As Winter Comes

As Winter Comes…

September’s bustling chatter

echoesm throughout the wood.

The drone of slick-back crickets,

whizzing of late cicadas,

and jabbering of sly chipmunks;

resound and ring in humid air.

Hydrangea’s bow bulky, blushing heads

and stately goldenrod glimmers

attracting bustling bumblebees

loading pollen for the making.

Time trickles with all things.

A babe is born and old men die.

September comes…

and goes as geese fly south.

For my father-in-law… May you know the streets of gold where Jesus awaits everyone willing to receive Him as Savior.”

“I will bless the Lord who has given me counsel;

My heart also instructs me in the night seasons.

I have set the Lord always before me;

Because He is at my right hand I shall not be moved.”

Psalm 16:7-8

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My Path

I wonder of the light…
Which peels back dark of night
Of lurking shadow’s rights.

What brings forth new day?
What words will I need say?
What steps will slip away?

I assume secrets of night,
Intrigues me with worldly rights.
Yet, my soul yearns for the Light!

“Thy Word is a lamp
unto my feet,
A light unto my path.”

Psalms 119:105

Mount Zion

I sit still…

Amidst hollow landscapes

the air breaths spring tunes,

as ancients from length of days.

I sit still…

Watching sun blushing early morn;

day passes beneath the moon settles,

as aged earth lingers and groans.

“Then the moon shall be confounded,

And the sun ashamed, when the Lord of host

Shall reign in Mount Zion, and in Jerusalem,

And before His ancients glorious.”

Isaiah 24:23

Junes’ Song

Before slice of dawn…
after throaty bullfrogs croak
and birds begin their shrill;

there is a parcel of time
in which no sounds emerge
out in the inky darkness of night.

Over shadowy country landscapes,
under the veil of bright spring morn
there settles an empty, hollow stillness.

And some doze, as other stir:
‘bove bright blue buntings breed
below badger burrows down deep.

Arise with break of new dawn…
Lower your daily plans, read the Word!
There one will find stillness of heart.

I rise before the dawning of the morning,
And cry for help; I hope in Your word.

My eyes are awake through the night watches,
That I may meditate on Your word.

Psalm 119:147-148
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Spring Storm

Wind howls like a wild wolf lost in a sea of terror…. howling, howling, howling

Tears at tree top. Toppled them to cold ground littered with dead debris.

Shakes the bough, bends the trunk, tumbles all across moist earth.

Is such a night when restless sleep haunts watches of twilight till dawn.

The soul unable to rest. The mind troubled. The heart sin blackened.

He who spins the wind and topples the trees; it is God one needs seek to find rest.

To stop the howling, howling, howling…

James 4:7-10

Draw near to God and He’ll draw near to you

First Snow

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How dreary thorns in flesh?
Russet hues in wintry light;
against dismal resting earth.

It’s here first snow appears;
scatters crystals among trees,
interrupts rioting leaves of fall.

Where comes storehouses of snow?
God binds them in unreachable homes;
unleashing flakes at His sovereign will.

A child sees first snow differently,
when mossy earth is laden white;
over, over, and over again anew.

Yet time will come, snow shall melt,
life’s bleakness fade; in last of days
and earth made new again, as snow.

“… no more death or mourning
or crying or pain, for the former
thing have passed away.”

Revelation 21:4

My eleven year old granddaughter shared a slice of wisdom with me the other day. I told her it was going to snow. She said, “Its first snow!” with a tone of excitement. “It already snowed this year,” I simply replied. “But it hasn’t snowed for awhile,” said she. Looking at the bare landscape I saw tawny trees, exposed earth, and stately green pine’s lack of decorations. It was then I understood the importance of snow to her. Let’s be reminded, as we struggle through the season of celebration, whatever came to one’s door unwelcome will one day pass away. Like melting snow, will disappear and all will be made new by a sovereign God.

The Dwelling

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On mucky, cloudy days
there’s poetry in my pond.

From solstice to equinox;
it crosses winter’s ray.

Admired the woodchuck,
on his groundhog’s day.

Yet, the busy muskrat
chases Eternal clouds away.

Grassy tower stands…
it stirs, shifts, and sways.

Till… last of days.

“As water disappears from the sea,
And a river becomes parched and dries up,
So man lies down and does not rise.
Till the heavens are no more,
They will not awake
Nor be roused from their sleep.”
Job 14: 11-12

We know so much about the groundhog, but it’s the muskrat that stays awake all winter at water’s edge munching on grasses. He’s a busy little thing piling up a tower of reeds and marsh debris to make his cozy abode. I’d say there’s poetry in that… just as you will find over at dVerse, as poets use their imagination with a form of the word “poem”.