver

him.



In that very hour the

fingers of a man's hand

appeared on the wall,

filling him with fear.



With troubled thoughts,

his knees knocking,

he reads the words,



"Oh king, you have done

bad things, you are

weighed in the balance

and found wanting."



In that very night, his

kingdom was destroyed,

and his glory gone

forever.





Prodigal Mother



School is a difficult

day,

after the night before,

bottles strewn on the

floor.



Pressing her ear to the

door, listening,

what are these people

saying that is so

distressing.



No time for breakfast,

running out the door

for fear she will be

late, she can't remember

the last time she ate.



Her heart hurts so bad,

it is just too hard

to think.



Taking a seat on the

bus, the girls

laugh at her clothes

and hair.



Standing at the board,

the teacher shames her

for the questions she

cannot answer.



The bell rings, but

she is not relieved,

worried about going

home,



each time she goes,

she is not sure

what she will find.



Reluctantly opening

the door, gathering

courage to walk in,



it is strangely

quiet, as she calls

for her mother.



Going from room to room,

panic sets in,

opening the door, calling

louder than she did

before.



Mother had had enough,

she couldn't take it

anymore. Her wild



desires are more

important than her

child.



Tears begin to fall,

if she had only been

better, if she had



only been good, it is

her fault that her

mother has left.



****



In the land of Ephraim

a prophet dwells,



he has a special message

given by God, to share

with his people.



In this land once dwelt

altars, built to worship

his God, are now altars to

unknown gods they bow.



On hillsides and knolls,

altars stand, in groves

of oak, cypress

and grass, they bring

their offerings.



They even bring their

children to teach

them to bow to their



gods, incense burns,

strange odors swirl in

the air.

Hosea is distrught with

these rebelious people,

pleading with them day

and night to turn from

their evil ways.



He cannot bear them any

longer, as they laugh

at his words.



"Surely You can strike

them dead" is what he

says.



God, quietly sitting by

is horrified at Hosea's

plan.



But God has a plan for

Hosea, strange and hard to

understand, he is told

to marry a woman from

another land,



a woman who does not love

his God and does bad

things.



His eyes are big and

wide, "where shall I

go to find this

woman?"



Knocking on

doors, asking those

he sees, "where can

I find this woman

God has for me?"



Coming to a

tavern in the late

hours of the night,



tables are lit by

candlelite. There

is strange music

he has never heard

before.



He is directed to

a brothel, where she

sits drinking wine,

thinking this is



awful, but following

God's plan, he takes

her to his home to be

his wife.



Gomer, a strange name

for a woman,

has Hosea's children

and she teaches them

wrong things,



taking them to the

strange altars to

pray.



She is not happy with

Hosea and her children,

then one day she

leaves them returning to

her evil ways.



Hosea loves his

children even though

they do wrong, he



feeds them and cares

for them,

his love is so strong.



This is a story told,

to help us know,

though sometimes

God's children disobey,

He never leaves or

forsakes them.

Mary And Martha



From an early age,

she watched her

mother, too busy to

sit, too busy to

sleep,

rushing around,

drinking coffee all

day long.



Growing up, she

follows her mothers

ways,

this is all she

knows.



But then it makes

sense, if it can

make sense at all,



her mother watched

her mother do the

same thing.



It seems like it is

handed down in the

genes.



****



A long time ago, the story

is told of two sisters

a brother and their

Friend.

Mary and Martha loved

their brother, and

their friend loved

all three of them.



When he came to their

home they cooked a

special dinner.



The night before

his arrival,

Martha stayed awake all

night, thinking what

she would cook for dinner.



How she would clean the

house,

everything had to be just

right.



Laying her nicest

dress upon the bed,

combing her hair, she

must look her very best.



Morning came and there

was a bustle getting

things ready.



Mary was different, she

was thinking about the

stories their friend

would share,

preparing her heart for

the special words he

would say.



Martha rose early in

the morning, kneading

dough for bread, setting

the table.



Martha was upset with

her sister and felt

neglected, doing all the



work while Mary was

reflecting, surely she

was able to help her

sister.



There was excitement

as their friend came

to the door. Martha

quickly answered and



they all sat together

eating and talking way

into the night.



It was time to wash

the dishes and Martha

was tired, looking



for Mary, she was

not there, but sitting

at the feet of her Lord.



Quickly Martha spoke

to their friend,

"Please tell my sister

to help me."



He replied, "Martha,

Martha, you are worried

about many things,



but few things are needed,

Mary has chosen what

is better." *



How many times I have been

like Martha, rushing

around, staying busy,



instead of coming apart

to rest for a while,

listening to my feelings?













*Reference Luke 10

Samuel



A man had two wives,

one was kind, but

one was mean and lied.



The mean wife had many

children, but the kind

one had none.



Pleading with God to

have a son,

she has prayed, but not

conceived.



The other wife makes

fun of her and makes

her cry.



If only God would give

her a son,

she would lend him back

to her Lord to do as

he well pleases.



God heard Hannah's

prayer, a baby boy

was born.



She named him Samuel,

taking him to the

temple when he was

weaned.



I imagine when Hannah

looked back, she cried

with tears,



but she remembered her

promise, going back to

visit him each year.



Our children are given

to us as a gift from

God, sometimes residing



just for a time, then

we are asked to

lend them back to Him.



****



Fifty years in waiting,

five decades of diligent

prayer, still not there.



The event of being born

the second time is

lingering.



It seems this stage

of beginnings, is a

process of no

controlling.



Oh, Great Interpretor

of dreams, dreams that

lie sleeping, stored in



the reservoirs of time,

coming forth at your

revealing,



here my cry, waiting

for this child to be

born again.

****



Waking from a dream,

reflecting, where is

this dream leading?



It was a restless night

foretelling a future event,

a prophecy given.

A hazy dream with mists

of darkness veiled the

meaning,

until the darkness was

lifting.



I would be traveling to

a distant place,

a spiritual retreat,

hidden in the mountains

of Alamogordo.



There would be people

like

me seeking for a part of

themselves, an inner

child that had been lost.



A few days later,

given an invitation to

attend this retreat,

I prepared for the long

journey.



Finally arriving,

coming to the gates,

my dream suddenly

became real, it was

exactly as it had

been seen before.



I knew then I had been

led and had hope of

healing.



Leading a meditation,

the leader asked us to

close

our eyes as we invited

our child to join us.



Bowing my head, doing

as requested, I saw

in the distant corner

a child.

(I am not sure

if the vision was in my

mind or I literally

saw it.)



Then I saw, she had not

felt safe with me and

had been in the care of

God temporarily.



At that moment, the many

prayers, for many years

was answered,

a reborn child is living

again.

****













*A true story of the author

attending an inner child

retreat in New Mexico



The Room



Each time I walk into

this room,



it seems so bare and

empty, but for a few

pieces of furniture

old and worn.



Closed windows,

curtains old and torn.



It seems not a breath

of air stirs this

room, tired



and lonely from cares

it has refused to

share.



It is in mourning,

quiet and still,

even the clock has

stopped ticking.

It portrays a lack

of honesty and wears

a costume of despair.



Whenever I venture

in, it is difficult

to leave,



locked inside

with its loneliness

until I am released,

bound to its

chair of self-defeat.

Whoever walks past it

is sure it is

doomed and shakes

their heads, they

would never go in

this room.

One day I looked in a

room beside it and saw

something that might

brighten it.



Knocking on the door,

I am reluctant to go

in, but perhaps I

could share a bed,



dressed with sheets

of peace and a blanket

of comfort, with a

chest of hope.



Windows with curtains,

walls with cheery

pictures, cleaning it

with a little water

and soap.



A vanity with a stool,

a mirror that reflects light,

a table and a rocking chair.



****



The hands of the clock,

are ticking, the sound

comforting.



Spools of yarn and

threads of cotton have

rewoven this room.

Now when people walk

by, they sit awhile and

spin their tales with a



room that has plenty of

room to share their

stories.

Varnish



Browsing through an

antique store,

not really sure what

I am looking for,



an old wood bedstead

lay among ruins,

splintered and rough.



How many bodies has

it born in the past,

with dreams of confusion,

tossing and turning

in delusion,

bodies of the dead

for viewing.



I could cover its bruises

with varnish, glazing

its stains,



dress it up with sheets

and such, making it pretty.



But I think I will just

let it rest, after all,

with all the dreams and

stories it has born,

it deserves to rest.





The Littlest Violet



Snuggled in their

beds,

watered and fed,

happy where they are

planted.



Dresses of pink, purple

and lavender, with

bright yellow eyes.



This home is all they

have ever known,

sprouting from a seed,

then leaves, buds and

flowers.



What a great life they

have, amongst all the

others.



One morning,

perking their heads from

a good night’s rest,

a shadow is descending.



A large hand reaches

over and bending

low, these pretty

violets are lifted

from their beds.



Disturbed, wondering

where they are going,

they are placed in a

box.



A little violet begins

to cry, "my pot

is the smallest, surely

you can squeeze me in,

please don't leave me

behind."



Quickly placing

it in the box of violets,

then in a truck,



engines roaring. They are

scared as they travel down

the road not sure where

they are going.



The way seems long and they

are tired.

Suddenly the truck comes

to a stop.



It is quiet, then the man

lifts the box, placing them



on a shelf, their eyes

are startled from the

darkness, into bright

light.



Their leaves are

drooping, their flowers

dropping,



the plants are not very

pretty, as people are

passing.



The littlest one

cries, "our toes are

cold and soggy and

we have caught a chill,



please, won't you give

us a chance and take

us home, before we

die?”



A time to heal is what

we need, after our

difficult ride.



A sprinkle of water,

their heads begin to

perk and people stop

to look.



"These violets are

prettier than before

I think I will

buy them."



The shadows are passing,

placed in a window,

sparkling,



if not for their time of

disaster, they would not

be brighter, filling this

home with laughter!



Layers



Some may say, "why does

it take you so long to

make it right?



Why belabor it, just let

it go!

You should be over it by

now!"



And I agree, but it took

a long time to get where I'm

at, trying to squeeze



decades into a very few years

of poetry is difficult, to

say the least.



But I keep digging and

raking, stirring up the

old dirt, plowing

underneath it all,



looking for that hidden

seed that will finally

grow.



Reaching beneath the

soil, I have finally

found it, though very

small.



Just a tiny seed is all

I need, that it may grow

up like the mustard seed.



Why I was led to hear an

artist speak on creation

week, why it would awake

that part of me that was

asleep, I don't know.



Poetry is dark, the need

to reach deep into the

heart.



Could it be known, what is

written in each poem, is

like a layer removed, one



at a time, revealing that

deep hole in the soul, to

let in the light.



Who knows how long it takes,

some longer than others,

and some don't even have to

write.



The painful past doesn't

have to last, but it takes

some digging to come out

better than I could have

asked!





A Ride Through Time



It has been a majestic

ride through the

vestibules of time.



A panoramic view of

kings and queens of

ancient ages.



My ride is tall and

large, moving very

slowly, following this

path,

his trunk snaking in

the air,

crying trumpet calls,

giving tribute to all

kingdoms in their glory.



His ivory tusks

glisten in the sun,

as he trudges,

along, ever mindful

of the child he is

bearing.



Sitting high on his back,

close to the very same

moon and sun that shone

on the kingdoms to come.

The sleeping kings

and queens, some never

seeming to learn their

lessons.



King Saul, the first

king to reign over God's

people was unfaithful,



but some, as King David,

though he

strayed for a time,

was faithful to God,

returning to His ways.



Brave Queen Esther loved

her people, not caring

for her crown and many



jewels, was willing to

risk her life that they

would be saved.



Some were sly and sneaky,

King Ahab and his Queen

Jezebel, constantly

harassing the very



prophets sent by God

to save them, persecuting

them instead.



Continuing on down through

the dark ages, sleeping

kings and queens once



dressed

in gowns of royalty,

now resting in tombs



of cathedrals, in

remembrance of the

dead.



And on down through the

centuries, a great cloud

of witnesses, as we read



their stories, some hidden

in caves, some martyred,

of this world not worthy.



Their seed of

blood feeding those who

came after, giving their

lives for something better.



Paving the way for the

greatest King to come, in

all His Glory!







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