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The Song in the night

Hours tick away in the silence of the night

Midnight…

I pray to Jesus for sleep to come

it evades me like an elusive wraith

I ask for the things that I haven’t dared to ask before

I lay them out like a neatly ordered mental game of solitaire

One…and then two…                                                                                                                             old time alarm clock

My prayers still are not answered as of yet

I sigh…I sing to the Lord

a chorus of hushed whispers

“…There’s a river of life, flowing out of me…”

two-thirty…and then three

I sneak a peek at one of the stacks

I fret…no answers yet?

I examine my life and look at a multitude of cracks

Surely, the Lord sees that just enduring the trials of life

it takes guts and a wheelbarrow of faith

This should put me in the Faithful Hall of Fame

“…makes the lame to walk, and the blind to see…”

three-thirty… and then four…

“…opens prison doors, sets the captives free”

sleep begins to nudge

My mind still echoing my song in the night

“Spring up oh well…gush, gush, gush, gush”

I dream and see my name written in Hebrews eleven

I sleepily gather the cards and put them away

The alarm blares out….Oh, my God…

it’s five after seven!

 

 

By Janice J. Robinson

©  April 22, 2014

Material in quotes, written by:  L. Casebolt and Betty Pulkingham

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I’m Tired

A peaceful Boston HarborI’m tired

of hearing screams and cries

seeing people distraught

and running into fear

from fields of war like

Georgetown…New Town…

Kent State…Columbine…

Virginia Tech…and Boston

I’m tired

of seeing

teddy bears and bouquets

candlelight vigils

for those we’ve lost

tragedy striking

at such high cost

I’m tired

of seeing America

ripped into shreds

by people who dread

to keep the peace

our Second Amendment

rights being shot to hell

our minute-men

didn’t hesitate to

shoot to kill

the Revolutionary war

set us free

what indeed are we waiting for

I’m tired

“The Wild Life”

Living wild

living free

roaming over

your range

Ahh…so free

prey in sight

cunning delight

survival of the

fittest

the panther breathes

fresh kill

life instilled

sleep beckons

atop the mountain

cool breeze lightens

so dreams the panther

freedom frightens

dreams lost

as the clock ticks

safety beckons

as the lock

clicks…

panther caged

Rhyme-sations

XIR232822

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The month of April has been designated as “National Month of Poetry” and so poets from everywhere come out of every nook and cranny, from every attic, from field and forest to join the chorus of every other wordsmith who fashions words, even if they are absurd, into lyrical rhyme-sations…then just add a dash of lime…for the perfect tribute to poetry sublime.  Wait a minute!  There’s a poem in here!  Blessings.

 

Rhyme-sations

 

Poets from everywhere

come out of every

nook and cranny

from every attic

from field

and forest

to join the chorus

of every other

wordsmith

who fashions words

on their anvil

of intellect

(even if they are absurd).

Forging lyrical

Rhyme-sations

hey…add a dash of lime

for the perfect tribute

to poetry

sublime.

Poetry comes easy for some people and others struggle over it, anguishing over syllabic meter, pressing forward to the last line, then to sign their name and hope people like their newest masterpiece.  Well, true to form….I hope you like it.  Blessings again.

April is all about poetry – Vol. 1, no. 30

Since this is the last day of April, so this also will be the last entry in this series.  This particular poem was first presented to this writer about thirty years ago, but there wasn’t any indication as to who had penned the piece.  It wasn’t until about three years ago after reading this wonderful poem again, that this writer finally took the initiative to see if the writer could be ascertained.  The internet can be a wonderful tool when such things as the names of writers are finally attributed to their works, which before this had almost been lost to anonymity.  This wonderful poem was written by Myra B. Welch who lived from 1877-1959, and the title of her piece is:

‘The Touch of the Master’s Hand’

*

‘T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

thought it scarcely worth his while

to waste much time on the old violin,

but held it up with a smile.

‘What am I bidden’, good folks,’ he cried,

‘Who’ll start the bidding for me?’

‘A dollar, a dollar,’ then, ‘two! Only two?

Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?’

*

‘Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;

Going for three–‘  But no,

from the room far back, a gray-haired man

came forward and picked up the bow;

Then wiping the dust from the old violin,

and tightening the loose strings,

he played a melody pure and sweet

as a caroling angel sings.

*

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,

with a voice that was quiet and low,

said: ‘What am I bid for the old violin?’

And he held it up with the bow.

‘A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?

Two thousand!  And who’ll make it three?

Three thousand once, three thousand, twice,

and going, and gone,’ said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried:

‘We do not quite understand,

what changed it’s worth.’  Swift came the reply:

‘The Touch of a master’s hand.’

*

And many a man with life out of tune,

and battered and scarred with sin,

is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,

much like the old violin.

A ‘mess of pottage,’ a glass of wine;

A game–and he travels on.

He is ‘going once, and going twice,

He’s going and almost gone.’

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd

can never quite understand

The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought

by the Touch of the Master’s Hand.

If you are a Christian poet in the Chicago area, at least for the month of April, this writer would like to make available to other poets a place to exhibit some of your poems. Please only submit your own original poems, since you can give permission to publish your work. You can contact this writer at poetess755@gmail.com. Your poems must glorify the Lord God, or His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ or the Word of God. God Bless you in your endeavors.

http://www.examiner.com/article/april-is-all-about-poetry-vol-1-no-30

More at:

April is all about poetry – Vol. 1, no. 29

The wonderful month of April is just about over and so this writer will feature a story poem in this article, using metaphors for the Kingdom of God and how sometimes we can let it slip from our lives into the background and let the noise of this world’s hub-bub crowd out the sweet worship we have for our God in our hearts.  Then replacing it with the world’s glitter, and we all know that ‘everything that glitters, isn’t gold.’ So also sometimes, as the Lord Jesus used paradoxical images to describe the ‘Truth’ that is inherent within the Kingdom of God, and for those that find it, it is like searching for the ‘Pearl of great price.’  Therefore, here is the no. 29 from this series.

‘The Pearl’

*

It lay there half buried amongst all of

the cheap piles of costume jewelry.  A soft

sheen emanated from its softly rounded orb,

it kept calling my name.

*

I strolled  closer, wondering what was hidden there,

that burned with such color.  A fire that emanated

from within.  I uncovered it and thought to myself,

‘just another man-made pearl.’

*

It lay there without a setting, lost in the glitter

of the strands of fake pearls, diamonds and rubies.

As I turned to leave, the sun caught upon its orb

and played with the fire that waited beneath.

*

I looked again and suddenly understood.  Somehow

a real ‘pearl of great price’ had been discarded

with the cast-off jewelry.  I asked the shopkeeper

how much he wanted for this one lone pearl?

*

He complimented me on my taste and declared

that I was a lady of keen discernment, but…

He said that I surely didn’t want that old dusty

pearl.  He showed me faux pearls that had no fire.

*

He astutely read the desire that I held for this one

old pearl and thereby greatly raised the price.  We

haggled back and forth about its cost.  But I knew that

I would pay anything if I could just own it.

*

I told the old shopkeeper that I would return.  He looked

once again at the face of the pearl.  It appeared in

his eyes to be dusty, dull and old.  He laughed to himself

and thought ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’

*

He carelessly tossed it back onto the pile of junk.

It rolled down the steeply slanted side and lay

discarded next to the ‘genuine faux gemstones.’

He put up the entire box ‘for sale’ for one dollar

*

As promised, I returned after selling all I had.

I asked him where the pearl was that I wanted to buy.

He said he was sorry, but that gentleman over there

had just bought the entire box.  Go and ask him.

*

I ran to catch up to the man just as he was leaving

and asked him if he had bought the old loose pearl?

‘I really couldn’t tell you,’ he answered just a little

bit annoyed.  I asked him, ‘Will you please look?’

*

He rummaged through the contents of the box

and finally snatched up the one lone pearl.

He casually glanced at it and tossed it through

the air.  I deftly caught it and held it close.

*

He glanced at me and judged me thoroughly.

then told me ‘It’ll cost you exactly one dollar.’

I gladly paid the man for my new found treasure.

He thought ‘there is a sucker born every minute.’

*

Finally, I held my Pearl up to the sun and it glowed

with a fiery luster that only pearls possess.  I softly

polished it until it’s true beauty shined through.

I rejoiced at having found the ‘pearl of great price.’

*

Many years later, still wearing my priceless pearl,

the old shopkeeper spied it around my neck.  It lay

next to my skin suspended from a golden chain.  His

greedy eyes declared, ‘There’s a sucker for sure.’

*

He coaxed and cajoled in his attempts to part me from

my Pearl.  But the more he tried, the firmer I stood.

I finally asked him, ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

He said that he regrettably did not recognize me.

*

I was here many years ago and found one lone pearl

amongst your treasure-trove.  You deemed it not worthy

and wouldn’t bother with it.  You sold it along with

the genuine faux gemstones for just one dollar.’

*

‘I bought it back from that gentleman who also deemed

it not worthy of his attention either.  Yes, it was

dusty and old and neglected from disuse.  But I took

it home and softly polished the ‘pearl’  until it glowed.

*

Well…Behold!

           The Pearl of Great Price!

*

By Janice J. Robinson  © 1996

If you are a Christian poet in the Chicago area, at least for the month of April, this writer would like to make available to other poets a place to exhibit some of your poems. Please only submit your own original poems, since you can give permission to publish your work. You can contact this writer at poetess755@gmail.com. Your poems must glorify the Lord God, or His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ or the Word of God. God Bless you in your endeavors.

 

More at:  http://www.examiner.com/article/april-is-all-about-poetry-vol-1-no-29

 

April is all about poetry – Vol. 1, no. 28

 

 

 

As the National Poetry Month, i.e. April, is converging towards its closing sighs, new found loves and old embers brought to life again through the gentle ministration of warm breaths exhaled with joy, a piece offered about the holy love of the Lord Jesus Christ that He has for His church, His chosen Bride.

 

‘Unaccustomed to Your Love’

 

You gave your love and

you didn’t have to, you know?

       Prickly feeling of strange

sensations flood over me.

Inundated with internal explosions.

      Confusion, deemed long dead.

Surrounded with no escape possible.

Although it’s all right,

       I don’t want to.

Thoughts about being

unaccustomed to your love

       quickly fades.

By Janice J. Robinson  © 1996

 

If you are a Christian poet in the Chicago area, at least for the month of April, this writer would like to make available to other poets a place to exhibit some of your poems. Please only submit your own original poems, since you can give permission to publish your work. You can contact this writer at poetess755@gmail.com. Your poems must glorify the Lord God, or His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ or the Word of God. God Bless you in your endeavors.

More at:     http://www.examiner.com/article/april-is-all-about-poetry-vol-1-no-28