Ezekiel 16

“This Man Had One Thing In Mind, To Rescue All

The song –

“A Horse With No Name”

By America, inspired me to write

This poem _

A voice is heard in a desolate land,

Oh Ezekiel, what do you have to say

Of this man, one that is searching

For a child among rocks, stones and

Burning sand?

“In A Pool Of Blood In A Pocket Of Sand He Hears
A Cry”

There is a desert under a blazing sky,

Where serpents lie. Cacti hide a tiny

Wren, it’s wings singed from the noon

Day sun, never flying as high again.

All is still, but for the horse and its rider,

Moving faster, as its hooves pound the

Clay baked ground.

On the first day of his journey, no child

Was found and in disappointment turns

His horse around. With an empty heart

And far from blest, even though he did

His best.


“He Returned To The Desert One More Time”

He could not remove the picture from

His mind and returned to the desert one

More time. Searching far and near, a cry

In the distance spurs him on.

Pulling the brim of his hat to shade his

Eyes, looking on the desert floor, in a

Pool of blood in a pocket of sand, he

Hears a child’s cry again.

Lifting this baby to his saddle side, with

His hands its tears he dries.

Cleansing with water and oil, removing

Clothes dirty and soiled. With newness

Of life the child arises, it is given a name

No longer living in shame.

The desert is turned to a river bed. The


“The Desert Is Turned To A River Bed”

Wren flys high again and with joyful song


It sings.

Living waters flow upon the earth. He

Bids the child live in a land with no more


Playing among the reeds on the river’s

Edge, no danger will come from the adder’s

Den, for there is no more sin.

All things are new because of this Man’s

Redemption Plan!

This depicts the cry of God searching for

His children.

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I Am A Miner

“I Picked And Shoveled All Day And All Night,
Nothing Moved From The Left Or The Right”

Growing up in mining towns, there were many

Mines, mills, and shafts.

We lived in one town where a mill was a short

Distance down the road, and when I would

Try to go to sleep, the sound of the mill caused

Groaning and moanings, setting up deep crevices

In my mind.

It seemed as if there was a monster with huge steel teeth

Writhing in pain, as it grunts and groans, glaring

With its fearful eyes, its tongue swinging back and

Forth, sand oozing out earth’s tailings

Here are a few descriptive poetic words to try to

Share from a child’s perspective, when the minds

Eye becomes overwhelmed;

I go to work every day with

My pick and shovel but

Not for silver and gold

The more I shovel the deeper

It gets

It is dark in here!

The earthen womb bares

Memories seen from the

Eye and heard from the ear

I pick and shovel all day and

All night, nothing moves from

The left or right

Icicles in this cave drops tears

On my mind

Drip! Drip! Never goes away


I fell asleep to the radio, the

Station went off at half past


Once again I fell asleep to the

Droning of the mill down the


The conveyor belts vibrate

And jump

Noise unbearable to hear

My mind fell into a nightmare

Many wheels spinning and

Turning in my head

Clocks ticking and chiming all

At once

Spinning, ticking, tossing in

My sleep

Sighing, crying, grinding my


Abruptly I awoke, opened wide

My eyes

Fears tucked away in the crevices

Of my mind, no peace did I find


From sleep deprivation, uncertainty, and trauma

Many years later the reason for all of this nighttime

Fright would unfold!

Poems selected from ‘The Mining Town Girl’

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The Puzzle Of Life

“No Matter What I Did, The Pieces Would Not Fit Together”

It seems as if life is like a


Trying to fit pieces together

Where they do not fit, when

One was wrong I put it down

And looked for another

There was psychology with

Their recovery books, telling me

To relax and have fun, then

Pills for depression and anxiety

Of no avail, and finally religion

Just get out of my self and help

Others, this would be the

Solution, so busy I would not

Have time to think, surely

This would be the answer to the

Missing Link

I tried many things, thinking my

Life would just fall together

Maybe like the pages I have

Written would fall into a book

Sometimes I felt like this puzzle

Of life would never be solved

Maybe I should have started

Out with playdough instead,

So pliable and easy to control

But slowly after time the pieces

Came together, I am still looking

For a few missing ones, to finish this

Picture of me, though maybe not here

But the Great Artist will finish it in heaven.

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The Visitor

“I Entered A Room So Grand, With An Hourglass Of Passing Sand”

It seemed I was always tired, and unable to find rest

Like a struggle within, of children calling me to do things I

Was unable to do by myself _

A candle in the window burns

In the eve, as I knock faintly,

Then turn to leave,

Then the handle of the

Door begins to turn and a

Voice invites me in, guiding

Me through a hallway,

Dark and grey,

There are pictures on the wall,

Almost as if they are of me, from

A small child to a girl, now

Grown and tall,

Another door before me opens,

As I slowly peer in, there is a

Room so grand with an hourglass

Of passing sand,

A chair sits in the middle and I

Take a seat,

There are little ones and I ask them

To come near that we may meet,

Marching by, they are forlorn,

With garments ripped and torn,

Each bearing a pail of memories,

Looking at them I realize they are

A part of me,

I give them love, wash their faces

And clean their shoes, but these

Things are not enough and will

Not do,

They respond, “please, we are

Tired and would find peace and

Rest, letting go of your anxious

Thoughts would be best.”

I now see these children I have

Ignored, have been with me

Through life’s tests,

Now it is time, as they ask, to

Give them rest!

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“The Numbers And Letters Were All Mixed Up”

I remember standing at the blackboard, the teacher scolding me

In front of the others, I was unable to focus on the questions

She was asking, worried about what I would find when I went

Home. The night before there had been screaming and fighting,

I was too frightened to go to sleep. No breakfast the morning

After, scurrying to meet the bus, the teasing of the students for

Lack of clean clothes was just too much. All this led to a distracted

Mind _

Here are a few poems to express these baffling thoughts I designed

“I Was Scared The Teacher Might Not Like Me Like Some Before”
“I Really Tried To Learn, I Really Did”

Pardon me for not listening to what you say

For you see my mind is on other things a

Million miles away

I don’t live in today, there is a delay, a

Hesitation to respond, a filter in my brain

Goes round and round repeating sounds

It pretends to send a message but it is not

Quite sure what to do, it was stolen long

Ago, too young to understand and put on


“All The Right Answers, Seemed Impossible To Give”


In order to survive I had to develop my own set of rules,

They weren’t the best but it was all I knew to do, unfortunately

I carried them through life, until I was led to adopt a better way

To survive

Is this what I should have done

And done it better?

The bickering of my soul is

More than I can hold, once is

Never enough, all these lessons

Are really tough

In my mind there is constant

Drilling, filling it with holes

Until it becomes a sieve unable

To control

“It Is Never Too Late Too Learn”

All was not lost in my travels to many schools, I was enabled

Later in life to learn the right way to survive!

Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com

The Librarian

“Wheels Turn With Succession Of Speed, Reaching To The Top
Before It Stops”

In childhood, an over active mind, pressed

From too many memories, spills into the

Unconscious, stirring reminders of

Traumatic events, lingering even as they have

Reached adulthood. I have written a metaphorical

Experience, as such, of sadness a child holds in their

Mind and heart from the burden they were never meant

To bear _


This is a strange vault for a library,

Consciousness holding and

Unfolding histories and mysteries…


The librarian is dressed in black

Her hair sleeked back, spectacles

Enlarge her eyes

A ruler is used to prove her

Authority, she is very stern

And makes sure these books of

Memories are learned

In a sea of words

Where thoughts are stirred


The child is little, she is small

Latched to a tall ladder day and

Night with no relief in sight

Too young to know what matters

Just following the instruction, with

pages worn

From many fingers leafing through

stories of shame and scorn


She can barely reach the lowest

Shelf recording the story of herself

The twelfth shelf she must reach

In time

Growing a little older with an

Inquisitive eye, another rung is

Added, another shelf is saddened

There is succession of speed as

Wheels turn across the

Floor, the ladder reaching to the top

Before it stops


The child flees in terror to the

Basement of this keeper of life

Events and is lulled to sleep

Consciousness turned to

Unconsciousness, it is

Apparent the child is no longer


This poem is included in the book


Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com

The Wounded Child

“The Pain Hurts So Bad, I Go Back To The Doctor“

Some of us were wounded children,

Now seeking healing in many things,

Alcohol, drugs, religion and passion

But of no effect. It seems it would take

A lifetime to find the answer to these

Illnesses, but when we run out of

Resources from within there is

A higher power to help…


My body is wrapped in layers

Of gauze, I am wrapped like a

Spool of yarn, my shape has

Been marred

I have been harmed, punctured

From the barbed wire fence

That constrains me, in this

Battle so fierce

I am stiff, I cannot bend over

Stiff as a corpse with no way out

Two small slits for eyes, from

Other people disguised, I have

Been to the surgeon, doctors

And hospital, they tried to remove

My stitches

They say my wounds are too deep

To treat…

The threads tighten about my head

my tight gauze suit a pillar of

White restricting air

There are lesions with noxious


I swell, I fester, the pain hurts so

Bad, I go back to the doctor, as

If they have an answer

No one to help me, if I could

Only get someone to carve me

Open, but I am just too broken


From this cloak of sutures He

Will mend me and remove the

Bandage from my heart

I am an escapist, stepping out

Of this covering of skin, that I

May be well again…

The cords that bind us, the fence

that confines us are removed

We are set free…

Portions of this poem are from
the book
“Weeping Child To Forgiving Child’

We are set free….

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Miriam’s Song

“His Name Is Moses, Given By The Pharoah’s Daughter”

A fascinating story of a child born into a family of poor
Servants in a land of bondage,
When a decree had been issued by the King, all the
Male babies must be killed, but Moses would be spared,
For God had a plan that this child would grow to a man
To lead His people out of their land of slavery, to the
promised land.

A long time ago in an

Ancient world, a basket

Was hidden on the banks

Of the River Nile.

It held a baby hidden in

Grass, reeds and lotus


His sister stood by, pleading

With God to protect this child.

One day a princess was

Bathing and heard the baby

Cry. She ordered her maidens

To fetch the box before he


Opening the basket, there lay

A baby, none more beautiful

Than she had ever seen.

This was a secret she kept

With her maidens and took

The baby to be her child.

Running home to her mother,

His sister shared the news,

Her baby would be safe and

It made her smile.

This baby was special, God

Had a plan when he became

A man.

The mother nursed him and

His sister loved him, their baby

Was saved.

The prayers they prayed had

Been raised to the God above.

Moses was his name, meaning

“Drawn from the water”

Given by The Pharaoh’s


Excerpts from the book

“Miriam’s Song”

Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com

The Woman Who Laughed

“Sarah Laughed When Abraham Told Her She Would Have A Child”

With loving care, her maidens

Surround her, with perfumes and

Oils smoothing her skin

Long flowing hair cradles her face

Her eyes enhanced, painted in black,

Fashioned in purple eyelashes


Stepping into a gown of sparkling

Sequins on brocade and ivory lace,

placing sandals on her ringed toes,

And finally silver bracelets and a

Necklace of gold

Looking into the mirror of polished

Metal, she is beautiful and ready to

Be betrothed


With much singing and celebration,

Abraham gently lifts Sara’s veil, taking

His wife to his tent to bare his child


Years swiftly pass and this hope is

Not fulfilled, no sign of life is felt

In her womb, and she is saddened


Unable to conceive, Sarah devises

A plan, inviting her servant, Hagar,

Into her tent to lay with her

Husband, to bare the promised

One and Hagar did bare a son

Calling him Ishmael, and Sarah

Became jealous sending them into

The wilderness


With continued years of waiting,

Her hopes dwindle, looking into

The mirror her face is marred with

Wrinkles and creases, her bones

Waxing old, her back bent,

Hobbling with a stick, with no hope



One night in the coolness of

The evening, Abraham fell asleep,

He was given a dream, and God

Promised him a son and a great nation

In sharing this promise with Sarah

She laughed behind his back, for

She was ninety and Abraham was

One hundred


And Sarah did give birth to the

Promised one

With gnarled hands and a once

Sorrowful heart her fingers are now

Intwined with a babies soft skin,

Whose descendants would fill

The earth like the stars of heaven


And now the laughing woman

Was no longer barren!

Inspired by the story of Abraham

And Sarah in God’s Holy Word

Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com

Hope Midst Affliction

“This Book Of Job Spans Over Centuries”

Continuation of the story of Job…

…Job’s three friends condemned

Him of sin, Job replied, “Lord I don’t

Need enemies with friends like these

They accuse me of sinning, bringing

These calamities against me, accusing

Me day and night”

“How long will they exhaust me, time

And again they blame me”

The Great Dissertation…

This book of Job, spanning over

Centuries gives words of comfort

To all those suffering

It is only normal to examine the

Life when affliction visits, false

Comforters spawn the very

Foundation of truth and right

A Child’s Cry For Help…

“The trauma has just been too

Much, may the day be cursed

When I was born, I feel so

Helpless and despondent, I am

Troubled and restless, my

Lamentations are weary and I feel


God’s Unfathomable Love…

“My child, do you not know, as soon

As these visitors appear,

Questioning the reason for suffering

You must be leery of false comforters…

Claiming you have brought these

Tragedies upon you, saying you

Cannot arise from your bed of

Anguish, you will languish forever”

“Oh know that my words are

Written, they are inscribed in a


They are engraved on a rock

With an iron pen forever”…

Then Job prayed for his friends

And they relented of their words

God restored his fortunes, doubling

All his possessions, giving him

Seven more sons and three


The Child’s Epilogue…

And so you see, the trials endured

As a child have had a purpose,

And just as Job you have suffered

Greatly, but God is true and you

Will endure, for there is a Fourth

Friend sitting quietly by, listening

To your cries, lifting up prayers

Planting within a seed of faith

Springing into life!

Excerpts from the book

‘The Three Friends’

Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com