the bleeding rose

AMONG a garden of lovely
colors
God chose a rose of purest
white
Never seeking its own it
was meant to grow and bless
the earth

Because of man’s crushing
blow, into the ground
thorns pressed the rose
in darkness white petals bled

Heaven’s garden looked down
and weptfor fear their
precious rose would forever
rest, bruised and forgotten

But to their surprise new
breath was given
the stone upon its tomb
removed

The scent of the rose from
dust arose returning to
heaven’s garden

The Dear Rose of Sharon!

the night before Spring

LAST night I had a dream of
pleasant things of Spring
awakenings, when I was
awakened with a frightening
sound, a clashing of thunder
and lightening bright
Running to the window pulling
the curtain aside
March stared at me like a lion
with an icy sword by her side
when once
again in sleep I fell
and in my dream I was given
HOPE – Of a hill filled with
golden daffodils
AND winter ceased – March
leaving like a lamb seeking
Peace . . . 🐑 🐏

a bridge

WHEN does a poem become a
poem?
A thought sprinkled in the
mind
or words written on paper?

Until I share my story –
expressing my grief . . .
Please do not take away my pen
and ink
For each word I write until
my last, from the ink well of
tears I will write of
my past . .

.
POETRY truly is a bridge
between myself and the
rest of myself!




Springing forward

This SUNDAY Morning . . .

Our clocks spring forward
Causing confusion and lack
of sleep . . .

BUT nature doesn’t seem
To care with her intuitive mind

THE birds don’t notice
rising at the same hour every day
taking their flight
AND the primrose still waits for
the early morning slant of light
THE sun still shines as she
circles the earth since time
began
AND with the wink of her eye –
Laughing at the silliness of man! 😉

beggars

Following words are Selective Verses
From my Poem ‘The Purpose of a Tree’ Posted 1-13-26

. . . AND one day walking by
A flutter of wings by me fly
And to my surprise upon
A limb some caring one hung
A feeder of seed and bread . . .

– Yellow birds
– Black birds
– Red and white ones as well
–
All are fellows dining as
One
And I wondered why we
Do not do as them?


“Are we not beggars telling
Other beggars where to find
Bread?”
Quote Martin Luther

hope

HOPE is the thing I hoped
For most
Of which I could not see
Like a bird perched upn a
Tree
Just when I thought I caught
It, it hopped away from me
AND then I heard a song
And supposed I caught a
Tune
When the wind snatched a
Flower hiding from the sun

FOR hope I must wait again
Till it knocks upon my door!

the plight of the lily

ONE day we will understand
what our minds here failed
to comprehend

HOW each grain of sand
holds an ocean full of water


HOW the sky is tightly
fastened between earth and
heaven


AND yet of all these things
so high and mighty
I sometimes fear

THEN I am reminded
in spite of mans cruel hate
the flight of the bird never
hesitates


AND from a long winter’s night
the plight of the lily still
struggles in her search for light

AND when in my darkness
for lack of sun

IN time LIGHT will surely come!